I have spent a significant portion of my life feeling lost. Not metaphysically, you understand, I mean actually, physically, geographically and spatially lost. I have no natural sense of direction. I cannot – unlike a certain barefoot husband I know – stand in a place and point out north confidently. I cannot tether places together in my minds’ eye or zoom out in my imagination and see how it all fits together. I cannot remember how streets meet up and which direction they’re going in. I can’t easily find my way to somewhere I’ve been, or “simply” backtrack a route I followed earlier to get somewhere. I can’t even, when I come out of a shop in a mall, remember which way I’ve come from and where I’m going to! I will always pick the wrong one and then, eventually, see a shop I’ve been in and realise that I’m going the wrong way. I really do have zero, potentially even negative, sense of direction.
At a very swish lunch in the Constantia valley recently, the barefoot man was being taunted by tales of some delicious sauce and eventually proclaimed, hands over eyes, “stop, stop!” which immediately set one of our fine dining companions – the very smart lady who foodies (rightfully) fear – off on a recitation as follows:
“…imagine that it was raining crispy delicious crunchy rice and toasted coconut..”
“…imagine a river of milk falling into a chocolate whirlpool…”
It’s Saturday 25th June 2016, a post-Brexit world, and it’s all pretty scary.
But what infuriates me most is that this:
“…obviously the facts are coming in now…” – An Exit voter saying she would change her mind the morning after the vote.
This past weekend a beautiful friend of mine lost her mother to cancer. She was performing on a famous stage in London at the time, and the Saturday morning papers brought showers of praise to both the show and to her wonderful words, but back here in SA her mom was dying. Continue reading
The barefoot man and I started taking dance lessons earlier this year with a fabulous teacher friend of ours, and I, of course am loving every second of it. The barefoot man is getting there, I think. He smiles every few steps, so I take that as affirmation.