Winter seas and colours

So here we are on the last day of May. King Neptune is not yet placated and continues to send rollers in from the South Atlantic, but in a more orderly fashion than yesterday. The wind has swung to the south east, with accompanying sharp drop in temperatures, and snow is falling in the mountains of the Western Cape. A watery sun peeks through the clouds, casting a shadow across my desk as I type this, bringing false hope of natural warmth. I'm afraid the only warmth being generated is from the tumble drier and electric blanket right now!
The weather in Paris is a carbon copy of here, with wind, cloud, a little rain and 17 degrees. While watching the tennis at Roland Garros, I saw raindrops on the camera lens and automatically stood up to go and fetch my shoes in from the balcony, before realising that I wasn't there! Perhaps we really can be somewhere else simply through our thoughts! How marvellous. I know where I would be right now!

The aloes are out in force now, and the verges of Kommetjie are filled with every variety of these fascinating and colourful plants. This is the best time of year to buy them as you can see what you are getting. I have two new varieties with beautiful colours and shapes to fill the front garden with interest at the bleaker times of year. With the prospects of drier summers, succulents and aloes will predominate from now on. Hopefully they will survive the vicissitudes of the porcupine's dietary preferences!

Tail end of the first winter storm

Isn't Cape Town just marvellous? We woke up to clouds scudding across the sky with the odd heavy shower, tumultuous seas and real winter at last, and a few hours later there is nothing but blue sky stretching to the far horizon. We are currently bathed in golden sunlight, washing is drying on the balcony and the tumultuous seas continue to batter the coastline. Only the most intrepid of surfers are out there and even then they are nowhere near Inner or Outer Kom - that would be looking for some real trouble!
A little fishing boat set off for the deep sea in these massive swells - the photos show how it rose and fell, rose and fell. They must be mad!

 High tide brought much more exciting seas for me to practise my photography. Unfortunately I still have a long way to go and would benefit from some tuition! But nevertheless, these photos will enable those who are not as lucky as I am to live here to perhaps catch a whiff of the sea.

Flying before the storm

I was pacing up and down the balcony practising my speech for Toastmasters, aptly about being curious about life and observing the world, when suddenly the sky was filled with a flamboyance of flamingos! How exciting! If I hadn't been in that exact place I would have missed it. I rushed inside, intent on locating the camera - it moves all the time, as I never put it back in the same place - before they landed in the Kom out of sight. You can't appreciate how fast they move, even when soaring in landing mode, until you want to take a photograph.
I snatched the camera from the kitchen counter and dashed outside again, thankful that I had put the memory card back, and fumbled with the On switch. No time to reset the focus or exposure, just time to find the flock in the frame! The pink underwings were magnificent, but without an expert behind the lens, not displayed to best effect. All the settings were wrong, but I couldn't let an opportunity slip by!

The fly-by was better than I've ever seen, despite the strong northwester bending the palm trees in the background - the ship weathervane on the roof indicates the direction - and storm clouds brewing all around. I think they have come to shelter from the oncoming storm forecast for the next few days, with snow predicted on the high ground and torrential rain on Tuesday. Oh well, what is May without a good storm - we've had all our best hurricanes at this time of year!

Quick thought for the day

I peered through the window as dawn brought a lightening sky through the heavy cloud cover, raindrops running down the glass, trees bending in the wind and a thought popped into my head - what a wonderful day to be alive! On the other side of those clouds, the sun is eternally shining, the garden is loving the rain and the wind is blowing away any traces of smog to bring healthy fresh air for our very existence.
Without contrasts, there can be no appreciation of anything in life, and it is only through appreciation of every moment, whether good or bad, happy or sad, that we can truly discover what living is all about. Every song that has ever been written is about that person's self-discovery, about how they feel at that moment. Popular songs are those that are easily related to - heartbreak, heartache, love, sadness, happiness - about our most intense emotions, not events. A good measure of your mood is what song is echoing in your mind at any given time.
What's in your head right now? Is that how your day will be?

Giro d'Italia

There is a veritable feast of sport on the go in Europe at the moment - Roland Garros being top of my list. However, mention must be made of the Giro d'Italia. I am not a fan of sport cycling (mainly due to the clogging of the roads by practising cyclists) as I have no understanding of the tactical moves. It seems odd that a man who has pedalled his heart out for the last four kilometres would suddenly freewheel and let the peloton go by, but I believe it has something to do with team tactics.
I was advised by a friend that I should be watching the race simply to enjoy the scenery, and so I flicked channels and found myself instantly engrossed in the last 10 kilometres of today's leg (or should that be wheel?). The race was along the shores of the incredibly beautiful Lake Como, lined by villas and picturesque villages that make one want to catch the next plane to Italy to soak up the atmosphere and general ancientness. Towering alps rise almost vertically from the lake, clothed in lush greenery - it must be even more beautiful under a blanket of snow.
The commentator takes the race to a different level. Instead of just a bunch of men on bikes riding along a scenic route, they are brought to a frenzy of competitiveness as the commentator literally shouts himself hoarse with excitement, giving us blow-by-blow feedback as the cyclists increase the pace over the last few kilometres. How he even identifies each one is beyond me, but I found myself sitting on the edge of my seat as they hurtled towards the finishing line, wheels jockeying for position - would one slip on the pedestrian crossing on the corner? would the peloton tumble into disarray? how did they not bump each other as they stood on their pedals in the final dash, swaying from side to side? did he win by the width of a tubeless tyre?
Phew! The commentator must have collapsed in his helicopter!
I still have no idea what the purpose of it all is, as I would not like to ride that distance only to have to hold back for another team member. But maybe it's a team sport. All I can say is, thank goodness they race through such magnificent scenery, enabling us all to be armchair travellers with a little adrenalin thrown in!

Light and dark

So we are loadshedding during the tennis! This could become annoying. Cooking I can cope with, as I have gas and all afternoon to prepare it anyway, but to miss the tennis!?! Another evening of tall-flamed candles looms, the Scrabble laid out on the dining room table for another bout of who knows bigger words (or rather, who gets the best letters). Loadshedding has done wonders for card and board games and probably for family togetherness. There is a great deal to be said for shutting off the electronic stimuli that constantly bombard us and a return to a gentler way of life.
I often long for the evenings in front of the radio - Squad Cars (they prowl the empty streets at night, on foot and in fast cars...), Taxi! (Red Sails in the Sunset....), the Mind of Tracy Dark (too scary for me!) and most of all, Sunday nights with the Three Wise Men. Ah, call back the past - those days can never return and I am so thankful I was part of them, a time when the spoken word could draw you into a different life. Nowadays it's all about being fed a picture that gives you no room for imagination.
On a lighter note, after a good day's rain that even left puddles in the driveway, the sun came out at sunset to cast a golden glow on us before the lights went out!

Wild seas

The first heavy seas of winter have arrived! No wonder the noise has been deafening! I can't remember when last we had such stupendous breakers, but then the sea has been so flat for so many months that maybe the memory fades.
This is what living in Kommetjie is all about - ultra-white surf in a sea of ice-cream green, accompanied by rumbling across the bay as the air is forced from the inside of the waves, rich ozone-laden spume tossed across the surface and laid across the rocks as the tide rushes up the shoreline, sea lice scrambling to safety on higher ground, warning us of higher seas to come - as always, like a thief in the dead of night.

Swan Lake

I was never one of those little girls who dreamed of being a ballerina. I doubt whether it ever entered my head. Cowboys and Indians, Cops and Robbers or Dinky cars were more my line. Horseriding was the favoured pastime of my early teens. But I can still appreciate the blood, sweat and tears that goes into becoming a professional ballet dancer and admire the skill of the artistes, although you won't find me scanning the internet or local papers to ensure that I don't miss a performance.
However, the arrival of the St Petersburg Ballet at Artscape was accompanied by such a fanfare and influx of family from afar specially for the event, that I took advantage of a spare ticket to attend what is no doubt the world's favourite ballet, Swan Lake. The music held the greatest sway in the decision, as there can't be many who are not delighted by Tchaikovsky, particularly when the Cape Town Symphony orchestra is performing. We are fortunate to still have a culture of the arts here in Cape Town and a wonderful theatre for its many forms.
From the opening bars to the final standing ovation, there wasn't a moment when the audience was not enraptured by the fabulous costumes, the music - from lilting to dramatic, the lavish sets, the corps de ballet who gave the most credible impression of swans that a human could give, the powerful and fascinating sorcerer, and outstanding choreography.
The danseur was strong and princely, but the danseuse was delicate, elegant, poetry in motion, a statuesque swan in life and death. The final scene was performed with such drama that I was quite overcome.
Although nearly three hours long, the afternoon passed in a flash - even the very young children in the audience didn't fidget. I can't say if I will go to a ballet again, but I can safely say that I have seen the very best.

Hello, darkness, our old friend

I was having dinner at the family home in Clovelly last night, when it became that area's turn for loadshedding. Having lived most of my life with a panoramic view across the Fish Hoek valley from False Bay to the Atlantic Ocean, I'm used to seeing the valley filled with twinkling lights. These have increased dramatically since the 60s, creeping insidiously up the valley, adorning the mountainside and obliterating much of the area we used to play on, the wonderful white sanddunes, with slopes for sand-surfing, vleis for collecting tadpoles and frogs and wind-blown sandstone formations for climbing on. And so it was almost a shock to the system to have it plunged instantly into darkness, with only the lights of the hospital and old age homes remaining. I'd never seen this before.
It didn't take long for the warm glow of candlelight to filter from the windows and I have to say it was an altogether much prettier scene than that provided by the awful sodium street lights that create such a glare that barely a star can be seen at night. Three candles were more than sufficient to light up the kitchen and dining room and we enjoyed a pleasant hour at the round dining table - a welcome relief from the background hum of life in the 21st century. I have to say that, if you are well organised, a few hours' without electricity is something to look forward to.
Driving home was a surreal experience, similar to an apocalypse movie except that there was no destruction. The few cars on the road were being driven well below the speed limit and all robots were approached with caution. Although I have travelled these roads daily for almost 60 years, the lack of lighting made the familiar unfamiliar, and driving along Fish Hoek main road without the shops being lit was eerie in the extreme.
As I reached home, the local pub provided an oasis of light and frivolity in an otherwise silent landscape - they have a generator and it appeared to be much appreciated by the locals!

A placid scene

Having missed yesterday's fly-by of flamingos, I thought I would take a walk down to the Kom to see if they were back this morning. Although there were only a few, they were still a delight to the eye and I even managed to get some decent shots with my conventional camera (most of them were sleeping).

These gangly yet elegant birds, the corps de ballet of the avian world, were very placid this morning, preening a little and sleeping in that strange pose on one leg. A masterful balancing act, with the head neatly tucked back to maintain equilibrium. I think the one with the leg slightly outstretched might still be practising.
The flock is usually very noisy, cackling and grumbling like a bunch of fractious old men complaining about the young people of today, and are quite entertaining. But today was a day to chill out, or maybe thaw out, as the sun peeped over the hill and warmed their pink plumage.
Altogether a very pleasing start to the day.

Just not quick enough!

As you know, I spend a great deal of time looking up or out to sea from my deck. Today the Dakota flew slowly by at eye level, and once again the camera was not at the ready. Not half an hour later, a call came in on the landline and I had to be inside to answer. I missed an unprecedented fly-by of a flamboyance of flamingos as they took off from the Kom, circled past my house and flew out to sea before following the coastline to a nearby vlei. Can you believe it! About 150 of them. Curses!
I think I will confine myself to photographing clouds. They are far more compliant and tend to hang around much longer.
A favourite pastime of the family is to spot Venus in the daytime. This is not all that difficult if you know where the moon is and are up to date on when they will be close together. Tomorrow at noon will be a good time to look out, but be careful that you don't look at the sun, as you don't want a retinal meltdown.
It's okay to look at the sun as it sets, so I did, through the camera lens, with some quite pleasing results.But as usual, I missed the poachers' rubber duck as it sped past in the foreground!

Fog

There are, believe it or not, a few disadvantages to living in this little village, not the least of which relates to the weather. We are perched on a shelf jutting out into the icy Atlantic and if there is fog, we're in it! Today started out cloudy and a little gloomy, like Eeyore. As there was no forecast for rain, I was out in the garden by 8am, sprinkling the vegetables and giving the fig tree its requisite 10 litres twice a week and disposing of offending caterpillars munching on the rocket. Naturally, within half an hour the fog rolled in, followed by a short, sharp shower.
Fog must have a certain temperature at which it forms, I would think, making it rather unpleasantly cool to sit under the milkwood tree at the coffee shop up the road, and everyone was dressed in winter woollies for the occasion. After a quick cappuccino, I set off to meet the parents halfway across the Peninsula, not 5 kilometres away, only to find, as usual, that the finger of fog extended to the outer limits of Kommetjie and the rest of the world was to all intents and purposes fairly bathed in sunshine.
A convivial celebratory lunch to mark the occasion of Dad's 87th birthday ensued, and by the time we exited the building, it was hot enough to shed the scarf and jacket. Back along the road to home, and into the fog blanket again. On with the scarf and jacket.
The gloom glowered on through the afternoon until (no surprise) the sun went down and lit up the high clouds overhead in a warm pink glow. The fog faded away with the daylight, leaving a tiny crescent moon, Jupiter and Saturn bright overhead. That Irishman Murphy at work again.

None so deaf

There are none so deaf as those who will not hear, nor blind that will not see. No matter how much you want to help people with their problems, there comes a time when you finally realise that the complaining and lack of motivation is part of the victim mentality and is the security blanket - without something being wrong, they have no other conversation that will draw the focus to them. Eventually even good friends will drift away, seeking more congenial company, or less needy friends.
This shouldn't make us feel guilty in any way, as everyone has their own journey in life, and it is not our responsibility to ensure that everyone we come across is helped along the way, just as we cannot always expect our problems to be solved by others. We all grow (not just physically!) as we mature, have all made mistakes and learned from them, some quicker than others, and many of us havehad light bulb moments when the meaning of life becomes a little clearer, but there is no way of making anyone else see things from our perspective.
To walk away is not to have given up, either on them or yourself. It is to have grown a little wiser with the allotment of time.

Another last gasp for summer

After two very cold days and colder nights, with threats of snow on Table Mountain, the fickle weather gave us another taste of late summer again today, although tempered by a high haze that turned into yet another spectacular sunset.

Mango and Biggles insisted on featuring in the show, although you won't be able to tell them apart from this angle. They served as props to disguise the house. They have put on their winter coats and nearly doubled in size and weight in just a few short weeks. Mango continues to be fiercely independent, shunning all forms of cuddling, although she is very insistent on an early morning stroking - just don't pick her up. Biggles is a delight, running to be scooped up and cuddled for as long as you like - we've never had a cat so compliant! They are just over a year now, and no longer chase their toys around the house, tumbling and leaping in all directions at imaginary mice or whatever makes cats do such things. The gecko population has been all but wiped out, and little tailless corpses litter the carpets. The downside of young cats.

Who would believe how small they were just a short while ago!

If music be the food of life...

Having only very recently stepped into the world of smartphones and android (I may have the terminology wrong) and relinquished my old Nokia C-5 for the Samsung tablet, there has been no time for me to become jaded by all the exciting possibilities now at my fingertips. Speaking of which, years of hard labour in the kitchen and garden have worn my fingertips away and swiping the touch screen is the most difficult thing to do!
The occasional comment from a friend that I am excessively active on social media is not going to dampen my enthusiasm for discovery and sharing the things that excite me: a bird in the tree; a sudden spectacular sunset; thunderous Atlantic breakers; a particularly attractive plate of food... If it offends, please unfollow.
Although there is no doubt that the old Nokia still takes the most incredible photos, being able to whip out the tablet and share something I have enjoyed immensely immediately brings a lot of fun into life.
The newest thing I have discovered is Jango - yes, yes, I know....  I said I've only just moved into this arena.
Music is such an important part of my life - nothing I like better than listening to something that brings back memories. If they aren't good ones, just press fast forward. There aren't many of those, so my criterion for music selection is, if it doesn't grab you with the opening bars, delete. That's what is so great about Jango - you can tell it to never play a certain song again.
It's probably true that most of us have lived our lives to a background of music, and hearing a particular song is as evocative of important occasions as are photographs. It's all part of the sensory experience that is being human. The talented individuals who have created those songs that have travelled with us through life are a great blessing to the world.
And of course dancing while doing the housework keeps you fit and happy!

Stuff in the sky

If you want to take photos of birds, you have to be quick. Camera lens cover must be off, settings adjusted and eyes peeled. Invariably, I neither have the camera nor a cellphone at the ready. As I lift the tablet to take my Good Morning from Cape Town photo at sunrise, I usually spot a straggle of sacred ibis coming over from Hout Bay and endeavour to frame them artistically. The results are not often what is desired, as the time taken to tap the right spot on the tablet screen far exceeds the time taken for the flock to fly overhead.

Biggles with two birds and a plane. 

An old Dakota flying by, very low and very slow. 

It took so long for me to set the cellphone that the Dakota, which was by far the slowest bird in the sky, disappeared behind the tree.

Some more successful shots.

A whole lot easier to take photos of the moon.

Ships that pass...

When I'm not looking up to see what's in the sky, I'm usually looking out to sea, scanning the ocean waves for interesting ships and the odd whale. Despite having a very small gap through which to look (currently becoming even smaller), I still see an amazing amount of interesting things, not to mention some great waves on a stormy day.
From fishing boats plying to and fro from the nearby harbour of Hout Bay, to tiny crayfishing dinghies out to catch the last of the season, yachts bound for adventure on the high seas, medium sized cruise ships corkscrewing round the Cape of Good Hope, or behemoths of the ocean, they all pass by at varying distances - some so close as to be almost aground and others lost in the misty horizon.