falling stars.

so there he was. standing there with a blank face and an armful of stars.

a pile of them lay at his feet.

what the hell, i must have muttered.

we stared at each other and before either of us could take a breath, he dropped them.

little crashing bells and splinters of glass and ice. slow motion like in the movies.

so i straightened him up and left him, blank faced and silent, hands in his pockets (if he'd had any) staring down at the pile of fallen stars around his feet.

you see, i was going to do it the other way around. ya know, standing there, bending down to collect an armful of the sparkly maasai stars for you. until first born walked in and poked his nose into this odd little creative endeavour.

he said, ag no ma. it should go the other way. it's better.

i think he's right. yeah.

toodely toot y'all...bises X.X.X. oh. sparkly starry ones. x j

manda channel situation

(last born boogy boarding, pangani. 2009)

presently, i feel like the time when i thought it was a good idea to body surf across the manda channel, (between lamu and manda islands)...towed by a dhow. i desperately clung onto a rope, stoically rubbing up the finest finger blisters that side of the equator, as the dhow caught the thrifty kazi kazi winds winging their way down from mogadishu. the time when i nearly drowned. and if i hadn't drowned (or hadn't had drowned) i would've surely been sucked out to sea by the nasty undercurrents of that particular channel if i hadn't had water pedalled so furiously. so bloody magnificently. i tell you.

the fear of being sucked out to sea is an old one. it's a dreamed one. a real one.

i am away now. for a month. arusha - zanzibar - dar es salaam - lusaka - joberg - durban - joberg - lusaka - dar - pangani - arusha.

the chances of things going wrong are enormous.

the chances of things going right are slim.

my bets are on the latter. risky but damned fine.

isn't it miraculous when your luggage arrives the other end?

i think so.

a wood man in africa: 6th december 2009:

here he is, the little wooden man. so jaunty like, on top of my piano.

nothing chistmassy about him. he has no idea.

i might try to blog somewhere along the line.

here i go, inshallah, zig zagging 'cross east and south of the continent.

so, toodely y'all. toodely (bravely waving a hankey in the wind)

bises X.X.X. torn, stormy ones x j

the bad thing and the wooden man

it's raining cats and dogs on the hill tonight.

and i'm thinking all good things come to an end.

about everything. (except about school)

ya know that feeling when you're having too much fun, when you're too happy, when the world tremors ever so slightly with light? when you hold your heart on a string like a balloon, taught straight strings and your head is thrown back, hair wild across your face, sun on your back and you're just skipping? skipping. doolally and foolish like.

but in the back of your mind, your mind of scribbles and stick men, you simply know that The Bad Thing is waiting just around the corner to push you back to where you belong.

"you git back there, you."

slap slap.

"wha-? me? oh. it's you again."

"this is Life, donchaknowit? it ain't all Fun, Loser."

whack on the back of your head.

ow.

"what on earth were you thinking, Fool."

i hate that.

and don't tell me it isn't true because it is. that's what a client said many moons ago when he pooed in his pants on a walking safari and we were trying to commiserate with him. well. safari c was. stoically poker faced. heroic in fact. i was stuffing tea towels into my mouth behind the camp bar, trying to act normal.

he sadly said to us, (after he'd cleaned up of course - as the camp froze, poised on the edge of uncontrollable mirth) he sadly said, "and don't tell me this happens to everyone. because it doesn't. it isn't true. "

i mean what do you say?

"oh ken. i'm devastated you pooed in your pants on a walking safari for no apparent reason. and even worse - oh god i'm sorry - in front of your petulant teenage daughter who already hates you and is dying of embarrassment just by your being alive...i've never seen anything like it EVER before. so sorry. why. don't. you. just. die."

??

no. of course not.

you say," gosh ken. don't worry. it happens to everyone."

mbwahahaha.

but lucky old lucky me, recently i've been keeping The Bad Thing in check. i've been sitting on the edge looking in. being terribly careful of not having too much fun. of not believing too much in anything. of delighting in irrelevancy. i've been standing next to The Bad Thing. so he can't surprise me.

man. i've been holding his hand. sometimes.

i hate that.

but i love it that i can see beautiful things in intense simplicity. in terrible things. i love it that we can if we want to. slyly. when The Bad Thing isn't looking. i love it that we can choose to see things the way we want to. no matter how delusional. (you can always grab hold of The Hand) i love it that i rode past a choir yesterday, under a single tree out on the plains - singing a song i didn't understand. its angelic strains floating on mischievous little rain winds. and how my horse was scared of the skinny cow rustling amongst the dead dry maize stalks. . .

i wish it wasn't there, the Bad Thing, but then perhaps the rain wouldn't smell so sweet.

i have a new toy, oh bestests. which will start to be a regular feature. i am not sure what to call it/him/her. right now, the only thing which springs to mind is Wooden Man.( lashings of apologies to the sisterhood. yes. he does have breasts) another name which leapt ever so easily to mind was, she perhaps mistakenly confesses, is Man. he has travelled all the way from the fairest cape for this assignment. a one way ticket. so instead of the old kitchen board, y'll all be seein' him. hell. maybe somtimes in front of the kitchen board. but as i was sayin' , all good things must come to an end. i give you wooden man. be kind.

these things take time. i might even sew him a little hat in time.

wooden man: tuesday night - rainy - ngorobob hill. sometime in november.

oh and the bad thing is that i don't think he can sit because of the large steel rod up his bottom.. this is rather unfortunate because it means i can't bend him into the Thinking Man position. sigh sigh. oh well.

toodely ole toot y'all. bisous. fresh rainy new ones X.X.X. x j

bonfire night

it rained last night. and rained. gently on the peeling green tin roof. it swept in and out like waves. i lay in the dark listening and thinking. thinking i could hear the grass growing. i slept. i woke. i slept. i woke. and then i was just awake for what seemed like hours. until the grey light crept like a cat through the windows. monday arrived. ever so pearly and grey. ever so slyly.

i've hit the ground running, it seems. at least i'm running and my legs haven't buckled. yet. my mother always told me "the more you do the more you can do." yes. she was right. but my god it's tiring. sometimes. sometimes i want to pull the blinds on the world. to shut it out. to hear silence, white and muffled. and only open the blinds when i am fully re charged. i have no idea how long that would take.

on saturday afternoon i found myself lying on the floor of the office, not thinking anything in particular, but just how cool the floor was. feeling how my spine knuckled itself against the cool concrete. i lay star shaped. until clingy beetle marched in, all medusa like, her rats tails and serpents alive and curling from her beautiful head, and started looking at me askew. and asked if she could look at one of my diaries. she seems to like flicking through the pages finding old receipts and cards but most of all, my funny drawings and curly letters. she stares at them for hours. asking questions. but mostly just staring.

what wires are being crossed, i muse.

i am trying not to be scared about the enormity of nothingness. i am trying not to be scared about x, a young girl in my class. who apparently wants to pull the plug. she is only 14. and so beautiful. but wants to be free from her gold skin. her shiny eyes. her brilliant poetic wit. her smile that would stop more than a thousand ships. hell. helen would be sulking, i tell her, holding her hand.

i saw her at bonfire night, all aglow, all summer evening breezy, all young. we watched the fireworks blaze across the hot november night, with a storm flickering far far away across the steppes. i ooed and ahhed and felt unimaginably happy. until i had a blazing row with first and second born, who promptly stormed off to the car, me storming behind them, with Thing 1 and Thing 2 and Clingy Beetle all silent and wide eyed, sort of stumbling behind. as the last car door slammed shut, Thing 2 erupted into psychotic screaming, volume 15.5. someone had slammed his fingers in the door. by the time we got home, he was fine but first born, second born and i were all in tears. gotta love those nights. the fireworks were unforgettably dazzling and never ended.

i want to know what the eyes of the girl holding the orange lolly pop are telling me. in her twee faux leather orange coat, waiting for the fireworks. . .





Kitchen Board: Monday Night: 09 november 09

it's a round piece of wire to hold the mosquito net in a perfect round circle. in case y'all were wonderin' . . .

toodely old toot, y'all. bisous X.X.X. faintly fragranced with summer orange and fireworks x j

boston legal and the brady bunch

ok. this has to be quick, people. like thirty minutes quick. this is what things have come to. short little spurts of dedication. no matter how hard i try and not to become a slave to the clock, it ain't working..... the thing is, in thirty minutes all children must be cosily ensconced in bed. i Am The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe ( pink) Who Had So Many Children She Didn't Know What To Do. Thing One and Thing Two have come to stay for 5 nights. their father left for cape town, to join their mother. his parting shot was, oh, and i think they have lice. toodely.

well. the old woman does actually know what to do with The Brady Bunch. spank them and send them to bed. after beans and rice, because she isn't as mean as the other one. with immediate effect. so she can watch more boston legal, to which she has become unromantically addicted. after a quick blogging fix.

even though the old woman from the hill finally made it to the Saloon ( hair salon in tanzania), she has nothing better to do than watch boston legal. without prompting, beloved T, our stalwart worker of great hair art a la educating rita style, said, "so? do i need to check you for lice?" straight out. just like that. how does she know?

Oh. My. God.

purple faced, i assented. i mean. wtf? and sat squirming for a good three minutes as she performed an entirely thorough and professional sherlockian search.... and thank baby jesus and his good family, i was given a clean slate. work began.

i am back on the hill, in the very pink house (it has recently had a fresh very pink lick of paint) feeling ever so jennifer arniston like, straight locks banging about the place, with RED nails (very short, very red nails. my excuse was i needed to stop biting them. who nervously nibbles on red enamel nails? if truth be told, as we like it to be, i was inspired by ali, whose short very red nails caught my bored wandering eye a few weeks ago. she told me she needed to stop biting them. i have never used scissors or files so a reasonable conclusion must be that i shape them with my teeth. today my nibbled working hands were Filed (would you like them curved or straight? curved please filed) and Painted.) my toes are deep purple too. just in case you were wonderin'. i daren't don my north stars. yet. in case it crinkles them. or shower. yet. in case the hair turns back to this:

as i floated out, lice free and terrifically straight haired, from the saloon, i passed someone who was sketchily familiar, who said, jeez, where are you off to?

um. home, actually. to watch boston legal, you?

Kitchen Board: a hot november windless ngorobob night. 2009.

gram flour? haven't a clue. let's see what pitches up on monday morning Campaign shopping . could prove inspirational.

last interrupted and vaguely decodable message from safari craig, who is presently somewhere in the northern serengeti mara river region, TANZANIA, was this: client: aw gaad. south africa is BEEWDAFOOL!~

. . . .

stunning. just stunning.

so toodely, ya lovelies, bisous X. X, X. ridiculously red, straight ones. x j

and ps: i promise you that the chilren's pained and saddened expressions in featured pic, is NOT because i am wildly psychotic and a completely careless and rubbish child carer, but because 2 on left hand side of pic were wrenched from some random mind numbing computer game, 1 on very RHS of pic was cruelly snatched from a play station world cup game of soccer and as for the 2 in the middle, clueless. absolutely have no idea. (well. one is blurred so no one could ever tell anyway.)

circumnavigation . . .

ta raa.

i'm still here, oh bestest blogging babies. all three of you. is there anyone out there anymore? it's been a while.

it's just that presently things are, well, a little overwhelming. ever so slightly.

i've been north, where the wild things are. where the skies are bigger than anything you can possibly imagine. where the winds scream and tear at your tent. where you sleepily watch the strange stars slide behind the etched silhouettes of gnarly campiphora trees, circumnavigating the sky.

i've been to a circus and eaten popcorn and sodas. i watched, open mouthed, the contortionist who can climb (so help me god) eloquently through a child sized racquet sans strings. and then met him in real life. freak.

i've been ridin'. not the kind i usually partake in, tearing uncontrollably 'cross the plains, skimming over aardvark holes. no. i've been coached by a swedish grand prix dressage champion...on my little spotted hoss. who didn't think much of the whole show, it has to be said. still. he kicks butts. of any kind.

and i've been teaching. of sorts. and am completely overwhelmed by the work load. because i've left it all to the last minute. and by the very act of blogging, am circumnavigating the pressing issues at hand. all about planning ahead. which i've never ever been very good at. completely rubbish, if truth be told. which it shall be, tommorrow morning, when i sit in ms r's office. with my wings unfolded and flyin' high...by the grace of god there go i. where angels fear to tread.

kitchen smitchen board. i don't even know where town is anymore.

so toodely ole toot y'all - bisous X.X.X. circumnavigational ones, if ya catch my drift. x j

elephants in my soup...

(lovely harmless zebra)

half term has arrived just in time...to keep those wolverine dead lines away from my door...i was so looking forward to lazy mornings in bed, lie ins, simply picking my nose and idly gazing at the view and every now and then pretending to work. but oh no. safari craig has returned from um, safari. just like that. pouf. and has plans. Plans. PLANS. so off on safari we must go. oh but MUST we? she whines. look. i'm not complaining or anything like that, you understand oh bestests. god no. but - just a little lie in? a little of not going anywhere? please?

we have recently returned from tarangire. a national park literally up the road. a couple of hours. as i've said before, things are bleak out there. dry dry dry. as general sir anthony hogmanay melchett sighed as he stared at the blank side of a map, "my god it's a dry and desolate wasteland out there..." so did i. en route to tarangire. one good thing about it being so desolate is that game viewing's a piece of old takkie. herds of buffalo, wildebeest, impala, zebra and hundreds of elephant scattered over the silale swamps like hundreds and thousands on a cake and round every blinking bend of the dwindling river. and around each corner of the path leading to your tent. and around the swimming pool. how they weren't in my soup boggles the mind. a simple walk to your tent to collect your cozzie demands extreme caution. you've got to run the goddamn gauntlet. or stay put. as t from fushandchips (http://fushandchips.blogspot.com/) so aptly wrote: "...there's NO ways I'd do that ****, unless I could drill some eye holes in a 44-gallon drum, squat down and scootle around like a ned kelly-armoured dung beetle, protected from all sides and above."

(bloody baby arrogantly hoovering up desert dates whilst blocking path to my tent. enormous mother lurking just to the right of screen in ambush for any unsuspecting wandering fool)

well. my sentiments precisely. completely sensible. unlike the two swedes who foolishly had their photographs taken standing, oh, a few metres from the mama of the above, as i peered cautiously from behind the swimming pool wall holding my breath. (while penelope cruz look a like actually ran to the other side which had me sniggering. even second born, aged ten, thought she was hot. along with every other male in the near vicinity. so shallow.)

what in gods name were those swedes thinking?? at least penelope knows fear. godsakes. someone will be unduly squashed if caution does not prevale. i tell you.

(bloody family of elephant behind kitchen in car park planning next tactical manoevre. have you ever?)

i will confess i fell asleep for perhaps half of our all day drive - mouth unashamedly agog, head lolling side to side, waking every now and then to blindly swipe at and curse "these fucking tsetse flies...", vaguely notice another elephant two inches from the car and then return happily to my head lolling snooze. god. i am itchy.

now. as if that's not enough, the said safari c is now paving the way north. like bloody dr livingstone. to tangle wood and desert drear - the north side of lake natron - which really really is another planet, i kid you not - somewhere near the kenyan border where only the odd shifta walks - where the wind screams and howls like a choir of desert banshees, tearing at your tent and the heat is unspeakably oppressive. that said, i am never one to say no to new roads. i've always taken mr frost's risky advice. and also i don't want to appear whiney and wimpy. it's just not cricket old girl. so. i haven't even unpacked and northwards we shall go the day after tommorrow....donning arabic kanzus, wet kikois and those dashing dust goggles, which again, will be a sure feature. i've already booked a pair.

so. see you 'round like rissoles, oh bestest beloveds, soon. soon.

Kitchen Board: Monday Evening: early october 09

there will be a major packing of supplies tommorrow. must must not forget the coffee or the sugar. that would be a disaster of terrifying magnitude.( terrible things might happen out there if i forget the coffee, she gasps, wide eyed.) oh. and a 44 gallon drum. just in case. pre perforated.

toodely old toot, then y'all, bisous X.X.X wild 'n dusty ones, hooah. x j