Holiday within a holiday

I feel slightly guilty because I know there haven't been any revelations, epiphanies or philosophic moments of glory on here recently, and I'm sorry. It's mainly because I have either been lazing in a house full of family, dogs and babies (when my cousin was studying) or shopping/eating (when she wasn't). And now I'm off to Rage in Umhlanga, Durban, to party intensively for a week to celebrate graduating high school (a year ago... shhh). So there will probably not be any inspired posts over the next week, apart from maybe "Ow everything hurts".

In other news, I slipped on wet tiles and practically backflipped and all I could hear was my cousin's hysterical laughter.

mini breakdown

Can I just say one thing this child is so cute I cannot deal with it she has these little fingers that poke everything and a big baby tummy and adorable curls and big beautiful grey eyes and she giggles when I scrunch up my face and make noises and laughs hysterically when I hide under the covers and tickle her feet and when she's tired she leans on my shoulder and plays with my hair and says my name and I AM NOT EQUIPPED TO DEAL WITH THIS LEVEL OF CUTENESS.

Shift

Have you ever read The Time Traveler's Wife? Or seen that movie, the one with Joseph Gordon Levitt jumping through time and space? Sometimes, this trip is like that. And I find myself once again plonked somewhere completely different, and even though I know it's going to happen, it's still strange.

This morning was rainy and grim in one part of the country, this afternoon was sunny and hot in another. I spent most of the afternoon on the patio, eating rock cakes and watching my 2-year-old naked cousin frolic in a sprinkler. She still has the baby-tummy that sticks out over her toes, and she walks like a mini-drunk, in adorable tottering steps. From old life to new, I guess.

My grandpa turned out to ok, by the way. His heart is working fine, and apparently is causing no alarm, which is a relief to all of us. It's scary to have your world rocked that way though, sending tremors through your everyday life. Touch wood that he keeps on going strong.

Better go, I've been summoned to help bath the baby. I can hear the giggling already through my open window.

Storm

Good things happen on this blog. It's a timeline of generally good feelings and events. The passing of time and the nuances of my life,  interesting or not,  but mostly good,  for which I'm thankful. 

But it can't anyways be good feelings.   And the wind is blowing in Cape Town as the moody clouds gather for a big storm and my grandfather has just been taken away by a friendly taxi driver to the hospital.  Cardiac unit,  10th floor. And I'm waiting in the lobby to be picked up and watching the steady rain,  and I feel heavy inside.

He hugged me and smiled as he got in the car,  and I told him I loved him and hugged his wife,  my newest grandmother and a wonderful person. I had to say goodbye because I fly to Joburg tomorrow.  At least,  I hope I can fly - hopefully the storm will have passed by then.  I know I'm going to another amazing place,  more radiant family and loving homes and exciting things.  But today it hurts to say goodbye. And I'm picturing flying over this beautiful city tomorrow. The wings will cut through this heavy fog and rain. Boldly taking me elsewhere.  Heavy with goodbyes and the weight in my chest.  

The memory house

This is a fond old memory-house. Here are the things I like:

The bell-shaped yellow flowers that line the front gate.
The fat lemons that hide in the trees down in the orchard, ripe and perfectly unreachable.
The pumpkin shells around the bathroom sink
The tapestry over the sofas, which has been around since my father was born.
The way that nothing ever changes in this house.
The smell of mangoes and sound of my brother laughing- both seem to hang around the kitchen.
The fact that there is always a dog around (minimum: 1, maximum: 5).
That Daphne, who cleans here, knew me before I could walk.
The view of Table Mountain from the balconies.
The way that this house is far from everything wrong and pervasive. That, even with the absence of my much adored grandpa, it's a happy house, cheerful and full of the people I love, with high ceilings housing stacked memories. It grew with me and my imagination, and even as the rooms got smaller as I got bigger, it never lost the magic.

Nearly 19 years of love.

That's a lot for paint and brick.  

Simple needs

It's been a long time since I last posted. I don't really have any good excuse. All I can think is that somehow it's easier to find time to write when every day is full up with things to do and see. Down time isn't good for creativity, somehow. I always end up sleeping. Or - recently, anyway - watching Woody Allen movies with my grandmother.

And I hate to say it - after all, if I'm not the free-roaming hippy child without shoes or ambition then who am I? - but maybe my days have been filled with a few ... life epiphanies? Only about my life, that is (don't get excited). But recently I was given the amazing opportunity to intern for a couple of days at GLAMOUR magazine in central Cape Town, and it was pretty rad, to say the least. And even though I can't see myself in the fashion world (death by shoes) for the rest of my life, I did get a small, smug inkling of 'maybe this is where I'm meant to be'. Yes, I fetched coffee and photocopied and searched pictures (ask me about anything Rihanna has worn in the last 2 year, go on, I dare you). But I like the vibe. I like the idea of working on twelve different projects at the same time and leading up to dramatic midnight deadlines. I like the chance to throw in your ideas with the actual (paid) writers and the understanding that good is good, and if you make it into print, you earned it.

What can I say? I like going to an office and writing. I'm a creature of simple needs.  

The Elephant Diaries: so long and thanks

This post is a bit late. I actually left on Monday, and flew the hour long journey from the teensy George airport to the more substantial Cape Town one. But it's my blog and I can do what I like.

In a word? Magical. I know, what a cliche, but being out under African sunrises, walking side by side with these enormous and awe-inspiring creatures, being plonked into a complex, vibrant community and making friends for life from volunteers and staff alike... well, that tends to lean towards magical. And then there were the weekends: partying with volunteers, walking with cheetahs, visiting bird and monkey sanctuaries, road tripping to Addo and seeing lions a couple of meters away, exploring little fishing towns and markets, eating lots and lots and lots of good food. What can I say? Would recommend.

And then being able to do something, to gather funds from home and buy toys, books, games, CDs, DVDs and more for the local children's shelter, and then to give these things to them and see how they appreciate it. And suspecting that somewhere in you something has sparked, that there isn't a tear-here line between your life and theirs, that you are linked in something good and that - inevitably - you have to honour that. And in the back of your mind, thinking 'what else can I do when I get home?'

Because Africa gets in your soul. It gets in your bloodstream and sends around you a stream of fascination and frustration but most of all love. Love that radiates from the soil and the sky. And as I find myself trying and trying to understand even a fraction of this country, its complexity and its sorrows, I feel my own roots stretching down into African turf. After all, it's my past too. It's ours.

So thank you for one of the best months of my life. Within the best year of my life.

I'll be here in the morning.