An Avocado feast

There is an avocado tree in the neighbouring flats. As Spring is almost sprung, the fruit can crash down on a garage roof. This is a bonus for the local starlings. I saw two feasting on a downed pear yesterday morning as I left for work. I didn't  have time to take a photo, which I regret. They were so enjoying their breakfast.

My trip to Siem Reap in November 2010: Arrival

I haven't posted on my blog for yonks. Here goes. My time in Cambodia was short, only a week. I travelled by myself. (My previous two trips abroad were with my niece, Natalie.)

I was nervous when I landed at Siem Reap airport; and very tired. (I hadn't more than dozed on the long flights from Cape Town to Kuala Lumpur. Even my night at the Tune Hotel at the LCC Airport wasn't very restful.) The hotel in Siem reap hadn't sent a car to fetch me from the airport, as I had requested, but it was a fortunate oversight. The taxi driver who took me to the Soria Moria Hotel, a kind young man, Somang, offered to take me to Angor Wat and various other temples, the next day, and he had a friend who was a guide. I was to tired to explain "I never hire a car or a guide because I'm from Africa and I don't earn dollars or pounds." I'm glad I said "Yes" to both his offers.

Dragon boat Ceremony, Waterfront, Cape Town

On Saturday the 24th January, the dragon boat clubs in conjunction with the Taipei Liaison Office, hosted an eye painting ceremony to usher in the New Year. There were speeches, a dragon dance, the eye painting ceremony, and a ceremonial race.
I was there with a friend who is a freelance journalist and photographer. I'm a bashful and shaky point and shoot photographer, so my photos were taken at a distance from most of the activities. I'm grateful that something of what was going on can be recognised.

The Dragon dance:










I also have a video clip of the Dragon dance, unfortunately it is spoilt at the end by feet and concrete, though you can hear the obligatory fire crackers. I haven't worked out how to edit it yet.

On names

The prayer of St Therese of Lisieux reminded me that my sister's last name is Therese, and I don't know why. I must ask her. I also had to find out what the name Therese means, and, if possible, its origin. (There is disagreement over its origin and meaning: after the Greek island of Thera (aka Santorini); it is derived from the words" to harvest" or "to hunt".
I have an interest in names, in particular, in traditions in giving names and the meaning of names. I found it very odd when I arrived in Cape Town in the late 1950s that someone could have a surname as a first name (Sir Devilliers Graaff). As my family is Catholic, saints names were de rigeur. My second name, Winifred, (I really dislike it) is that of my father's mother. My first name, Cecilia, was my mother's choice (and I was born on St Cecilia's Day). Unfortunately, I don't have any musical talents (St Cecilia is the patron Saint of Music) I have a voice like the Mouille Point fog horn and no sense of rhythm.
Nowadays, the meaning of names seems to receive little attention when babies are named.

St. Theresa's Prayer:

May today there be peace within. May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content knowing you are a child of God. Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.

Someone sent me this. Even though I'm long lapsed from the Church of Rome, I can still appreciate the prayer. And I remember my mother, who spoke of the Little Flower, Therese of Lisieux.

Obstructive Sleep Apnoea

On Friday I heard the gladsome news that I suffer from a severe form of this. It explains, in part, why my cat won't sleep with me at night - my legs move over 30 times. No self respecting cat would put up with such a restless bed partner. I also stop breathing something like 22 times, the baseline is 5. It's scary to know you stop breathing so often when you are asleep and that your oxygen level drops to 80 %.

I told the doctor I don't want to be cut. (The dentist with his needles and drills is bad enough.) So the only option is a CPAP machine which will blow compressed air down my air passages to keep my soft palate from collapsing. The thought of going to bed every night connected to a machine and with a mask on my face is disconcerting. And what about vagaries of Eskom?

Chinese New Year, 2008: The Year of the Rat

I received an amusing and apt greeting from a friend in Malaysia. I have to share it:

May STUART LITTLE bring you comfort;
MICKEY MOUSE bring you joy;
RATATOULLIE bring you abundance of good foods;

Most importantly, may MINNIE MOUSE bring you ultimate beauty & pleasure.
Year of RAT with lots of laughter, love & Optimism
Happy LUNAR year

May you be blessed with good health and serenity.

With joyous metta

Zola

Once upon a time there was a tortoise who lived in a garden in Plumstead. You probably think of tortoises as slow, lethargic creatures. Well, when my family moved to Plumstead in the early 1980s, Zola very quickly disabused us of this stereotype. Zola was short for Zola Budd, a young, barefoot runner whose speed promised a successful international career. Our tortoise was a speedy one, hence the name, and not backward in coming forward. My father was a keen gardener. A reserved man, he lavished affection on his dogs, and spent most of his free time in the garden. His big toe was often the target of a tortoise's beak. Zola, impatient for lettuce from the fridge, lay in wait for him outside the front door. Oh, I forgot to mention, the runner was a she, but our Zola was a he.

Situation in Burma, a message from Ajahn Sumedho

Letter from Luang Por Sumedho

[to download/print PDF file please click here.]

I am making a statement of support and sympathy for the heroic efforts of the Buddhist Monks, Nuns, Students, and all the Burmese Laypeople who are peacefully protesting against the injustice and oppression of the present government of Myanmar.It is very confusing and distressing to witness a government which claims to respect the Buddhist religion react to a peaceful protest in such a violent and brutal way. I have always held the Sangha in Burma with great respect. I ask the present government to listen to the Sangha and to seek a way of reconciliation in accord with the Dhamma which will be for the welfare and happiness of all.I send all my blessings to the peaceful protesters and my compassion to the Government of Myanmar which has strayed so far from the wisdom and compassion of the Lord Buddha.

Yours in Dhamma
Venerable Ajahn Sumedho
29th September, 2007
Amaravati Buddhist Monastery
Hemel Hempstead, UK

For the latest news on the situation in Burma http://www.irrawaddy.org/

My first Rock concert

At the tender age of 59 I have attended my first Rock concert. It wasn't in a huge football stadium. There was no screaming or fainting, and everyone left with underwear in its proper place. But don't think the audience was stodgy - there was no sitting on hands - the audience clapped, gestured and swayed in delight. Even I was moved to clap a little and tap my toes, despite my being "rhythmically challenged" and embarrassed by public displays of enthusiasm.

No, The 'Stones hadn't sneaked into town. It was a two part fusion concert at the Artscape, which had been organised by the Indian High Commission. A local band opened proceedings. They played a selection of Indian favourites and some 50s golden oldies. An enjoyable hors d'oevres.

The main course, Mrigya, was stunning. I quote the SpeakIndian blog:

"Mrigya’s music has its origins in various eras, countries and cultures – merging snatches of blues, folk, jazz and classical. Mrigya is the quest for sensuous, earthly, soul lifting fusion music. It is based on musical realities of the past, picking up the potentialities of the future. Their music creates a unique texture (a rich blend of Classical, Blues & Jazz) bordering between Indian Classical to World Music. It is their “recontextulization of Indian rhythms and melodies, taking them and placing them in the middle of jazz – rock fusion and light funk, and their guitar playing (which, on slower ballad features some Clapton – esque blues)”, which is their most captivating feature...

'Powerful performers Mrigya combine vedic Hindi chants, classical raga, tabla and Muslim quawwali singing to utterly move audiences wherever they play. Their funky baseline will have you dancing.' Dominion Post, New Zealand "

So I can be excused if my sang froid melted a little.

I was particularly fascinated by the Qawwali singer. The movements of his voice and fingers communicated intense joy and excitement, though he didn't move from his seat. Ancient praises of the divine swelled and danced with the strident riffs of two electric guitars and the fast-pulsed tabla.

I did find the music very loud, but to tone the volume down by sticking balled-up tissues in my ears was not an option. The loudness was integral.

It's raining, it's pouring...

And my cat has spent most of the weekend lying on top of me, or next to me.


Last Sunday it rained, and there was some thunder and lightening. What was odd, was that there was no prelude of stiffling, muggy heat. Yesterday evening, again some thunder and lightening. The day had been grey and wet, with generous outpourings from the sky. Again, not what I think of as presaging a thunder storm.


Those who have lived in the Tropics must laugh at our piddly little thunder storms. If there are two a year that is alot. And how terrific? Two or three claps of thunder and a flash or two of lightening.


I'm terrified of thunderstorms, not being used to the raw pyrotechnics of tropical or highveld storms. When I worked in Pietermaritzburg I would cower inside at a whisper of thunder. I lived on Ridge Rd. If I could see lightening striking the ridge across the valley as I walked home from work, that would have me pelting down the middle of the road for home. (I had to avoid the trees on the pavement.) Once I was caught in the bath when a storm moved overhead very quickly. Despite a very stiff and sore back I was out of the bath in less than a blink of an eye. I still don't know how I managed it.


It's odd to be sitting in a Library and hear water running. It must be the rain on the roof and in the gutters and pipes.


The Cape Peninsula has been called many names.Quite oddly it has been called, both the Cape of Good Hope, and the Cape of Storms. Yesterday as I drove home the back way throughTokai, the road was flooded. It just disappeared beneath huge puddles of muddy water, and at places turbid streams ran parallel to the road. I crawled along, because I was afraid "my bow wave" would kill my engine and I'd get stuck, and then I'd have to take a long, wet walk home. And I chose that route because I thought it would be safer than the freeway in a deluge!

Easter Egg Draw and Hunt in my Library: Preview

Here is the box on the Loan Desk and a close up of the chocolate "trophies". The slips for the draw can also be seen.

Meet Catriona (aka The Tail)

My word!

Today I was reminded of how I love words. I enjoy playing with them and asking questions of them. I love puns. And now I feel I want to write.

I realise that in talking, and from reading and writing, I'm often trying to understand or express experiences, or to find solutions. To make life fit words is an impossible task. It reminds me of an eye test I had when I was very young. I was asked to look through the eye pieces of some optical instrument and move the handles so the lion went into the cage. I got so far, and then the lion or the cage disappeared.

On reflection, playing with words, questioning them and trying to express feelings, thoughts and happenings, in speech or writing, is my way of making sense of life, my way of finding meaning and purpose.

Procrastination and some thoughts on my wardrobe

I have been "editing" a series of motivational newspaper articles for someone else. Despite my advanced age, and in spite of my conceit that I know so much because I've been around so long, I have learnt alot from them. I have been faced with some of my bad habits, particularly procrastination. God, How painful, How depressing, How demotivating a habit! To be brutally honest, it is more than a habit, it is a way of life.

I'm a sloppy dresser,I have no style, and most of the time I don't care what I look like. If you put me in Versace, I would look as if I were wearing a sack.

A friend has given me a lovely maroon T-shirt with an Aboringinal painting of three snakes. This morning she asked me if I had tried it on yet (It's two weeks since she gave it to me). I said, "No". Why? Well, you can divide my wardrobe into three categories:
what I wear everyday, which is usually baggy slacks and a voluminous shirt or T-shirt;
what I never wear because I hate these clothes (gifts or mistakes);
what I almost never wear, because I like them so much I don't want to spoil them.
(I've realised there is a fourth category: clothes that are too small, the remnant of brief periods of being thinner.) The maroon T-shirt is number three, I love it so much I don't want to spoil it by wearing it.

Festival of Chariots in Cape Town, 27th December 2006

I went to Sea Point to watch the parade and I was looking forward to some tasty vegetarian food, as well. My sister, Ursula, her elder daughter, Natalie, and two of my friends, Laureen and Veronica, were also there. (The food was very disappointing, and the organisation shambolic.) The attending crowd did justice to the "rainbow nation". There was a large contingent from the local Indian community, mainly Hindus, but also quite a few Muslims. There was a palette of skin tones, ranging from English tan to rich Black. And a babel of languages: local, naturalised or just visiting.

The tents and assembly area were on Beach Road, near the Sea Point Public Library. This road runs above the beach. The Chariot, yes, definitely singular, looked like an eccentric hot air balloon attached to a big, heavy cart. Because of the crowd, I couldn't see how it was moved, pushed or pulled by devotees. Definitely not motorised. Before the Chariot set off there was chanting and drumming, and, I think, some dancing. All I could see was a bald head, which kept popping above the crowd. I think this was the drummer.

Once the two idols were enthroned to the accompaniment of chanting, the Chariot began moving forward slowly. I use the word idols, for lack of a better word. To me they looked like two largish brown discs, with crude, but colourful faces. Nothing resembling a human figure, nor a lingam and yoni.

An empty library

Christmas is almost here, and the campus is sparsely populated - few people and few cars. The Library too is almost empty, not even a handful of people in my section; and a skeleton library crew. It seems unnatural - all the hush, empty seats and unpeopled terminals.

I am teaching myself how to use Picasa, an open source photo management program. [It can be downloaded from the Google web site]. I have been experimenting with the photos I took in Malaysia a year ago. Picasa will be useful in producing guides for students and presentations.

Round-up of the week

Monday was my evening shift, which means I work from 14h30-22h00. By 22h00 I wanted to flop onto a magic carpet that would whisk me off to my flat and drop me onto my bed. I got home around 22h20 and then couldn't find my flat keys. A cell phone call to my sister, who has a spare set, and I was saved from spending the night in the car. My next evening shift will be till 23h00, which is a killer. The extended opening is because of the final exams. By 22h00 I feel I need match sticks to prop open my eyelids. I don't understand why I get so tired as I normally go to bed between 23h00 and midnight.

Tuesday was Eid, the end of Ramadaan, so the Muslim students and staff had a religious holiday.

Thursday and Friday were distinguished by traffic chaos because the combi taxi drivers blocked freeways and demonstrated. They want their traffic fines scrapped and for Government to drop its taxi replacement programme. These taxis are the backbone of what passes for public transport in this country.

There were very many, very angry and very late commuters, besides furious taxi drivers and owners. There was violence and rubber bullets, and some vehicles were torched by the protesters. All this, so reminiscent of the bad old days of Apartheid.

Lectures ended yesterday. I was asked to attend the last lecture for Psychology I. I was presented with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and thanked for my hard work. I got a round of applause too.All this is a first in my long career. The coming week is swot week and the beginning of exams. Exams finish in mid-November and end of year graduation is early in December. Unlike the students, we don't go on holiday, though the Library closes at 17h00 weekdays and 12h30 on Saturdays. The Library is open 51 weeks a year.

This afternoon I'm working at the GSB Library for a colleague. Again the Library is hot.

22nd October 2006 @ 18h00 local time

I had brought some Medjul dates to nibble on at work, 5 hours is long time without sustainance. As I was eating some, I was reminded of my visit to a local Fruit & Veg City (this is a green-grocer chain). There was a long queue at the dried fruit and nut counter. People were waiting for their purchases to be weighed. From the numerous headscarves I jassumed the buyers were stocking up for the evening breaking of the fast or for Eid, the end of Ramadaan.

I bought some dried apricots, local ones. They are harder and sourer (and cheaper) than Turkish ones. I prefer their hardness and sourness. (The new season's apricots, fresh ones, should be in the shops around Christmas. Besides apples and bananas, my favourite fruits are summer's offerings, peaches, apricots and nectarines. There are peaches and nectarines in the supermarket and at the green-grocer's, but they are they have been imported, and are therefore pricey. I will have to wait a bit longer.)

Seeing people buying nuts and dried fruit, particularly dates and dried figs, reminded me of my early childhood Christmasses in England. We always had dates and dried figs then. The dates were boxed still attached to a twig. There was a little wooden fork to eat them with. They were a shiny brown, soft and sweet. I have only seen dates like this once, since I came to Africa. Next April I will have lived 50 years in Africa.

Sunday 22nd October 2006 @16h30 local time

I'm sitting in the GSB Library, my Sunday afternoon job. The sun through an upstairs window is blinding me as I try and type. The Library is quite hot, despite background noise which I assume is the air conditioning. The Library is quiet. I'm by myself downstairs, though there are some students upstairs.

As I drove to work, I could see the green slopes of Devil's Peak, but around the Cape Town side of the mountains, Lion's Head was very dry, not a blade left green.

Nearly 2 months till Christmas and Spring verging on Summer, the season of craft markets, fetes, rummage sales (and the like) is almost upon us. Posters are everywhere, no telephone pole has been spared. Craftsmen, schools and churches, every organisation that can rustle up things to sell, is planning to cash in on the tourist invasion and the gift-giving mania of Yuletide. Kickoff next Saturday.

Cape Town weather has been described as four seasons in one day. The Library in which I hang my proverbial hat from Monday to Friday has a micro-climate like that of Cape Town itself. Where I work can get very hot and sticky, I wouldn't be surprised if we had our own thunderstorm on Level 5 one day.