the Upstream swim

In your wildest years long before
Your Fall.
You had a friend who knew you well.
She, your chosen confidante,
One to whom You would seek leave to disclose
And without a will to disenchant,
Hope to God she'd like your prose.


Schooled by life's chances,
Together you took them well.
Upon her bestowed you clearance
Of all there was to tell.
Perhaps when first love failed,
Perhaps when sights were blurred,
And wth a single handful of Providence,
Twas your friend who truly heard.

My dear friend and I,
Made a blithe and lively team,
Our larks were filled with tricks and smirks,
Good we were,
best was just a dream.


And I, like salmon in the waters,
Slippery and cold as death,
Writhe the brawny Muscles in my fish-tail,
And take to Swimming briskly upstream.

Pandemonium

                                This indulgent three-month holiday is starting to faff.

While I enjoy having null and void responsibilities, vegetating until noon and countless other negligences, I prefer to break a sweat. This means that I have been hard at work enough to become tired, and then, at the end of the day, my eventual flop down onto a comfortable bed is one well-earned.

May the rest of you savour what's left. I must go forth and emit vibe.

a Boston state of Mind

The truth is I love Boston, and I haven't even been there yet. I've been reading The Scarlet Letter, a novel by Nathaniel Hawthorne about a particularly adulterous scandal in New England. When I think of old Boston I think of Berklee College of Music, of delicate white sailboats on the lake, broad accents and Irish Americans, of the Tea Party of the American Revolution.

The truth is, I might be going there sometime soon, if I am supposed to, and if things work out, and if I can succeed in making a good decision, which is something that happens to me only on occasion. The decision part, I mean.

Why don't you Do it Right?

I need to achieve something everyday. Even if it's nothing momentous, like moonlighting, or squeezing your own orange juice, or planning a wedding. Even if it's simply mowing my own lawn, or breaking a sweat, or passing a test. Something. Anything.

That said, here are a few resolutions for 2 0 1 1.

• learn how to sew - properly.
• take piano and practise - properly
• read more novels - classic and contemporary- and brush up on my spelling and grammar (which seems to have depreciated in value since I've been on vacation)
• go on at least one road trip and find a town that harvests good cherries/ makes amazing preserves
• attend at least one bloggers' meeting
• make new friends and network (I mean this. The ones I have aren't new enough. I need to expand my circles).
• stop quitting before getting half way
• stop being so self-critical
• do a pedi at least once a week.
• get COVET a large following
• start all my assignments at least a week in advance
• spend more time in the library than on the steps/ in the Jammie shuttle/ laying on the lawn/ swatting pigeons/ exploring the zoology building for taxidermed animals.
• take the time to watch more classic films.
• improve my French
• quit my current job and find a new one.
• stand up to people more, even if it means being loud and sassy and obnoxious. you can't please them all. better to be hated for your upright rudeness than adored for being false.
• be more rude.

Shut up and Drive

                                                                I GOT IT !

I'm legit. Just like McLovin here. Perhaps more. Anyway. I can drive. Bye.

The place I could be anyone.

Annie's Wardrobe in Woodstock is a warehouse of fancy dress costumes, where you can pretty much pretend all you like, skip and jump through aisles of hanging garments that absorb sound, or dress as whorishly as you please.

This was where we found costumes for Sax Appeal's 2011 photoshoot. Not telling much more though. You'll have to wait until February 10th at a suburban traffic light near you. Make sure you buy your copy from the Slut who presents you with the most convincing sob story, beggar's plea or general trashy student lingo in exchange for cash.

(Be prepared for a bit of a wake-up call - students have been known to do anything for a buck).

The Pepper Club

Decided, ironically, that my (possible) last day as a learner driver should be spent in partial sobriety. Partial. That didn't quite work out. It was a rather warm day, sunny and without cloud cover, and the drinks were halvies and I was feeling a little woozy.

Realised that once licenced, I should not have a single cocktail and then drive. Let alone two potent ones at The Pepper Club in Camps Bay.

Managed to guide best friend into a parallel parking space, without doing any driving myself. Took a photo of our team effort. 

You'll know.

You'll know you're in love with somebody when his happiness becomes water to your mouth, washed against your dry palette like a flood.
Perhaps you'll know when your heart tells you so. Or when it beats against your ribcage with more force than any charge of blood might render.
I don't know.
Maybe you're in love when you find you believe in love at last, even though you had convinced yourself you never would again.
Maybe it's love when you bicker and disagree; but, without fail, come to terms with each other with equal grace and mutuality.
Perhaps you'll know when you laugh together. You'll know even better when you cry together. That takes courage.
You'll know when you're washing up after dinner. When you're lying beside each other in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about cabbages and royalty. When you're watching television and the remote is up for grabs. When he opens the door for you, or holds your hand when you cross the road, or lets you walk on the safe side and he on the right. You'll know when he smiles, because he reserves one for you.


You'll know.

I haven't a thing to Wear

You know that feeling when you open your jam-packed wardrobe only to shake your tired head and stare into the sparse landscape of hanging garments that never quite justify your lust for cashmere and crocodile? And then, with a sigh so unsatisfied you could be considered truly melancholy you tell yourself, "Gosh. I haven't a thing to wear."

I would just like to say that fashion merchandising in this country is SHOT. Really, I couldn't buy a worthy piece if I tried, or had all the money in the world. There's just not enough choice. Where are the retail giants that populate Europe's high streets and New York's grand avenues? Where are the bargains and les soldes and the glittering window displays? All we have are measly selections of Europe's 'last season picks' and grumpy check out clerks who garble among each other while ringing up our purchases.

I suggest that in protest, every girl and avid retail therapy participant conduct one single day of their daily activities in want, but not in need, of the clothing they so aspire toward owning. By this I mean go Naked.

Fearless

recline on your most comfortable seat,

and dream about your wilder days.

when your men were many

and your cares were few.

yet much that you, with reluctance, knew.

the Second Coming

Awoke to thunder in the first few hours of 2011. Seems the South-easter has blown itself out and nature's reverberating temper has begun to pierce the dense grey clouds that hang over my head and house. Not long now until his return. It is as if he has already been welcomed.

(and no, I am not referring to the second coming of Jesus).

               Happy New Year.