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Blog Archives - THE SCRIBBLING SCRIBES

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I could use many adjectives to describe Susan's Shirley Valentine blog, but I shan't, because it's not good writing practice. So, sans adjectives – I loved it, it moved me to dig deep into what remains of the (better) part of my soul, and to revisit Andrew Marvell. His lines. Two paradises 'twere in one, To live in Paradise alone.'. Pretty well says it all about where we live. I have eleven plus weeks of enforced idleness in progress at the moment. How to fill the time? Baboon troop, the cape leopard, to...

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The Year End - THE SCRIBBLING SCRIBES

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It happens every year when one works at a school. The time comes for the most senior grade to leave, and spread their wings to the next venue on their life journey. In my school, it is the Grade Sevens, the thirteen year olds who are leaving. It is always a bitter-sweet time for me. I'm going to miss a lot of them, but it is encouraging to see how they have grown into young men and women. And the boys don't do the autograph thing, but say goodbye with handshakes or hugs. I have only a few seconds to ...

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Blog Archives - THE SCRIBBLING SCRIBES

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Back to the Ant House. It’s time to pack up my house once again. Sadly, my time in the palatial, three-bedroom rooftop apartment is coming to an end because my landlord needs the larger space for his son who is returning unexpectedly to Durban. Family must come first, which is as it should be so I have no problems with that. He made it himself. Besides, it’s become an excellent home for all my scrapbooking stuff and it moves around easily because of the wheels. I will have to get my telephone and ADSL li...

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Blog Archives - THE SCRIBBLING SCRIBES

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Nine years ago I almost died. Nine years ago, I was in hospital attached to one of those machines that went "bleep bleep bleep". But it wasn't my heart that the machine was keeping track of, but the tiny human inside me. I had pregnancy-induced pre-eclampsia; a strange condition where ones blood pressure shoots up, feet get bigger and ones body loses the ability to keep proteins. So to save me from dying from whatever high blood pressure does, I had to have my baby 5 weeks before time. I recently took ti...

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Blog Archives - THE SCRIBBLING SCRIBES

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It happens every year when one works at a school. The time comes for the most senior grade to leave, and spread their wings to the next venue on their life journey. In my school, it is the Grade Sevens, the thirteen year olds who are leaving. It is always a bitter-sweet time for me. I'm going to miss a lot of them, but it is encouraging to see how they have grown into young men and women. And the boys don't do the autograph thing, but say goodbye with handshakes or hugs. I have only a few seconds to ...

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Tiny stories - THE SCRIBBLING SCRIBES

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There is a quote doing the FB. Rounds that says, ‘The universe is not made up of atoms. It’s made of tiny stories,’ and I like it. Fortunately I have no scientific type friends to argue the point. Then he falls into a heap, to sleep, he’s a pup that knows how to make the most of his days. It’s like stepping back in time. This is a holiday about sunshine, long walks, jumping through the waves and. Without people the stories that make up my life would be non-existent or dull. Without family to share th...

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Up There With Icarus - THE SCRIBBLING SCRIBES

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Up There With Icarus. Aah, Durban – the place to be at any time of the year. The lack of water in the Australian air made the heavy mugginess of home seem like a distant memory. With relatively low humidity, I could endure anything. As long as I armed myself with lashings of sunscreen I could soar – like Icarus – close to the Australian sun without fear. For four glorious weeks I flew around Melbourne drinking in the delights of the city, no matter what the weather. Hi Sue - I can relate after my first v...

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Highly Flavoured - THE SCRIBBLING SCRIBES

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Ruthie sat tweedily four-square at the organ, muttering into her scarlet neck wattles and presenting a portcullis of ancient dentistry as she. Pumped furiously with both feet to fire up the ancient pipes. Despite the summer heat, she wore her trade mark winter weight tweeds which, over the years, had grown ever more accommodating to the changing seasons of her Pickwickian form. Chin, lower lip and jaw out-thrust and half-moon glasses on the end of her nose,. Except she, at age nine, did not have. Breasts...

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Blog Archives - THE SCRIBBLING SCRIBES

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I was a pretend executive the other day. I had to fly to Johannesburg for a meeting with only my handbag. As I usually fly like a Kilimanjaro pack mule I was delighted by this new experience because there was no need for me to go anywhere near the baggage carousel. (Deborah Levy describes the baggage carousel as a ‘dead grey river’ in her short story. And I’ve lost enough possessions in the past to be most grateful to bypass that particular river.). By the time I paused for breath I was already on-board ...