Monday, December 7, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
toodely ole toot y'all. bisous. fresh rainy new ones X.X.X. x j
Monday, November 9, 2009
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
Friday, November 6, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
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
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
armies of skeletons ridin' black hosses 'cross the plains.
i had to go to a funeral today. to gisella's funeral. she was legendary. she left war torn germany when she was 16. she met and married her first husband, a dashing handsome mauritian who immediately whisked her out to a wild and wooly lake rukwa in tanganyika where he hunted crocodiles for their skins. she told me once that he would spend all the money on fast sports cars then crash them en route to dar es salaam. she had three husbands and five children and thought nothing of letting children eat more chocolate than you can shake a stick at BEFORE lunch. i am not very good at funerals. i don't like them and they always make me feel sad. this time i was fine, until i went to throw roses into her grave and i saw her childrens broken faces. . . it's horrible saying good bye to your mother. horrible.
i can't remember his name. but there is a lovely man who lives down in the valley below. he has lived in london and new york and run restaurants in the capital of israel and probably in the capital of france too. his grandfather fought the nazis (for the russians) and was in a POW camp, (probably auschwitz) and drank vodka everyday. after the ordeal, of course. he recounted these tales over a few espressos at my favourite coffee shop in town, misumbi coffee shop (best coffee served on the planet, by the way) five cigarettes later he said he couldn't understand how anyone here could say they were stressed. or that they were busy. he says we don't know the meaning of stress. for him apparently it's like being on holiday all the time. he is in The Security Business. And Israeli. i'm just sayin'.
he paid for my espressos. which i thought terribly kind.
Kitchen Board: windy friday night: late september longing for rain 09.
there is something that i will never ever be able to do gracefully.
carve a roast chicken. i fervently maul 'em.
just thought i'd share that with y'all.
toodely pippety ole toot, oh bestests, bis X.X.X. sad lingering ones x j
SPACE CARVING CHICKENS AND BEING A DJ
Friday, September 11, 2009
it was a relief when the propellers starting spinning that the invalid thingymajig blinked off and other little obviously relevant signs flashed up.
and there we are. slap bang on top of the mountain. brave, little and flyin' high....
Sunday, September 6, 2009
see ya 'round like rissoles.
toodely ole toot, y'all. bisous X.X.X. luscious red lipped ones, x. j
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
(a pam ghurs carr painting)
life in the wee pink house has become regimented. shockingly regimented. yes. that's it. i think i am in shock.
school has started.
i now wake up at the ungodly hour of six thirty. and then sort of shock myself into a levitated position, about a meter above my bed, before i stumble out the net, mumbling all sorts of curses. narrowly missing stomping my toe against the stairs. and throw on pin stripes and pearls. with my takkies. as my brain audiably chugs into life, throwing out a million things to remember at once. along with a pretty tendril of smoke from an ear or two.
not good. not good.
i have been neglecting my daily little gratitude ritual. which goes like this:
open eyes to a soft dove grey light. a blurry light. i am awake. i think. yes. i am. i lie still, not moving a muscle. a lash. sometimes i curl over to my right and find my little silk piece of silver satin, smooth as water (called a lala. don't ask.) which i rub against my cheek. i throw a hand over the edge of the bed and blindly feel for my phone, knocking yesterdays earrings into the cracks of the floor and try and focus on the time. this can take a while. reading the time.
after messily staggering off the bed i fall through the mosquito net. i stare out of the window, look longingly at the mountains and southwards over the maasai steppes. i pointedly ignore the factory, appreciate the skies and the tiny deep red desert rose below my window. in a wee while i start remembering all the things for which i am deeply thankful. the list grows as i go along. and grows. uncurling itself like a sun warmed snake. so by the time i carefully and lightly wind my way down the spiral stair case, i feel well, like an incredibly lucky, lucky, lucky little fish.
this is a good feeling. and i want it back.
something is up in Bloggy World tonight. the font is cunningly and ever so slightly not the same. i don't seem to be able to see the posted picture. it appears as lines of secret printed codes. bold and italics are being tricky little upstarts and refuse to do what they are asked to do.
it's all a little odd. do you think wordpress has sent little gobbling aliens?
in which case, i shan't be posting the kitchen board.
so you won't know, oh bestest beloveds, that we need:
de worming dawa for the dogs
to fix the bearcroft gate post
to mend the fence on the upper paddock
to mend the gate to the schooling arena.
and other such rivotting things.
i hope the handsome blogger fix it man has his spanners out and is wearing a crisp navy blue overall rounded off with squeaky clean gumboots. and a shiny silver space age gun to detonate any wordpress invaders. i sure hope it's him doing some maintenance to our sparkly spinning blogging planet and its not our tanzanian network - which i am now convinced consists of an intricate web of fish line and tins. . .
this could get complicated.
even for an ever so lucky fish like me.
toodely ole toot, y'all...bisous X.X.X. fishy ones. on ya nose. x j
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
"...to have one's cake and eat it too or simply have one's cake and eat it (sometimes eat one's cake and have it too) is the instance of an individual consuming, exhausting, taking advantage of or using up a particular thing and, then, after that thing is gone or no longer reasonably available, still attempting to benefit from or use it. It may also indicate having or wanting more than one can handle or deserve, or trying to have two incompatible things. It is a popular English idiomatic proverb or figure of speech and is most often used negatively. The proverb's meaning is similar to the phrases, "you can't have it both ways" and "you can't have the best of both worlds."..." wikipedia
golly. what a conundrum, eh? i can tell you that niamh happily had and ate all her cake. jake didn't get anything. not even a crumb.
these days i have a nagging sunday evening going back to boarding school feeling. only a few more days of lush free time before it's back to the chalk board. white board whatever. honestly. i love what i do. but oh the gruelling routine. the tired mornings. getting everyone out the door. strategic military planning. being the cheerleader. rauss rauss. the rigours of the clock...ticking. can't be late...why not, i say? wtf not?
the kind of life we've been leading has been more on the dreamy side...wake up whenever, pancakes and wild honey for breakers over lazy cups of coffee, a late mid morning ride, idle shopping, nattering with buddies at msumbi coffee shop, wild and woolie safaris to where the wild things are, time to simply stare out the window.
be warned: i hate these sort of rebukes to any of my laments:
well. everybody has to work. hmmm. nope. not true. there are a few filthy rich bastards out there who have never had to lift a finger. who don't know the meaning of work. i'm not saying it's a good thing. but WHO said it?
well. you can't have your cake and eat it too, you know. again. who says?
everything has a price. there are lots of fish in the sea. maybe. but who wants an eel which bites? tell me. who? let's be particular, shall we?
you can't always get what you want.
bollox, i say. utter bollox.
it's yours for the taking, said george's dad as he rode out to slay the dragon.
i reckon you can have your cake and eat all of it. and the cherry on top along with the perfectly iced complicatedly clad christmas fairy on the top of the tree. snap that little sugar sparklin' halo off. yum.
i always eat the trimmings - the little perfectly carved radishes, the tomatoes carved into flowers, carrots like chinese fans, the little forests of parsely clinging to snowy mountains of mashed potatoes, the zenned out spring onions, the zig zag drizzle of chocolate sauce prettily decorating the edge, chocolate leaves, cherries.
one has to be careful these days, though. some restaurants use Plastic decorations. is this only a tanzanian thing or does this happen anywhere else in the world? i bet it happens in china. i bet you.
which reminds me there is a chocolate cake in the kitchen waiting to be eaten. i shall fight the children fiercely for it until it's entirely mine. and i shall eat it. all. eventually.
i once saw a vast sun yellow canvas slashed with red and violet, with a sort of red riding hood wolf theme....and written underneath in black wobbly writing was:
" i'm not your mother. i'm the big bad wolf."
Kitchen Board: Thursday Night: End of August and All Things Unhampered by Time.
watch this board fill up once school starts. watch this space.
oh i am sad the holidays are finished.
so toodely toot, y'all, bisous X.X.X. wistful polaroidy ones x j
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
i think i did the stars. or maybe not.
toodely old toot y'all..bisous X.X.X. dark chocolate an' cherry ones... x j