Category: Modern Life

Kansas…

Chiromancer1 Comment

2009 has been a tempestuous year. You know, the sort of twelve month period where your world spins on its axis and you wake up without your red shoes and little dog Toto in the sort of place where not everything is what it seems to be.

I’ve met the cowardly lion, the tin man and loads of oompa loompas in between. I’m not sure I like any of them.  The coward deserves to be stuffed or made into a rug, the heartless tin man should be recycled and turned into a can… and, as for the oompa loompas…well, they really should carry a health warning before they are let out amongst the general populace.

With Christmas looming, I’ve decided to get ahead of myself and write my gratitude, goodbye and intentions list.  It’s something I’ve started doing because I’m usually rubbish at New Year’s Resolutions. And anyway,  perfection is hard to maintain in a tornado!  So, I’m writing a list of all the things that happened that I’m grateful for, all the things I am clicking my heels and putting in the box marked ‘o’ for over, and setting my goals for the next 12 months.  Somehow it feels better than simply making a list that says: 1. no booze 2. no sweets 3. no schoolboys.  (OK, I was only joking about the last one).

Whatever you are doing this Christmas, whether you celebrate the Winter Solstice, the birth of Christ or just the opportunity to spend some relaxing time at home, I hope this festive season is a good one. May 2010 bring all of us a little shelter, a lot of love and no more natural disasters!

The Secret Ingredient…

Chiromancer1 Comment

When I was little, my dad, who wasn’t terribly good at DIY made my mom a ‘kitchen island’.  It was a wooden cupboard on wheels (moveable, hence the ‘island’ moniker), with louvre doors and seventies ‘yeah baby’ orange and brown glaze tiles on the top.  It was made with love. It was hideous. It ended up beside the stove and served as a vegetable cupboard-cum-potstand.  In this case the wheels were superfluous because the kitchen island never moved.  But it was loved in return. 

That kitchen island was there on Sunday nights when my father made pancakes.  He was a good – but very messy – chef. He cooked with emotion and lots of utensils! Drove my mom bonkers. She had to wash up!  My dad was also the person who taught me to fling spaghetti at the wall to see if it was done ‘al dente’.  If it sticks, it’s ready!  Yes, that kitchen island was there when he died and we all sat at the kitchen table missing him as small girls in an uncertain world. My mom missed him the most because she loved him best. I think perhaps it was because they both discovered curry together!   It was hard to see that kitchen island and not think of him.

And yet, in her own unassuming way,  the person who taught my sisters and I the meaning of togetherness when we were growing up was my mom.  Sundays in our house were always roast dinner in winter and braais (barbeques) in summer. My mom grew up in a country that could not be described as the culinary capital of the world – though they probably could claim the patent for inventing the potato!  Despite this, she made fantastic homemade pizza, superb sweet and sour chicken and a pretty good curry.  You know, the old fashioned type served with sultanas, chopped tomato and cucumber and dessicated coconut. Yum! Yum!  I often think of those meals! 

Even today, mealtimes are important for my sisters and I.  They are a chance to get friends and loved ones round the table – to share the news of the day, to commiserate, to celebrate, to laugh and perhaps to cry when we remember absent friends and fathers. We all cook with passion…and I must admit, a fair degree of garlic, herbs and other spices. Fresh, of course!  I think for each of us, cooking brings particular pleasure. I’m not a baker (too scientific) but I can make pavlova.  My middle sister does a fab roast pork, and my baby sister has a cracking recipe for apple crumble with Toblerone! It’s our recipe for love – the secret ingredient you will never find in any book, but one that nonetheless makes a meal that is cooked with care and thought, taste great.

Strong opinions, weakly held…

Chiromancer1 Comment

Modern life is rubbish, but modern romance is even rubbisher.  I’m writing this post in despair at the parlous state of the British male of the species. Now before all my male friends get shirty, this particular post does not refer to you.  But, I should say that names have been changed to protect the guilty, and Mr Unique is so definitely not.  Girls, you get the picture…

 So, me…sensible woman, not unintelligent, no scales and only one head.  Him, ok bloke – nice looking, own hair and teeth (always a plus) seems reasonable. So far, so good.   Everything was going swimmingly until he said: ‘I have strong opinions, weakly held’…Now I don’t know if it was the fact that he turned out to be a fence-sitter (that’s usually not a comfortable place to be) or the fact that he sent me an email with a You Tube version of Danny Boy, sung by Muppets – no really, Muppets…Either he was implying that secretly he was a felt puppet with bad hair or that is what passes for sense of humour these days.  So, that was the kiss of death as far as I was concerned.  See my previous post, ‘Things that make you go ha!’ to understand why a shared sense of humour is crucial.

But it got me thinking.  What is the point of having a strong opinion if its only weakly held. That just seems like a cop-out. Strong opinions, strongly held are what led to the abolition of slavery, enshrined voting rights for the suffragettes, got the first man to walk on the moon. On balance, I’d prefer a strongly minded man than one who seems a bit soft in the head.

Bicycle

ChiromancerLeave a comment

My bike has spent seven years rusting in the side return of a Victorian semi.  I bought it on a whim, rode it once or twice and then when the incentive (who was also the person who convinced me that cycling would be a good idea) took a left turn and never came back, the bike sort of stayed where it was.

Everytime I looked at that bike it reminded me of all the horrid things that happened in that relationship, but more than anything else, it just reminded me of failure. My failure.  How stupid I had been to let someone that ego-driven and selfish into my life – and by mistake.  It was a totally unintentional sort of thing.   The incentive (tall, dark and handsome, of course) invaded with ease and charm. I regret that he got past my defences so easily.  I regretted that bicycle too, but I couldn’t bring myself to give it away.

When I moved house, the bike moved too. Funny really, because a lot of things that were more loved, were left behind and didn’t make the journey down to the coast. The cat, for instance. After the move, when I was unpacking, I found a list I had written at the beginning of this year. It said:  ‘get bicycle fixed’.  It might as well have said, ‘mend broken heart’.  So I did.  I wheeled the rusty, decrepid thing down to the bike shop and asked the nice man behind the counter to take a look and see what could be done to repair the worn tires, adjust the rusty gears and stop it from squeaking when it went over a bump.

Two weeks later, that bike is fixed. Shiny, non-squeaky and fast as lightning.  We went for an inaugural ride along the beach today. Like most people starting something new, I wobbled a bit at first. Then somehow the sea and sky worked their magic.   The wind blew, the bike flew.  And as we passed the regular dog walkers, anglers and pensioned perambulators I felt a sneak of happiness.

Things that make you go ha…

Chiromancer3 Comments

It’s dinner time, and I have just finished listening to Laura Solon, a really funny comedienne on R4. After today’s episode,  I am sure my neighbours think I am a lunatic…if they don’t, they probably will after all the maniacal laughter that’s been emanating from my kitchen. Of course, I do realise that my sense of humour is what helps me laugh at what it prevents me from having. You know…a normal life…2.4 kids, pets, a husband and a station wagon. Ha, ha, ha…

Laughter is good for the soul but not everyone finds the same things funny.  Personally, I cannot stand Ben Stiller films (though Zoolander might be a notable exception) and modern Hollywood comedy leaves me cold. Please bin those rubbish films like ‘Knocked up’ and ’40 year old virgin’.  Utter dumbassery (as a good friend of mine would say)! I also must be the only person in England who hated (and I say this unreservedly) – H.A.T.E.D.- ‘Four Weddings and a funeral’ – not funny, just stupid and stereotypical!  Cheese-fest, deluxe.  Give me a Chuck Norris film any day!

As you’ve probably sussed by now, my particular laughing gas is wit. So, what makes me smile:

1. Well-honed political satire, word-play and intelligent slapstick! Dry humour a la Paul Merton or Jack Dee, or really interesting stuff  like Monty Python.Having said that, I’ve never really got Reeves and Mortimer.  And I must draw the line at League of Gentlemen – that just brings disturbing to a whole new level. 

2. Rude-ish limericks! an old English tradition. One of my great loves captured my heart when he told me a very rude – but very erudite – joke – I’ve never forgotten it, and it still makes me chuckle even after 20 years!

3. Silly things.  I know, I know…I’ve been deriding ‘stupidity’ but the Cravendale advert on TV (the one with the lucky packet cows and plastic model footballers) is sheer genius. Milk! Milk!  Watch the ads if you want to understand the punchline. Same goes for Laurel and Hardy.

4. I laugh when really arrogant people fall off their perches in a big way. Simon Cowell, I am still waiting, but my friend Nubian is probably going to slap you with her Louboutin’s one day soon, so you have been warned! And yes, Gordo, I will laugh when you lose the next election and get tried for war crimes along with your pal Tone.

By this point, my dark soul is probably emerging – roused by the laughter, no doubt.  So its time to sign off, but I’m curious.  What makes you chuckle, laugh, roar…answers on a comment pls.

First foray…

Chiromancer1 Comment

Well, after a prolonged facebook rant an old friend suggested that I start my own blog as therapy. This got me thinking about how and what I would say…Sometimes the contents of my head really do deserve to remain where they are – reveal too much and there is a fair chance the men in white coats will come and cart me away. Too much random thought is not a good thing.

Still, I began to see the possibilities of blogging from a commercial viewpoint – having a business blog could be certainly be useful. And that got me thinking about having a personal blog too. So here goes!

PS: It’s called Pier Point, because its my point of view and I live on the coast in a town with a pier. Just in case you were wondering!