You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give. ~Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet There is something inexpressibly special about birthday cards. When I was small, my little hands could not wait to tear off the wrapping paper to get to the present underneath.
As a young child, I discovered Mums had left her makeup drawer open. I dragged across a nearby chair and clambered up eagerly. I stared down at Mums’ makeup in delight. There were all her lipsticks. They seemed to positively glow and jostle up at me invitingly. My little hand reached out for the brightest
I arrived in Cape Town for the ‘Argus’! No, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t actually doing it. My sixteen year old nephew, Campbell and my two besties, B and Jans, were participating. My role was to support and cheer them along. The ‘Argus’ or Cape Town Cycle Tour as it is now called, covers
I am on my second round of Botox injections! No, I don’t now have full, rounded Julia Roberts-like luscious lips. There are actually no changes to my face. I am using Botox as it is meant to be used – medically! When I stand in front of a mirror, I look okay. Nothing special. Nothing
My two friends are avid hikers. I too used to be mad about hiking but sadly due to my accident, those days are over. B, being aware of my longing, said to me: “Let’s go to the Botanical Gardens. You can have a great walk there and Perdita will love it.” Walking around a garden
This black and white photograph is above my bed. A beautiful sand dune highlighted in light and shadow. It is resplendent in it’s starkness. No life is growing there. It’s shape curves through the whole picture. One’s eye travels down the curve to rest in the bottom right hand corner on a small tree. The
“If constellations had been named in the 20th century, I suppose we would see bicycles.” Carl Sagan I got into the pool and floated. The water felt deliciously cool. I rolled over and decided to swim a few lengths. After two, this swimming medalist at school, exhaustedly decided to stop and go back to floating.
Bloop, bleep, bloop, bleep, bloop, bleep The faucet keeps a-drippin’ and I can’t sleep Bleep, bloop, bleep, bloop, bloopbloop, bleep I guess I never should’ve ordered clam soup Bloop, bleep, bloop, bleep, bloop, bleep I better call the plumber ‘cause I just can’t Sloop, er blee, sleebleep, blooblee er sleeboo, bl.bl, blooslee, sleebloo…er Sleeeeeeeeeeeep! (An
“A garden should make you feel you’ve entered privileged space – a place not just set apart but reverberant – and it seems to me that, to achieve this, the gardener must put some kind of twist on the existing landscape, turn its prose into something nearer poetry.” Michael Pollan, Second Nature: A Gardener’s Education
I remember as a child sitting at the dinner table and pushing Mums lamb stew around my plate. I battled with stew and lamb stew was the worst! “Gaynor, there are people in outer Mongolia that would be grateful for two spoonfuls of stew! Now would you please eat it up. All of it! It