lucky draw

My Dad turned 76 today.

My brother is 44 next weekend.

We made them a half carrot, half chocolate cake to celebrate their 120 years of combined magnificence. 

Meat, potatoes, salads and wine. Cake.

Family.

These things that can be grounding, pedestrian, reliable, bask in the realm of miracles and wonder when you get old enough to understand how damn lucky you are to have them, to be here now.

Here. 

31 years down the line with my man.

He turned 50 in July, we've been married for 19 years this month, together for 12 before that. So many numbers, just numbers, but translated into years and months and days together? I mean, talk about miracles.

Keeps the home fires burning, makes it home wherever he is.

On the subject of numbers...

Two weeks ago I bought a raffle ticket at a local fair. Standing in the queue to fill in my details on the sheet I overheard two ladies behind me. One was very concerned that someone else would take her lucky number before she got to claim it on the form.

This got me thinking about what number I would choose - I don't really have a 'lucky' one.

I was handed the sheet open in the 40's. I'll take 47 I thought, it's my age this year so why not.

Then I heard the whispering behind me again and I turned to the worried woman: What's your number? I asked, so I don't take it accidentally.

47, she said.

You know that moment when the world just slows a little? This is so weird I thought. So weird!

Then I filled in number 48 and we joked about her winning and I went about my day.

This afternoon I got a phone call. 48 drew for the main prize.

It's a romantic weekend away in an amazing location.

I mean, what benevolent karmic gods of glorious fuck did I awaken with that one??

take the cake

 I read something recently, a meme or motivational quote thingie, which said it takes bravery to be silly and play in times of great upheaval or distress*.

It was so good to read. Too often we let ourselves feel frivolous for taking time out to be silly, and too often we neglect to play.

Among my many blessings is being surrounded by people who don't let me forget this, and last week we had a good game.

It was a darling friend's birthday - 6 years since I wrote that last post about her and still every word 100% true - and she wanted to go for a cycle.

A cycle in pristine and tranquil Cape Point, past fields of bright yellow leucodendrons glowing against moody winter skies, the tinkle of a hundred winter streams all filled with singing froggies, ostrich beady-eying us as we raced past, herds of eland and bontebok, a porcupine in full quill bustling off into the undergrowth - nature brought her A game.

The human company was spectacular too. Our friend Sally is an accomplished cyclist and entertained us all by standing up on her crossbar while whizzing along, another friend joined late and steamed up behind us on his bike shouting 'Comin' in HOT', the kids were great - all old enough to be on their own bikes, full of chat and hilarity.

It was a Thursday and (besides the kids who were still on holiday) we all should probably have been doing more adult things. Some had officially taken leave, but most of us work for ourselves and had signed our own permission slip. It wasn't raining, it was a birthday, it was a chance to get outdoors, a chance to play - why the hell not?

My joy, as I flew along relishing all the endorphins, was compounded by the slight tenderness in my left arm - I'd gotten my first Pfizer jab the day before and it was such a shot of optimism and hope for the future. For a moment all things felt possible again.

Our ride ended with a picnic at the sea. Homemade guacamole and hummus, nacho chips and a (highly illegal - cackle - bottle of wine). And of course - because tradition - a homemade masterpiece of a cake for the birthday girl. Baked before and assembled on site.

How gorgeous?

A bet it tasted amazing.

Sadly we'll never know...

But he seemed to enjoy it a lot.

Raiding baboons are notorious at Cape Point. They have no fear of humans, no shame at chasing you off your picnic, no qualms about taking the cake.

I tried to stand fast for a bit - but as he hurtled towards me, hairy shoulders rolling, teeth bared, snarling and barking, I released that beautiful cake in a slow-mo arc across the grass, even in that moment having a small internal acknowledgement (enjoyment?) that when would I ever again just toss a complete, beautifully iced cake to the ground?

God we laughed and laughed and laughed. We love cake, but even more than that we love a good story. And most of all we love to be playful, to find the funny side, to have adventures together, to seize the day, to take the cake.

Last Thursday we were reminded of all of that - and in the light of the last month, my last post, it was a very well timed nudge.

*Also privilege right? I am aware of this, always.

lock down (birthday edition)

Day 60, officially. Plus 11 for our household.

Totally laughable now that we thought we'd be done in 21 days. And what did we think 'done' looked like anyway?

Looking back, it's gone by quite quickly. As with raising small children, the hours drag but the days fly.
We've done all the same things everyone else in the world has done - vacillated between comfort and despair at pretty regular intervals.

Currently we've hit a bit of ennui...
Our 'lockdown diary', started with enthusiasm, is kicking around under piles of home-school materials and half-finished art projects. The school work we do is the barest minimum. We get out to take advantage of our 'exercise slot' (6 to 9am) at best three times a week. The kitchen is kept tidy, the bathrooms seen to once a week and high-traffic areas swept (and sometimes mopped) fairly regularly, but everything else is a bit murky and dusty.

There are a lot of screens in rotation, and there's been a LOT of the accompanying parental guilt about this. But a few things happened last week which changed my mindset about this a bit.
I had a chat with my sister-in-law in which she reminded me that my kids are not smallies any longer, and as the first generation to have access to this much online content who can really say at this point what the long-term effects will be? The convo got me thinking about my brother, a die-hard gamer and tech enthusiast, who is also possibly the brightest person I know.
Then this lovely poem by Hollie McNish.
And finally a rollercoaster ride, built entirely in Minecraft by my 10 yr old daughter, specially for me as a birthday present last week.
Encompassing an underground tunnel, a section through a glass-walled aquarium filled with fish and colourful plants, an LGBTIQ+ rainbow-walled section, the world's highest rollercoaster hill and a field of llamas I have to say it was one of the best experiences I've ever been gifted. It took her best part of two days and was all self-conceptualised.
The kids are alright.

And yes, it was my birthday. Lockdown birthday club whoop whoop.

Leading up to it I was apprehensive, thinking that maybe the reason we have birthday celebrations is to distract ourselves from the march of time, to literally sing and dance in the face of aging-related existential dread.
Nothing like reaching proper middle age in time of global pandemic to bring out all the anxieties.

But there was also a freedom in not being able to do anything special. No need to clean and polish the house for guests, no juggle to find an activity which suits all ages, schedules and budgets. No expectation of looking ones best or being goddamn cheerful.

And, as always with birthdays - lucky me - it was lovely. Turns out the essential elements - love, cake, friends - were still there, albeit very differently to in the past.
Love shown in small gestures and large, cake baked by me (red velvet) and more delivered by friends (chocolate, lemon drizzle, super decadent choc fudge biscuits - 'We have a cake BUFFET' my daughter declared the next day), friends who spontaneously arrived for a very socially-distanced glass of wine in our front driveway, perched on small fold-out chairs in the gathering gloom... giggles and commiserations.
Fortyfuckin'five is not too old to be reminded that we endure beyond viruses and screens and parental guilt and dusty floors.
Life it seems, carries on.

cake and life

For his first birthday without her, I made him a cake like his mama would've made it.

Sjokolade-oilie-koek. In Afrikaans it rolls off the tongue, in any language it slips happily into your belly.
The recipe is written in pencil, on an old discoloured page, in her distinctive hand.
The sugar came from a massive vat of it we discovered in her cupboard when we were packing up her flat. 'How long do you think this has been here?' I asked him, and when we got home we found slip of paper buried in the white crystals 04.01.2018. Why would she have dated it we wondered?
The vanilla also from her tiny pantry, a mere fraction of the kind of supply cupboard she would've kept for most of her life.
The cake tins, well-scrubbed, a bit battered, tins which must've baked 1000 cakes. No, really.

I messaged him while baking it.

Cherries? Caramel filling? Instant coffee in the icing?

I wanted to make it just right. After all these years there are still things I don't know about him.

His response: No chuckles, no sprinkles, no dips, no cherries, no candles. No coffee, no caramel. Just icing. Maybe the thinnest smear of apricot jam. Maybe some choc shavings.

I hope when he bit into it he thought of her. I hope I made it right but not so right that he wouldn't feel nostalgic for hers. I hope that I did it justice, but I'm sure he felt that missing ingredient.

Life isn't great right now. We are feeling our losses and struggling along with our burdens of stress and general boring adulthood.
But we are struggling along together, which is the important thing, we are being gentle and kind and helping each other out where we can.

And today we ate cake, and climbed a mountain, and celebrated life. Because we have it, and it's beautiful, even when it's hard.
And there's also gin!

11

I am enraptured by this kid.

This is not news. I've been enraptured by her since the day she arrived and made me a mama.

But she really just keeps on astounding me, as she grows and develops and changes and yet stays so very grounded and herself.

Frieda just turned 11, but in other ways she's still 8, but also 15, but also 22.

She wanted a phone for her birthday, but also a flower crown with skeleton hands for her self-conceptualised Day of the Dead party. She got both (all hail the glue gun!).

She wanted to serve tacos to her friends and have a dance party and have a bunch of girls sleep over.
We made it happen.

She wanted the cake to still be a surprise, as it always has been since the very first birthday.

And the next day - our house in tatters, every surface sticky and every eyeball grainy - I looked at this photo and felt so grateful for this shiny, radiant being. 

I have moments of sheer terror at this next phase of parenting, but then I remember that I'll be doing it with her - all my parenting firsts have been with her, and I think we got this. I think we'll be okay.

8

In the midst of all of that, my baby turned 8!

Stella is an oddball, we know this, so I wasn't so surprised when this was her requested birthday theme ... [insert hysterical laughing emoji]

She built the character from various Lego minifigs and we added the blood and bats etc in Pic Monkey - all under her strict direction.
She handed the invites out at school one morning, a few to kids whose parents I've not met before, and I waited to see how they'd be received. Happily well, by most, with just one little friend being 'unfortunately unable to attend' according to her mother and 'I can't come because I'm not allowed to go to parties were there is evil' according to the little friend herself [insert eye rolling emoji]. Cackle.

It was a much smaller affair than usual. Last year's Pandamonium almost killed us, and in the present circumstances I just couldn't muster the requisite energy for a repeat performance, or even anything close.
With our youngest's just 2 days apart Zahida and I would always plan their parties in consultation - firstly on the date so as not to clash, and then always on ideas and details. We did them very differently, but we both enjoyed party-planning and flexing our creative muscles together, I missed her so much while planning this one.

We did a couple of themed foods ...

Vampire bunny cupcakes - you decide whether those are bloody fang bites or bleeding eyeballs.

And vampire bunny jam sandwiches ... 

And then the cake, which in our history of birthday cakes pulled the biggest stunt on us - the idea was half cutesy bunny / half vampire terror but the intricate fondant face we'd tirelessly built the night before melted off overnight, necessitating husband perform emergency facial reconstruction surgery with the last bit of icing and whatever tools he had to hand just minutes before singing Happy Birthday. I think he did a pretty good job considering.

The beautiful birthday girl plus clean-up crew in the aftermath. She did feel the loss of the huge fiesta we usually pull off, 'I missed that there was no running around in the dark Mum', but had a good time regardless and I hope one day will look back and realise what a tough time it was for us.

Stella is 8 and from here on out it feels like we're officially in the Next Stage. No more smalls in this family. It really, really does happen so fast.

7

By last Saturday evening the bags under my eyes were almost as deep as these panda's. We had a house FULL to the brim with friends, flowing freely with G&T's and laughter and wet swimwear and sticky floors and toys everywhere and not a crumb left to eat or a clean fork or glass or mug in the place.

PANDAmonium!

Black & white food (kinda - chocolate brownies are dark enough right?) and ice cream cake and a black rice salad (which I'm still craving every day since) and more and more and more.

MASSES of people (our guest list seems to keep getting longer - a nice kind of problem to have), most of them of the just-above-the-waist-height variety, and lots of love and the sweetest, dearest birthday girl.

She was such a star, this baby girl of mine. In the days after the party I got many messages remarking on how polite she was, how engaged and thoughtful, how considerate.

These make a mama's heart sing.

But that heart does feel a little sore too. I know from her older sister that this year, 7 to 8, is really the last of the little girl years. A lot changes in the next 18 months and very soon I'll be in this space lamenting my lack of smalls, and celebrating my two very big girls. One more year with a soft-cheeked cuddler, who still (just) fits on my lap and requests a 'bednight' story and can't quite reach the bowls on the top shelf.

I plan to make the most of it.

the ups and downs of October

This post is to filed under 'diary'. I need to record this last crazy month for myself, for the record.

I've come here so often with an opening line, a thought or an observation, but the back story has always been so enormous - October's stories have been enormous - that I've either shied away or the next thing has happened before I could finish writing/processing about the last.

Emotional ro-la-co-stah. I'm tired just thinking about writing about it.

October is a beautiful month (which month isn't really right?), but this one has brought some pain.

On the 1st of the month one of my very best friends was admitted to hospital after weeks of what we all then thought was 'flu.

That weekend, beloved English cousins currently living in the States woke to the news that their 23 year old son had died in his sleep.
Shock rippled around the world as we gathered in small digital huddles - on FB messenger, Whatsapp and eventually a Tribute Page - trying to cradle a family in unimaginable pain with words and images shared on these platforms, knowing that none of it worked as well as a hug, but that all the hugs in the world wouldn't heal their hearts.
When a healthy 23 year old guy dies in his sleep on a Saturday night there is one conclusion that everyone jumps to, and from the talk it does seem he lived a colourful life - partying and living it up in the film industry in which he worked.
But louder then that were the reams of words testifying to his gentle care of those he loved, his sense of humour, his intelligence, his diligence to his work, his magic touch with animals - all these words proven by the multitude of photos of him shared on the page, in each one of them he has his arms around someone.

I recalled so vividly the boys like him I knew at that age. Young, gorgeous, healthy young men who worked, had plans, took their jobs and their lives seriously, earned well, and partied hard. Those boys were the best friends a girl could have, watchful and caring, they were the most fun to have at a party, loud and gregarious and hilarious, they were generous with their love, their time and their drugs - and after a heavy night out they would go home to Sunday lunch and be the most attentive, genuinely devoted sons and brothers. They thought they were invincible.

So many are lost in grief at his passing.

On the 4th we celebrated our 13 year wedding anniversary.

It was a magic evening, warm and golden and still. We'd made no plans, but that afternoon I remembered two bags of prawns in the freezer, a bottle of very fine wine we'd been saving, a box of creme brulee magnum ice-creams I'd seen at our local store ... I lit the fire and watched the girls play wildly on the lawn as we waited for the sound of his motorbike arriving home.
We ate grilled prawns 'til the butter ran down our arms, washed down with sublime wine, and grinned stupidly at each other over our daughter's heads. 13 years.

A couple of nights later we ditched the girls and went out for a proper grown-up dinner in our beautiful 'hood.

But still my friend was in hospital, and the news was not good. An inflammation of the spinal cord, a rare auto-immune condition, crippling pain and uncertainty about the path ahead.
Sobering updates as we rallied around her family, setting up an online meal roster to cook for them, a Whatsapp group to keep all those concerned in the loop.

I traveled to Pretoria for work. Twice.
Pretoria was hot, and dry, but magnificently purple.

Jacaranda trees were introduced a hundred years ago, blatant invaders from South America, for their beauty and their shade. They kind of hung around and once a year transform Pretoria from a fairly drab and run-down city to a psychedelic wonderland. Well played invaders.

The work was good, the people I met inspirational and fun.

Our country has had a hard month too. Our Minister of Finance is facing trumped-up charges of misconduct, leveled at him by a President fueled only by his greed. Our students are rising up to demand the education promised to them 20 years ago, and getting beaten in the streets by our dysfunctional police force. Our academics and universities are reeling from the damage - to their campuses and their careers. Our general public are split down the middle on a topic so complex that you can only see it in black and white if you're at the heart of a the struggle or being a total asshole. Their are a select few who are both.
It's a fucking mess.

The activists I was in Pretoria with were for the most part much younger than me, black and very active in education. We spoke at length about the current situation and it was so reassuring to me, a white, middle-class, (cough) middle-aged lady, to check in with them and find that we shared many opinions on these issues. It's easy when you live among your peers to believe that you're right. It's a gift to step out of that circle and find others, very different to you, who feel the same. I love my work for the worlds it opens up for me.

Back home and straight into a very special celebration. My Dad turned 70.

Which necessitated a party, with some of our dearest family friends, and a rainbow cake for the birthday boy, with ants on it - because he's all about the ants, about the ants, no spiders - according to one of his silly granddaughters.

And then another anniversary - a really BIG one.

On the 24th my man and I marked 25 years together - a silver anniversary - from bumbling high school sweethearts to married-up parents.
We celebrated with an enormous bunch of chinkerinchees, a bottle of bubbly and the gift of a vintage silver dollar from my parents. How exactly did I get this lucky?

And still ... my friend is in hospital. Still battling pain and an uncertain future, but still smiling when she can, still strong, still her.

This growing up thing is not for sissies, the realities of life and aging are hard and painful. But the love, the love just gets stronger and sweeter - and the knowledge that that is all that is important gets clearer every day.

This year has worn us out already - is it holidays yet?

9

This girl turned 9 and I can't comprehend it.

Babyhood, the delights of 1, the terrible 2's, the fuck-you 3's, the peace of 5 - these are all well-documented stages that one reads about as your child grows. One anticipates, prepares, lives through them when they happen like that, fret if they don't because why is yours doing it differently?
Then there's tweens and teenagers and in fact, tweenagers these days apparently - all of which seem some part of a murky undefinable future.

But right now it feels like we've wandered off the map, into uncharted territory where anything is possible - and it's kind of lovely.

She's still a kid, very much, still playful and innocent and prone to flights of fantasy. But she's also reading 700+ page Harry Potter books and asking big questions about the world and occasionally falling victim to hormone-charged outbursts and irrationality. She's a growing, learning, questioning human being, and she's divine.

Frieda's birthday wish was to take a small group of friends to Eagle Encounters.

It was really fun hanging out with her buddies - entertaining and kind, this age is good for that too -  no one needed their bum wiped, no disputes needed parental arbitration - just sweet kids full of chat and laughs and opinions.

We had a great time roaming the grounds in the winter chill, having a picnic in the car park (because we're too stingy to pay for the over-priced picnic baskets full of things the kids won't eat) and dodging the intermittent showers. During one of them we sheltered under some (luckily not-whomping) willows while Frieda's friend Seth serenaded us - A Wonderful World sung by a completely un-self-conscious 9 year old boy. It felt like a magic moment in time.

And of course, the birds! The birds were magnificent.

An enormous collection of rescued and rehabilitated birds - some of whom will be released into the wild, some of whom are too damaged or tame to make it on their own. It was such a privilege to see these magnificent fowl up close, many of which live among us but we hardly ever see. We learnt so much and ALL enjoyed it thoroughly.

Then home for owl and eagle cupcakes, a romp around the garden and the now traditional G'nT's and snacks for the parents long into the evening. A different kind of party from the ones we've thrown in the past - but just as lovely. Uncharted territory is fun!

duck duck duck cake

We took our (very dirty) pedalo for a spin around the lake yesterday. It was a lovely, sparkly, sunny Sunday afternoon with a nippy breeze and clear green waters.

We also took our end-of-week stale bread collection and boy were we popular!

Cheeky buggers even boarded us. Don't those magnificent orange feet look chilly?

And then we came home and ate cake. Birthday cake, because I never got round to one when it was my actual birthday and everyone knows a cake credit is a cake credit right?

This was a combo of two of my favourites: a carrot cake cheesecake. Yes, it sounds weird and yes, it was DELICIOUS and if you saw me yesterday and I didn't mention I had cake then yes, I am a bad person ... but I'll definitely be making it again!

6

The child who for nearly 2 years insisted she was a boy, wore pink to her 6th birthday party.

The child who every year until now has managed some epic meltdown on the morning of her big day (the most memorable being the time she locked us all out in the garden minutes before everyone was due to arrive), spent weeks colouring and cutting folded paper tigers for all her friends, and then handed them out with pride at her party.

6 has brought peace. In fact it's been here for a while.

A peaceful, content, busy and active little person.
She's settled into 'big school' with seamless ease - making new friends and producing beautiful works of art. She's learnt to whistle, but not yet, alas, to tune. She knows herself, does Stella, she knows how to claim space when she needs it, to stop eating sweets when she's risking discomfort, to sleep when she's tired.
She knows herself, her limits and her preferences, very well. And I think that's a pretty good place to be when you're 6.

Happy birthday little tiger.

the very best of friends (vol.5)

I have a friend who turns 40 today. She's a keeper.

We met when we were much younger, much thinner, getting up at dawn to shoot local movies and getting up to no good when we weren't doing that.

Now we're married matrons, mothers, upstanding members of society - but just as mischievous.

This girl can make you a gin cocktail which'll ignite pure happiness in your soul. She can call you out on your prejudice and give you the path to redemption in one sentence. She has practised infinite forgiveness within her own family and will not tolerate cruelty in any form - man or beast.
This girl can make you laugh til you fear for your knickers, spin a tune to a packed dance floor that makes you want to never sit still.
She can flip your perspective and double your happiness.

And the cherry on top? Her daughter is besties with my daughter, they have a friendship which is tolerant and kind and supportive and fun. They laugh 'til I fear for their knickers and they take flights of fancy which foretell of adventures and travels and growings together for many years.

My hope for my daughters is always that they'll have true girl friends. My hope for myself is that their friends will come from families who have taught them their worth, and their responsibilities living in this world.
In this case we've certainly found both.

AND, she bakes!

A few years back we made a most magnificent birthday cake for this lovely lady ...

... for my 40th she made a mountain of these - for all the lunching ladies and more to take home to my brood (the recipe is here and just reading through it is fun, but my baker gal had some tweaks which just next-leveled the hell out of these things:

'I doubled the recipe and used 2 tubs of marscapone and one of creme fraiche instead of cream cheese. I stuck bits of Lindt 85% into the cupcakes just before baking.  I also made a ganache with a tub of double thick cream and 65 percent Lindt chocolate which I did as a first layer of icing, then layered the marscapone on top. ')

Magnificent boobie cakes!

So yesterday afternoon, whilst our girls played happily together and she put in extra hours saving the world so she could take her birthday off today, I thought I should ensure the old gal had some breakfast cake on her birthday morning.
And there was really only one choice of flavour ....

Not the best pic, and it was all rather rushed towards the end as I raced the clock, and my convection fan stopped working so the outside got a little dark as I readjusted the cooking time but ... just like our friendship this cake is sticky and boozy and honest and fun.

Happy birthday darlene!

8

Ever since we moved here I've wanted to have a scavenger hunt on the island just across the water from us.
A public space, but a very well kept secret - it's a little slice of 'private', safe, natural wilderness (is that an oxymoron?) right on our doorstep.

8 felt like the right age to do it. A scavenger hunt birthday party.

First, a map. Aren't we lucky to have an eminent mapmaker in the family?

And a system of teams and colours and flags and lists and challenges. I fucking love this stuff.

As if in homage to my bright and sunny girl, her birthday day, despite being mid winter, is always warm, calm, welcoming and bright.

The teams set off - a couple of parents along for the adventure - a couple of power-tussles and just a smattering of whining.

Tasks complete, teams proceeded to the Extraction Point where The Boatman checked their lists and granted them safe passage over the straits and on to our lawn.

When I'd asked Frieda what kind of cake one had for a Scavenger Hunt party she'd rolled her eyes (8 is definitely a bit tweeny) and declared 'A treasure chest cake of course!' (but still totally not tweeny), and I couldn't have been happier.
I've always wanted to make one of these.

I think it was a hit.

And that right there? That sweet girl in the middle? That's her next face y'all - the turning point of a new phase, the next stage, another year.
Jeez I'm excited!