Forty-four: Send a message in a bottle

I've always wanted to do this.

I know what I'm going to write and who I would send it to.

Maybe while I'm in Australia at the end of the year watching my son getting married as the sun sets on a gloriously beautiful beach, I'll just scurry away and launch my bottle into the sea with kisses and 'waves'......

(BTW this is the sun setting in Llandudno beach near Hout Bay, and I was there. African sunsets are quite spectacular.)

Thirty-One: Go back to Hong Kong

In 1984 I went on a 10 day package-tour to Hong Kong with my (then) best friend, Venette. She and her husband often went to Japan and Hong Kong on business. She raved about this City with all its magnificence, and as I had never been to the Far East, it was the right thing to do. Off we went, leaving our kids with the 'hubbies', and it was all she had said and more! I promised Neil over the next twenty years that I would one day 'take him to Hong Kong'.

Mark and Carla are getting married in Australia in December while on a five week recently planned holiday. They have asked us to come out to Oz to attend their wedding ceremony which we would dearly love to do.

But Australia is definitely not the place we would choose to go to for a 'dream' holiday.

So we find ourselves in a quandary

However, we can go to Hong Kong en route to Oz and stay there for 10 days, hence having our 'dream' holiday to celebrate our 60th birthdays (both next year) and also see our son married.

Mmmmm, this sounds ideal........

Twenty-seven: My first grandchild

Steve, 4 months, always laughing.

Steve, 10 months, very curious.

.

Mark, 4 weeks, looking puzzled.

Mark,22 months, mischievous as usual.

I won't have a grandchild

before 60, but hopefully soon therafter.

Tangent: My animals

When Mark was about seven, he got me my first 'animal' (the little brown dog). I think it was for Mother's Day and I cherished it. Somehow, in his teens, this became a regular thing, to give me an 'animal' for my birthdays and Mother's Days.

To this very day, despite others' jealousies and even ridicule, every time he goes overseas to work, or on holiday, or sometimes for no reason at all, out comes this funny shaped wrapping, denoting a new member of my animal family. Each one is unique and sometimes even peculiar, but they are all very special. I have over 40 of them by now and alternate them so that they are not all out at once (too many to dust anyway).

They are more precious than gold, more loved than diamonds and have been shipped all arouund the world with me, wherever I've been living and working. They are part of the bond that ties him and I, and will always be.

Thanks Markles for each and every one of them, and please pass them on to your own kids one day, from me!

Tangent:Spirit Singer Rattle

Mark gave me this quaint little 'fellow' last week when he returned from a business trip to Phoenix, Arizona.

'This rattle is a hand sized sculpture created to brighten your spirits, lighten your heart and help shake your cares away.'

It was love at first sight for me, and just what the doctor ordered, as my spirits need brightening right now.

Thanks Markles.

Nineteen: See Rock Concert

When I was young, sigh, Rock Concerts were unheard of, uninvented, unknown. In any case I lived in the smallest town in the outer reaches of civilization (or so it felt), and who would possibly even visit there, let alone bring some culture with them.

Hollywood and all things famous were a million miles and a million zillion light years away from our existence.

My best friends, Priscilla and Cynthia, were totally besotted with Elvis, and in our teens, they got a subscription for a monthly Hollywood ( mixture of 'Heat' and NME ) style magazine, which we devoured over and over and over. We drooled over him in his army uniform, we mourned his love affair with Priscilla (although Cilla was chuffed that she had the same name as her. Imagine anyone famous being called Priscilla?)

Later,when my kids were young, sigh, they adored Michael Jackson. Steven idolised him, ate, drank, and slept him. he adorned every wall, every space with posters of the great singer, spent all his pocket money on his music, and then at about 12 years old, demanded a Michael Jackson glove, which I then created for him in a rush, having to somehow locate the exact beads to make this phenomenal replica, as he hovered over me with scarcely contained excitement, and then wore every day from then on. I'm sure he even slept with it on at first.

When Mark, who is five years younger, then also got hooked, I joined the gang. Every one of his records was played and played and then played again, each time with renewed enjoyment.

Imagine then, in 1988, after we had moved to the UK, going to see the 'man' himself at Wembley on his 'BAD' tour. We sat miles away from the stage and watched in fascination and awe as he steppped, writhed, moon danced, sang and created a spectacular show before our very eyes, with images on large billboards across the arena. It was magic!

That's it, the sum total of my lice Concert experience. Oh, almost forgot, saw Johnny Clegg and Savuka in Johannesburg a few years later with Mark and I jived the night away, a totally diferent, but equally fabulous experience.

I wanted to see the princess Diana Concert a few weeks ago, but somehow I missed all the hype and hubbub; watched it all on telly and loved it too.

Heaven only knows whether my poor old ears could withstand hours and hours of yelling, loud music, often unintelligible, and crowds of eager young things pushing and prodding, not to mention smoking, and boozing all around me.

Sigh, maybe I'll wait for Pavarotti, and hope he makes some sort of last minute, last return to do a concert in London. Sigh, come on Luciano, you're not Elvis, but then,who cares?

Eleven: Do more painting/ drawing

I am not artistic.

This was drummed into me at an early age.

Whenever I did attempt something, my 'all or nothing ' personality made me want to produce perfect pictures, and when I couldn't, I gave up. But then I give up easily, maybe far too easily. Hence the three marriages.

Like everything else in my life, e.g. having an ED when no one was talking about 'that' and taking prozac when it was newly discovered, my type of drawings will probably be more acceptable now than they were when I did them.

I consider myself unable to draw a straight line, but hey, what is a straight line nowadays? There are so many variations on straight, that even straight looks crooked.

When I draw little funny figures on the board at school, my five year olds always giggle or ask me 'what's that supposed to be?'. Enough said.
However, in my 39 years of teaching, I have used this to my advantage by saying 'you know I can't draw very well, but you try, I bet you are much better than me'. That turns even the most hesitant child into a Picasso before my very eyes. The other ploy I use is,' not everyone is good at everything, but we all keep trying'. Sickly sweet, I know, but it works every time.

Picasso, now you know why he is my idol. it's the pure wierdness of his art, the nakedness, the honesty, the clarity and starkness of it all that amazes me. When I look at his work, it makes me want to pick up a brush and go where he's just been.

The other person's art that blows me away is Steven's. Mind you he blows me away with all his talents. His art always has an element of sadness and reflection about it. Even when he's drawing a birthday card which he does for the whole family (one of the most important presents I receive), there is still this phantom of futility about it, coloured with a haze of cynicism. Tugs at my maternal heartstrings, even while giving me immense pleasure.

It is him who I have to thank for my 'art'.

Four years ago I was recovering from a slipped disc operation, followed 9 weeks later by a left shoulder operation and was in a very low state, both physically and mentally. I was walking that 'tightrope' of life. Could I stay on or would I fall off, or should I just jump?

After giving me lots of ideas and trying to urge me to take an interest in something, anything, Steve said to me one day 'What about painting? I'll bring my easel and paints round and set it all up for you, and when you feel like it you can have a go'.

Which he did and which I did. And like everything in my life, including this blog, when I get my claws into something the whole obsessive 'all or nothing' takes over and it's like one massive glorious binge. I started very slowly working through the pain and eventually not a day went by without me painting something, even if I just copied stuff. (I still believe I am better at copying than original stuff....although the previous little drawing was my very own- see 'fight the bulge')

Mind you, had it not been for Steve and Mark's continual praise and encouragement, I don't suppose I would have persevered, as I am my own worst critic and if I get it into my thick skull that something's not worthwhile, then it takes a lot to re-convince me that it is.

As you know with your own lives, we always grow from pain and sorrow and I think that's even more true with art. You have to have sunk into some sort of black hole in order to dig really deep within yourself to find something original to say/draw/sing about.

And, conversely, when life's going swingingly well again, this angst gets put aside till the next time. Likewise with my art and drawings. I haven't done anything for years, back at work and devoting no time to myself and to my pleasures anymore.

Enough. This is my year. The time is right. Art here I come. Thanks Steve.

this is my time

time for me

time to just be

what about thee?