Sand Castles

My St Francis Bay

I find it the hardest

To not think about

The most visceral one for me

Past too fast

Where smells are too powerful

Strength

Because they show so much

I lived with you, skin prickling happy

The fynbos and the Kromme River

My whole life

Beach routine

That only we knew

And lonely Christmases

Normal love, prayers at sunrise

Breathing in mornings where routine feels right

Now I finally live

By the sea

With a baby and house

My own

And we sit on the rugged cold beach

No bay, not the smells of the sea, not right

And build sand castles

And where there was so much feeling

Waking up joyful

Milo in those small green plastic cups

The smooth chair

Vetkoek on the boat, choice cheese jam or mince

Endless stretches on the water

Christmas carols on the baby beach

Our rock house

Now

I feel nothing

And just want to weep

That some things

Only childhood can create.

Send in the Clowns

It was always the harlequin

Remember

The painting on the door

Makes life easier

Smile for us

Put on a show

Behind it

We may have been happy

 I made you smile

And you smiled

Because I told you

To be a clown

It wasn’t right

Be happy

Too much happiness

Short haired, too much power

A little clown you were

I made you cut your hair short

I made you wear that top

And always the shorts you

Had no voice

Having to pull faces

Did you want to?

And you had to sneak to the party

In a skirt

I made you say

That you wanted to be a clown

When you grow up

I don’t ever want to see you sad

The world’s clown

Until it was too hard to smile

Keep the show going

And always

Be the clown

Tried until

You couldn’t stand

 Showed me

The scars inside

The hospital bed

Not a little clown

The clown was not you

And that it had

Been poison

That smile

Show is over.

Let us be Kings and Queens

I guess if any parent is really honest with themselves they have some element of projection in their relationships with their children.  It takes alot of mindfulness and awareness not to let your dreams or frustrations or failed opportunties find their way somehow to your child.  In my case, it definitely shows that I have some guilt issues being the older sister myself, and overcompensate by being extremely overprotective of Natalie, and overreacting to what is probably normal sibling rivalry between Ashlee (oldest, damaging antagonist) and Natalie (youngest who never gets a chance to voice her character.)   And sad as it sounds, there is affirmation as a parent when your child does something normal, like talk or crawl or accomplish potty training.  A social milestone, brought on by culture, why should this matter to a mom or dad?  Because we humans all need it, to an extent.  It makes you feel as if you're doing alright in a sleep deprived daze of wanting to scream into a pillow with despair alot of the time.

Being a pushy parent is not going to be for me.  I know that it doesn't work and it's not in my nature.  I'm too busy trying to sort out my own life, and maybe even a bit too vain to push my children and to live through them.  It takes alot for me even to establish any kind of routine and to encourage them to do anything.  I would be perfectly happy if they watched movies and went to bed at midnight and ate and drank exactly what they wanted to.  However, a parent does have a large degree of accountability, and I don't want to look back one day and know that I messed up my kids by not giving them a basic necessity kit for surviving life in the 21st century.  Routines are important, brushing teeth, going to school, having swimming lessons, all these things will actually help them out later out and prevent unnecessary exclusion when they do feel the urge to 'belong'.

And that is kind of where it ends.  I am far more of the school of 'happy mom is a happy child' than the other way round, and looking after myself and doing my thing a bit, that's how I want my children to see their mother treat herself.   Enabling them to learn to be themselves, to love themselves, to put their shoulders back, head, do their thing and not listen too much to the critics, by creating a secure, honest and loving environment at home is prettty much my parenting job.  And also, being polite (can't handle kids with bad manners).  But teachers and achievements, I see the bigger picture, and it really doesn't mean much when yoou look back.  I should know, I was top of the class for most of my life, and it wouldn't have mattered if I had been a bit more alternative and had some fun.  It could even have formed me into a more interesting person.   As for sports, musical, dancing etc achievements, I couldn't actuallty care less what my children do, the less I have to stand in the cold on weekends cheering, the better (and that's where my darling fiance comes in, he's far better). 

Yesterday, Ashlee waas talking to her 'friend' in her room, whispering away to an imaginary 'Boots', the monkey sidekick from Dora the Explorer.  And I felt like I was riding a rainbow, light with happiness.   I was so proud of her and happy that she had entered that amazing world of make believer, where ANYTHING is possible.  You name it, you want it, you can have it.  It's how the best stories are written.  The wardrobe that leads into Narnia.  and you can be anything you want.   and I realised that I almost did want to fall into the trap and live through my daugther's new world.  I also want to play.  It was the best time of my life, when time disappeared for days, and it would be amazing to go back there.  Maybe she'll let me, we'll have to wait and see.   And to quote the theme song of the beautiful Voyage of the Dawn Treader...

"There’s a place out there for us,
more than just a prayer or anything we ever dreamed of.
So if you feel like giving up cause you don’t fit in down here,
fear is crashing in, close your eyes and take my hand.


We can be the kings and queens of anything if we believe.
It’s written in the stars that shine above,
a world where you and I belong, where faith and love will keep us strong,
exactly who we are is just enough
yes there’s a place for us, there’s a place for us."

bye for now.

Rock Pools of the Atlantic

There is something very seductive about the idea of the living by the sea.  Most people yearn to live by the beach, be able to go to the sea whenever they want to.  The seaside is associated, from childhood, with holidays, freedom and fun. I remember from the very first pictures books I would look through as a very young girl, the sea pictures were always the best.  Sandcastles, ice creams, never ending days.  Inspiration.

And in my experience it's true.  All my years at out beloved sea house were pure bliss.  I don't remember a moment of feeling bad at the sea.  It didn't seem possible.  With a garden to the sea, rocks, waves, sitting on the beach with a picnic and my sister, going for trips in the canals on our boat.  Collecting shells.  And who can forget that first body surf rush.  There is something in the air when you are close to the ocean.

But after a few weeks, you inevitable head back to reality.  And all the mundane everyday life aspects, admin, school, homework, daily routine, are resumed.  But the sea you leave behind has the allure of the unordinary.  It's a different story when you actually live by the sea, especially in a town known more as a holiday destination.  the everyday stuff is all around, combined with the ocean feel.  It's quite a contrast.  there are days when you're tired and driving your child to school and your younger child is sick and you've had a wart cut out of your finger which keeps going septic, when you don't even notice the ocean, not once.  the thought of going to the beach to swim or for a walk seems totally ridiculous.  You feel the same way you would in a big city, just another day....

But the past two days I had a little attitude adjustment, because I said to Hennie when we heard we were moving back here from Windhoek, let's not forget where we live this time.  Let's do the holiday stuff, let's go for sundowner's next to the sea, let's go to the beach with the kids most weekend, let's go for a walk every day rain or shine.  We shouldn't forget out bodyboarding, our wetsuits, his diving for crayfish.    And realistically it's not possible every day.  That's crazy.  Some days just need to be trudged through and gotten over with.  But I decided to walk next to the beach the pastt two mornings.  And look at the ocean.  This astounding force of life with the biggest heartbeat in the world.  Covering the majority of our planet.  With areas man cannot even reach.  Like vast space, it makes one feel the grain of sand feeling.  How short and small our passage on this remarkable earth is.  The bigger system at play.  It is humbling and soul enriching and adrenaline giving all at once.  I looked out across the great Atlantic towards the west the south and the north with no interruption.  And i saw the rock pools.  Like the rock pool from my childhood.  A world under the water.  Everything looks beautiful submerged by water.  And peaceful.  I was as mesmerised this moring as I was twenty five years ago at the St Francis Bay beach.  A world in a pool.  Beautiful, consistent, dignified.  I will look at rock pools more often.

Also There

Perhaps

I knew that my veins were too thin

Or that I should be brave

Or that I am older

So I didn’t

But I was there

Maybe I heard everything

And wanted to run forever

And I walked away

Should have gone

But I wanted to be there

And when she could hide

I had to fight

And keep up straight

Perhaps when the accounts come in

And the dice has been cast

No  one will forget

That  there was so much to say

And to forget

But  that I

was also there.

Holding Hands

he crawled into my heart

turned once around

and nestled there

no more just holding hands

my heart beats

as he breathes

softly

our bodies are relentless

no more deportment badges

merit prizes, just me

now it is us

midnight has become a place

in his room

where there is chaos but no craziness

we have a new rest time

performing small and simple actions

protecting the heart.

when your skin feels numb, and the bubble bursts....

I have been living in a type of self made environment without attaching too much to my context, which is not characteristic of me, but it's been a good antidote to a situation, and a coping mechanism when one has to be strong and run around doing the kids stuff, coping with illness, daily life, lack of finances, regret,  disappointment, four seasons in one day, confusion (I could go on but won't).  And being in the isolation of my home, children, and creative dreams brings optismism and joy, which is how I want to live.  It's a short passage on this earth, to be honoured and made the best of, of course!

But what do you do if you begin to suffer, daily, from a phenomenon that you have no control over.  It clouds over your world, eats into your body, your mind, your joy.  You have no idea what is happening to you.  You think you might be mad.  You do all the things you used to feel that goosebump feeling and that surge of emotion.  And there's nothing.  You look into the mirror too often.  You feel like a failue.  Crying comes a close second to breathing.  There seems to be a layer of cotton wool round the surface of your brain which makes it hard to think or dream or create.  Yout partner desolately misses the person you used to be.


And then you realise, that you are suffering from depression.  Something you have only had fleeting moments with in the past when situations became too much to handle.  It's not in your character, you think.  You see colours, not grey.  Why is this happening?

I have seen depression first hand, in my home.  I have run away from the house, to the shops, to the movies, to the boyfriend, countless times to escape the dark room where someone you love almost more than life, is lying in bed all day. Not going to school, hiding from the world, drifting through the house numbed with pills. I was harsh in my judgement.  I was of the type to say, just get over yourself.  Life is tough, you have to suck it up and keep going.  And looking back it's a lesson to us all, to practise compassion and a little humility, to be kind to each other, as Ellen Degeneres says, because you never know when your day will come.

And you know, maybe we'll never know the causes of depression, whether it be long term or post partem or for a few months.  For me, it has alot to do with the place I live.  It has no trees, is in the middle of nowhere, and has no proper seasons.  I feel like an animal in the wrong habitat.  The lack of endorphins from doing anything physical probably also doesn't help.  This is a town in the midst of an industrial revolution, and while there are plans for a public swimming pool and a gym, at the moment there isn't much.  And to walk around the block is to be harassed by builders, because there is continual dust, sand and construction in this town.  Admittedly, there are so many ooutdoor adventures to take part in, there's alot for tourists, and if Hennie and I didn't have the two toddlers, I think we could have a blast here for a while.  It's a young couple's dream in terms of beach life, quad bikes, fishing, paragliding, space and exploring.  All the fun of desert meets ocean.  Not many malls and movies and situations that I enjoyed in the metropolises overseas, but still alot to offer.  It has a strange effect on me, and I have no choice but to identify the causes, and carry on.  I take deep breaths, and write down what I am thankful for every day.  A bit of yoya in my room helps.  Small, gentle daily routines to keep the demons at bay.  Tuna sandwiches, Frappe's, vitamins, most of all my children.  Seeing their joy, the smile on Natalie's face which bowls me over every day, that helps.  The small routine of playschool with Ashlee,  my housekeeper Maria's dignity, that helps.  And most of all knowing that my children see nothing but the small things, and they jump with joy and keep my feet firmly on the ground, even if I have to close the blinds sometimes to shut out the inexplicable solitary harshness that is my environment.

Poplar Forest Fairies

Come down to the forest

You keep pulling my hand

You’re not tired mama

You say,

The fairies will fix you

So we walk to the poplars

From the other side of the ocean

Itching with mosquito bites

Buzzing flies and sweating leaves trodden to pieces

My eyes are aching

And you say

The fairies are here

Can you see them?

They get you a plaster mama

For your eyes

See, much better

I don’t see

Your strings of lights through the trees

Your villages, your castle

Made from snow in the eyeball burning afternoon

The world more real to touch

Than the one you are alive in

The magic in the tall trees

Maybe is too far for me

To  travel with you

I see your face as day fades

Full of the lands beyond the forest

And that is enough.

The Anchovie Family

“…They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods…”

(Edith Whorton)

Sometimes I still remember so clearly.  Lying in that blissful state between sleep and wake, I remember the discovery, and suddenly I am six years old again.  The forgotten tapestries of childhood hanging dusty but clear in my mind, perfectly stitched and interwoven with hers.  We designed them with joy and pain as most children do, when they want to cling to something small and personal and kind.  Our toys were there to pat us on the back and stroke our hair.

Sometimes we were sad or bored or cold or angry.  No matter what the trouble was, the urge would grab us both at any given time.  The telepathic addiction to our dolls with their tiny lives.  I would grab her hand, and would hurtle down the passage into our paradise.  I don’t know what provoked our first discovery of the playroom; I cannot recall the point where the plastic dolls within silent eyes became a real family in our hands.  Somehow the complications and eccentricities of everyday life intertwined themselves into a key we could hold in our tiny hands and make sense of in our tiny minds.  So the Anchovies were born.  The dear Anchovie family, who lived in a small rundown apartment in Brooklyn, which we transferred to the main cupboard and kitchen sink in the Playroom.  We had never been to America but it was a tough neighborhood and we liked the idea of fire escapes and kids playing in the street with funny accents.  The Anchovies were our very own coping mechanism.  All our daily troubles could be interpreted into a problem for the Anchovie family to deal with, and we would always be assured of an answer.  Because the answer was up to us. 

The playroom’s light was the brightest in the house.  No angry words or stinging remarks could break the protective barrier of that light.  When the torment of life became almost unbearable, we closed the door, turned on the switch, sat on the floor, and became enveloped by the game until we laughed.  The very simplicity still baffles me.  The ease with which the two of us could find such warm comfort on the other side of the door.  Our very own Looking Glass, our Wardrobe to the magical land of Narnia.  A place where our imaginations could bind our dreams and our lives.  Of course, this bondage would not have been possible without the invention of Chucky.

Chucky was our girl; there was no doubt about that.  She was a reflection of our own lives in some ways, but she was also our protagonist, our hero, our role model.  Our best friend.  Although only ten centimeters tall, she was regarded in higher value than our parents at that stage.  When my friends were talking behind my back, Chucky was voted class captain.  When I failed the netball team trials, Chucky was chosen for interstate playoffs.  She was independent and boisterous.  She disobeyed all the school and home rules but was still loved by everyone for her openness and tomboyish, impish charm.  Chucky was a masterpiece.  She soothed our troubles, made us feel popular and proud without actually being alive.  I will always picture the two of us, my sister and I, tied to our beloved ‘family’ in blood knots dependence.  We needed them.  Lately I often ask myself if I will ever find such a simple and effective remedy again.  In my heart I know the answer. No.

And So I Said...

There is the nothing aching

When voices are there 

Always two

I close my eyes

In my dreams

I am running and calling

It's nearly dark

We are on the main road

Before the Terror

I am running in front.

Was I ever really in front? 

Was I ever really older?

I am running

To protect you

Look to my brilliant blonde shadow

Say faster

Terror is so close

We run fast enough to the windmill

With friendly spirit trees it might not catch you

Make you small and brittle and scared

Not fast enough

Shyness and poison of nothingness

Hang on the Terror

Like cobwebs calling you

But you never turn

So we keep running

Can you still hear me?

We curl into each other

In a frozen rocky outcrop

For us it is just a silent night, holy night 

I don't feel you breathing. 

Think of Pooh and Me

There are always two

It will make sense

Forest of the Hundred Acre Woods

Peace and play

Now the sun has set

I lie inside a picture playground

Until the Terror has left with doubt 

With a piece of my body

A veined bundle torn from my heart,

And games and dreams.

Lost Property Cupboard in the Stars

Are you floating there

Between the coins and hairclips

The broken dreams and insults

The time we never get back

Are you now lost?

Beyond the stretch of my hand

Where I couldn’t protect

A possession

An invisible piece of my property

With a heartbeat I never heard

Too close to keep

But I reach

Towards where you may be

Calling to the cupboard in the stars

That you are mine

And I will not leave you there.

Sore Tonsil Pyjama's

Sore tonsil pyjamas

Fever and Strepsils lodged in my throat

with Pick'nPay jelly

and everything is spiralling and feathery

as I wake up in Ward Three

while others fidget in hymn practice

I am home by midday

with shredded swallowing and puzzles

still in bed at tea time

while Antjie polishes the passage

and still in the same stuffy clothes

as the endless nightmare night before.