Waking up this morning and remembering that it was only a Friday and not in fact a Saturday and, best of all, a public holiday so no school, was like winning something. Waking up and remembering this was real, I lay back and played it all over again before I took the horse out into the hills.
The rain is nowhere near. What did Damian say? Mid October? Nada. Presently, the stars are spread like jam across ink black nights, fat, petulant, pretty and red from the dust. I drank far too many whiskies on Tuesday night with one of my bestests, swopping tales of hosses and the big plains of Mongolia. We look to the stars, saying nothing, listening to the dogs barking far away. And silently wish for rain at the same time.The aloes burn bright, a splash of hot yellow in the dry. Soon the sun birds will arrive. The acacia have sprouted bright new green leave in anticipation of the rain. There is a vague coolness to the mornings, which quickly burns away, like tissue in flames, along with the blue of the sky, leaving it a milky, white blind eye stretched, uninterrupted, from horizon to horizon.
Francesca is here from Milano with new designs for Maasai Women’s Art. She is an incredibly talented jewelry designer from Italy who comes out every year with new designs for the project. She gives her time freely to teach the women.http://www.tanzaniamaasaiwomenart.com/downloads/NewsletterNov2011.pdf MWA is a fantastic NGO which supports Maasai women living in West Meru. See the site here http://www.tanzaniamaasaiwomenart.com/. They're using the coolness of the veranda for today before they move to their real location next week. Last born sat with her and Ellen learning the fine art of beading.
"Beading takes patience and dedication." Francesca Soldini.
What manner of sparkling treasure they weave outside my window.
I wander out to smoke and watch them. It seems Ellen has magnet magic, the way those tiny beads shoot onto her hair thin wire.
It was a day to finally start the painting on the blank canvas. This has morphed into a collage of my dear friend Carlos, the Spanish horse whisperer from Kilimanjaro. These portraits were taken as he was telling me a story about how Ronaldo pulled up all his beautiful sunflowers because “they drink too much water” and then as if that wasn’t bad enough, pulled up his beloved spring onions. You don’t do that to Spanish vaqueros. No. The work is not finished, yet. But I already love it. See his horses beaded up here.. http://www.ecotourism-africa.com/arabian_horses_tanzania.html
Music tinkles out the wide open windows to summer where the women bead; Mama Paka, the cat, snoozes on the old landrover chair; the dogs lie on the cool floor of the veranda periodically snapping at flies and passing bees; I wish my life was like this every single day, the slow, full of music birth of soft, twinkling, beautiful ideas...
Today I’m not wishing anything away. Not even the heat.
Kitchen Board: Holiday Friday: Hot With Certain Late Sweet Moon October 2012
toodely toot, y'all. bisous. X.X.X. twinkly beaded ones 'round your neck x j