Troubles in the "House"

I could easily have titled this "free ticket to trouble” but out of respect for certain members, I will refrain from doing just that.

My parents have never been people to sit and plot trouble at the expense of others. Well, that is what they would like to think... but we know better.

I guess blackmailing their grownup children has nothing to do with having the time to tell us how they are getting old and close to the day that their bodies will be carried off to the Long Tees. Imagine that! Where did they get that from, we ask? The picture popping into my mind strangely resembles a lively Tuscan villa complete with a plaza, burning candles and shady corners with lots and lots of long trees. I guess the similarity lies in the peaceful picture both images create...

If not for the trees, they are in the midst of a full-blown raging war against the “oh so godless, turkey & filthy” pig farming boozing, apparently bigamist neighbor who himself does seem to live an odd existence. Lucky for them he now decided to go in search of another neighborhood. I expect the hedge between him and my parents will soon be undergoing some sort of exorcism and the spraying of some kind of cleansing, Holy Water.

Over the past couple of weeks, months actually our parents started up a feud with their church. That's right, against their very own herd of sheep, or congregation. The minister apparently did not notify church members that they were going to build a “mothers-room” at exactly the same spot where my parents sit every Sunday... According to my parents the church is an old monument, but I wonder if their plight had more than one edge to it? Have you ever tried shooing a blathering rebellious lamb into a camp? would not even try that, without getting away all bruised and pitiful.

When I phoned them last night, I believed they were held at gunpoint - mom whispered into the phone and finally I realized the deacons had come to them, trying to talk out matters. The next morning the minister followed in their shoes and before my father could pull out yet another long list of grievances; it was decided to call it a day.

The minister admitted that he would have resigned anyway, but as an answer to his prayers was called up by another congregation. There was one thing he and my parents agreed on however: more than mere love, belief or hope will be needed for this small-town church.

I will happily suggest that three long trees be planted at the front gate of this impressive old church: in memory of a rather young & daft minister and two well-rooted residents who never failed to keep their children, neighbours and an old fashioned church on their toes and knees...

Does all parents have this ability to install in their children feelings of inferiority, amusement, incapability of living independently, being ashamed of them sometimes, angry at their ways, frustrated with their stubborn thinking and proud altogether for who they are and what they believe in...

I wonder if we will ever manage to walk in and follow their legacy? I can only guess the answer will be found one day following the little path that leads to their restful long trees...

This Life

Bare feet treading on shiny, frosted glass
- Green and hard just like chalk and
Heading over square patches and land
But soft to the touch of lime-stones
- comes the call of the buzzard and the red-kite
sharp and distinct the echoes of their flight
traveling far and high in the light;
- a duet reaches deep blue agate & granite...

Scattered purple petals falling free
- into the Great River and Ravine
Trickling into the constant rhythm of life,
- Who will hear the murmur of little streams?
Wings beating against the constant rush of air
the shadow touching distant blue hills
- swerving ever higher into the air...

Small lives, big lives
Who is such as an oyster who lives
- below the cave and above the sea-current?
Caught between Oronsey and Galtrigal
a life of tides and spring
Will it be watched over by Maidens of the isles
- Alone or gathered up in the arms of kelp?

Not far from the Talisker's Watch
- A rock alive in the waves
The human mind begins to grip the simple truth
- Of Understanding
Fragments of what we are meant to see
- visited by the truth, but frequently unseen
And we remember once again, to let go of some
- hold on to some
And forget why and which way
we were inclined to go...

In This Life.

Thoughts of White

On a misty, dark rainy day,
I sat down and started painting
on a paper blank and white as snow
And there, in middle May
the scene became alive with summer seas
shaping land of rivers and pontoons
and something strange happened then...

We took a walk and stopped by the marshlands
with the burning-red match-stick poplar
Rooted in a vast and barren landscape,
touching white winter grass,
its dark brown bark defrosted
from the harsh winter sun...

Equally familiar were islands of Dragon kings
Ghosts from the books of fairy folk mystery
Resting beneath crystal blue-bells
And the ghostly white garments of hawthorns,
embraced by wild willowy mulberry vines
Colors flirting amongst autumn leafs
on a canvas spookily white and alive

Blue, green and bold fluorescent stripes
Of mountains, crayon white clouds and;
Acrylic flaming skies and who am I
Merely a painter of words and worlds
That does not seem to meet, but
for the thin white line seperating them?

And am I to know it, see it all?”
all these colours in my vision and veins
and to know such things as that;
Without grasping or deeply knowing
why I am so strangely alive.
-

Silly Poem

Dogs & Roses

My cat is in love with me...
I’m in love with a bee that's in love with a fermented cherry
William Wallace the Warrior Fly refused to die tonight
Sticky sweet silly stuff...
What would Einstein say of that?

The dog’s nose sniffed the Port,
Waffling excitedly, cross-eyed breed
Brian Ferry singing of French love,
OBS and a jeera-roasted bird
A very jolly trio of winter blues...

Colourful display of paper blankets
Never seen the cat play piano too
And oh, singing and purring nearly snoring…
So loudly it woke the ugly merry herring
And Mulberry fermented cheese with rocket…
Who would have believed that was it...

Eisbein?

Not a Muffin Girl, BUT...Recipe!

I’m NOT a muffin girl, but this one is great:

2 cups self-raising flower
2 eggs
Fresh or dried herbs, such as chopped rosemary or basil
+- 1 cup of shredded spinach or leeks
Half a packet of brown onion soup or other...
3 cups of grated cheese
Milk
Half or whole 250ml tub cream (double or single is optional regardless the consequences)
Salt & Pepper

Gently mix all together to form a sloppy mixture (keep the focus on food)
Scoop mixture into muffin baking tray, smeared with butter so it doesn't stick.

Keep in oven +-30 minutes or less; test with fork checkin if doughy; no tasting yet!!
That's still a surprise in the waiting...

Take out of oven (switch off oven) and taste: should be moist and licky delicious.

Optional:
Before I put it in oven at 180 centre grade, I sprinkle more cheese and sesame seeds over it.
Diced tit-bits of Bacon go really well
Half finely chopped red or white onion
One tablespoon Pesto
Two blobs of Cream cheese of any flavor

Enjoy!

Friends from afar

I made an email friend at work; someone who could be virtually ANYONE.

Between Steinhagen and South Africa, we share some friendly banter, sometimes somewhate confusing and on other days a bit more fired up. Which now makes me contemplate all those battle-lines that took place between my great-great GREAT grandfathers and some Nazi hugging rioting frying friends under the African sun...

Let's not dwell on the heroic and sad past of some...Those are days bygone, and boy are we glad they have gone by!

Mr W, is the reserved type. So typical of most Germans. I gather he is fitness-mad like all other Germans, already going bald (guess work) and a grandfather of 10 little Nazis...u-rm...little German angels.

The only facts I have about Mr. W is that he once served in the army near New Castle, near York,near Scotland...

I'll share a line or two with you today, ringing like this:

ME: ARe you saying I'm a hell fire??? (gnawing my desk at work)
MR W: Yes, and... I AM A HELL FIRE!!!! (off on a rant, no stopping)


ME: Did you see the email about the boys getting baptised? (cute)
MR W: And there are more ways getting BAPISSED, such as with wine... (crude idiot)


That's correspondence with Germans for you. A great way of improving vocal-bollie-reasoning... I wonder if another Nationality could improve on that?

Chau-chau

Sabatical

Today I learned about something in my life.

I have been sharing my life with a ghost of some sorts. Impossible to give this thing a name, I have named it Ghost. I never realized until now, at the ripe age of thirty two just how the existence of this nameless ghost has crippled me and the pattern of my life. Over the past months, maybe years even it has become a real menace. It constantly follows me. It hovers and peeps over my shoulder. Dictates what I should and should not do. Make me feel unworthy and helpless and worst of all it, I feel imprisoned with it in a very lonely thoroughly sealed vacuum.

I’ve had it with Ghost’s constant nagging and tugging at my sleeves and yapping at me heels. I don’t want its frittering presence in my life anymore. No more breaking and entering into my life, hopes, emotions, and sleep when I turn and toss in restless dream-dilapidated limbo.

Ghost was officially retrenched today. It was “fired” and will be going on permanent vacation, leave or whatever suits it best.

I am also going on something... called a Sabitical of the Emotion & Intellect. Going to pull myself together and get priorities sorted. I am going to try and live my life as it was originally intended to be. Follow my destiny.

No more Ghost to blame – at least the weight of that piece of old baggage is gone now. If not hearing from me too often, my friends won't feel insulted - they surely will understand.

I am going to turn this hermit life into something with a wee bit more flair, color and tranquility.

And Bugger Any Adversities…

Roundabouts

Entering a Roundabout yesterday, the following happened:

A Volkswagen appeared suddenly to my left. The VW and its driver nearly nose bumped my elegant little VW. The outraged driver stuck his dark face out of the window, swinging his fists in the air and shouted with uncontrolled anger:

“HEY-YYY!!!!!!!!!!! You must wait there!!!”

I was so surprised that I simply drove on. The place where I intended to park was nearby and as I got out of my car I was ready to irk this idiot back into his car with the full truth of how roundabouts actually are supposed to work. But the bulldozing VW had disappeared.

I would like to know since when does traffic to the RIGHT give way to traffic from the LEFT? Why does traffic from the LEFT these days seem to have the right to shout abuse at oncoming traffic from the RIGHT? The results are often very confusing with the right driver left in a dumb stupor for being told-off about something they correctly deemed the right thing to do. Left in the dark about their legal road rights, that is to enter the roundabout first, they end up doubting whether they may have been left in the dark re. Some new legislation to the left, or if they perhaps might not have been in the right lane. The driver with the right of way may even then consider the fact that they may not be in the right frame of mind to even drive a car, or any other vehicle. Or wondering if they received the right driver’s license and not the one that Sipho with only one right eye left, have failed and then left at the traffic department after some bribing took place, which in turn has been left in Mr. Wright’s post box.

My opinion is that left-hand-swinging morons have some condition linked with schizophrenia when they enter circles, pushing their butts right in where they ought not to. I think that circle-dimwits charging from the LEFT should RIGHTLY be banned from our roads and roundabouts - just stay home.

Duh.

The Rites and Rules of Passing Places

The Rites and Rules of Passing Places
I once lived for about 6-weeks in a village named Corran. One of two villages, the other named Camusbane; it gives the area the name of Arnisdale. Situated amongst the mountains of Glenelg, it is the very last village one can reach by car. There-after you have the option to be air-lifted, shipped or walk further in or out, depending in which stage or state you are.

Corran is a tiny place with a Tea Hut, old Herring sheds – here some filthy over-the-wall hikers sleep, refresh their starved inners and make use of the only toilet available for miles. There is cluster of seven or eight cottages on the banks of loch Hourn. The Gaelic meaning of this beautiful loch indicates that it was named “The Loch of Hell” or “Loch Iuthairne” as some folks has been caught off-guard by its stormy winds and foul conditions.

A few meters towards the outskirts you will notice a sink cottage with a kayak next to it. Here lives a man alone with his dog and I was quite shockingly caught off-guard by the man’s unusual beautiful blue eyes as well as those of his dog with its wolfish-yellow eyes (Note, not the man although I was given the all-over curious glance that could make a woman blush from head to toe).

I remember the magical pebble beaches very well and find it hard to describe the clear water with long waving sea-grass and small creatures underneath – looking into it made one feel dizzy with a kind of upside down world feeling. The edges around the loch are overgrown with vegetation such as bog, ferns and wild rambling roses. I even stumbled upon a small tent once with a young couple sitting huddled and probably nearly frostbitten by a camp-fire – and accepted their invite to enjoy a beer with them before stomping off into some general directions afterwards…

Sometimes on my evening walks along the road, I would notice a young woman on the beach of Camusbane. She had a long blond plait resting heavily between two strong shoulder-blades and reminded me of a resilient kind of Viking woman. She'd be sitting and stoking a big fire on the beach, all alone by herself - I wonder what went through her mind?

One sunny early evening I took yet another familiar walk – on the single-track road leading away from Arnisdale. The view is nearly always something of hills, mountains, a few people around, sheep, ancient graveyards and the majestic Black Cullins waving from across on the neighboring Isle of Skye. I stopped dead in my tracks then as I looked twice: On those single track roads one more often than not will see road signs reading "Passing Place" - you are supposed to give way to other motorists or the cheeky Blackface sheep, not vice versa. It works so in their minds… Well, right there in my face stood yet another road sign, reading like this “Pissing Place". Some idiot had gone and painted over the "a" an "i". How many people do you think make this their "Stopping Place"?

Mentioning this to a friend later on, I was then told about a place in Austria with the name of “Fucking”. Apparently it is the most stolen road sign in the world – doesn’t surprise me!

I was also told that in Belgium, they have what is called 'the anal triangle'. Three towns called Kontich, Reet and Aartselaar. (freely translated: Bum, Ass and Anal-town). Gays apparently get mixed up when they come in the center of the triangle, where there's road signs indicating the way to all 3 places.

So apart from “Pissing Place”, “Fucking” and “The Anal Triangle” I guess the way can only get steeper, skiddier and perhaps I’ll not venture much further into these crooks and crannies today. Another time…

A Chef or a Maid?

And then you get the odd brainless bananas who opt for neither. Tsk...

As for me:

I'd like twelve maids, one for each room, thank you.

AND marry a chef:
- To feed the cats
- Handle sharp knives
- Add a spicy salza with a splash of tango to my life
- Lay my table with exquisite treasures!

Outrageous! Is it possible that someone out there happened to think I'd be saying this:
"...and lay me on the table."
OR
"Get laid on..."

Makes one wonder just who's out there...or is that just me and that Wicket-ly and Wicked-ly Rickety thoughts that drift in and out unconsciously...?