Friday, April 11, 2014

Weave a new basket Women of of World.


Hair is back on the list.  Still on the list.  Had my hair done again.  Going overboard now.  Love extremes, me, I do.

Blogs are essential for the future writers.  Our blabbering, mostly by the Mummy-bloggers, will serve the curious in years to come in some very meaningful way - like explaining when no one else can how or why some things just happened or didn't.


Not that I have less to be thankful for, or that my survival list is any shorter, but moving on.

There are extraordinary numbers of aged humans about in this area.  Observations from the line.

I still classify women  by their shopping styles.  Garlicks Store (no longer exists) Departments: The Showroom, The Scene, Sport and Leisure types, Lace and luxury, Kitchenware, Gap girls and Germaine Monteale ladies.

Women in their fifties still have schedules and chew gum furiously to prevent spitting out their feelings. Their wrist watches tell more than the time and they have hair ... sometimes not done, but about to be done and very convertible.  Mom to Glorious possible in 50 seconds. Their clothes are sensible with quality versus fabulous.  Can-do girls.

Over fifties go grey with gay abandon or dye to cover the years that streaked by. Doesn't matter really. Grey is good as dye if you dye often and well. 

And speaking of dying ... we ancients are dying on our feet, in our shoes, and our memoirs are written in our shoulders, in the lines that run from our nose holes into our chins and drop out of our fingers into the heavy grocery packets.

Those lines connect all women.  One cannot escape the pain of the grind. One can read about the lack of support while expectations were met, tasks completed, projects finished and dinner was delivered.  

The men, when they tag along ...  There's the standing straight, aloof, once upon a handsome one, but now a furry squirrel type sporting an air of completion.  He didn't die. 

The round bod who smiles a lot or puffs too much.  He loved the menu.

There's the mean man, the I'm only doing this because it's easier than killing you man.  His claim to fame is that he spared you.

The broken boys hobble about alone mostly.  They played the game and the bill just got delivered. Rugby, soccer and sky falling... hands, knees and backs, a daisies...

The more unmarried women are the better condition they are in.  There is the absence of disappointment, drudgery and other dank D-words.

One might imagine that single women are in better nick because they are on the look out for a fellow - still - but I don't think that is true. Not altogether, anyway.  They might well be searching for a mate, a someone to ... but they are more at peace.

There are no loop-holes that can spring up from the grass and bite you on the behind.  There are no surprises, no late night arguments about money, sex and what schools ...  Their hair holds their heads higher than the married sisters' heads are held.  They wait intellectually, don't chat to packers, move silently along unaware of their influence on all those about them. 

They hold the energy.  They keep the peace.   I suppose if women knew this they would flip out and over compensate.

Women, however, had better get that we have the power to demand better from the sons and lovers. 

No, I don't mean in the love department. 

Raise the bar Sisters!  These fellows are falling through the holes in the .. floor. 

According to the Violence History book I'm reading (see previous blogs for references) men cause the mess and women clean it up.  

For a number of years women have concentrated on the home (alone) front mess.  Time to go global girls.  There is a big mess to clean up and we will need rubber gloves and shovels.

So, single or strained, ladies, time to change our minds about what role we play in society.  The lesser role is so yesterday. 

Just a Thought ...

Sooner rather than later my lovelies.

Thursday, April 10, 2014



Cape Town.  I am feeling so well. I am a heart beat away from a ... volunteer program.   But, I have learned my lesson.  I am scheming - making lists of things that I can do that don't involve other people, co-operation, understanding and desire - mostly the lack thereof.   Going solo on the next project.   "It's all about me!" I shall say if anyone asks.

The Friend.   Calls one on one's nonsense, cheers when one is winning, cries at failings, and lights candles when terrified.  Essential to survival.

Air.  The night and morning air must be happy with itself.  Clouds without wind.  Deep breathing the quiet air of night and early morning is underestimated. The sky at night has kept me staring and the morning light keeps me in gratitude. I know!  Isn't that a nice change?

Money.  Top-ups are lovely gifts.  Great blessings Oh Great One.

Oh, Great One read an earlier blog only recently and wanted to know what changes were in the air.   I couldn't remember.   But, I remember now.   I'm still not telling.  This is part of the solo project for one.


I am in an internet cafĂ© in a mall.  I got here on my own. I did not get lost.   I am quite comfortable.
I think the Universe is really being kind to me and mine of late.   Not a moment of discomfort.


I have read about the bleeding heart bug or lack of bug that has rendered us all shivering in our boots with fear of compromised passwords, but what the heck.  Nothing is sacred and not everyone is interesting.  If hackers want access to ... they will find me quite boring.  The assistant here doesn't even know about this huge risky moment in internet history.  So I am not wasting a moment's worry on it.  But, if you are an interesting person then perhaps look into it.


I am clean out of profound.  I wonder only about the real role of elites in the world.  I think they might be overestimated.  Just a thought.  They may just be a bit of jam on a brown bread sandwich swishing about on the butter. 

Thursday, April 3, 2014

"Mr Jones" is in the air.


Hairdresser:   Yolande from NEO in the Langeberg Mall is a master. The lesson to learn from Samson is that hair is a great thing.  Not to be neglected.

Wimpy Bar Smoking Area:  I make most of my friends in the Wimpy Bar.  I sit in the smoking section, of course, and there we are all lovely and happy.  If they cut out the smoking section, Wimpy will be lucky to ever see me again.  I won't meet those marvelous people.  The non-smokers never chat to others.  Why is that?

Happiness:  An underestimated state of being, which in my case comes and goes, but when present it seems to lift the entire world.  Either my happiness is a bunch of Light or my lowness is so bad that when I am high, in true Mr Jones fashion, everyone is so relieved that it makes them happy too.  The latter is probably true.


I have thrown out all sorts of junk that collects dust in my study; you won't believe the pile on the floor now.  I have become quite anti-junk.  I did not set out to de-junk the study. I am searching for some vital documents.  I didn't find them.  I don't know where they can be!

Found some of my old drawings from a bright time I went through and some precious things I wrote back in 1997 - on a clear day.  There were some dark days.  I don't change much.  Same high/low. Different years.  How did this mad mind of mine get through it all?  By G-d's good grace.


I watched some television.  After reading THE CIRCLE I am a tad ruffled by how far along that road we have come.

They have got an "Ap" for dog face recognition which you can operate from your phone.


As a species we are morphing, but our manners and decency keep us yet.

I was just musing along today while waiting in queues.  What if the whole world does go "live" and it's actually not so bad?  It might be okay.  I don't think we can stop this present morphing anyway, so, it might be well to start thinking about how we will behave in future.  Will we still have our good manners and decency or will we abandon everything my generation thought was so important?

I thought of myself as watched and listened to today, (after watching CLOSE CIRCUIT last night) and I didn't do anything anyone would find objectionable, I don't think.  We might speak less to strangers in coffee bars, but I am sure we will still pick our noses while stuck in the traffic as though we are invisible in our cars.  A loud speaker may shout at us if we are unconscious or take stupid risks or get out of our trees with frustration, but it might make us drive more sensibly.

See? It's that easy to make friends with whatever comes our way.

We are in a state of movement that cannot be stopped.  Much like those little bodies who like to jump off mountain tops in suits that enable them to glide all the way down to the bottom.  Once we leap, there is nothing for it but to hold one's arms out and fly.  

We have leaped.  We are already flying.  We just have to stay with the thing, this life, until we reach the earth.  I am sure we will find solid ground. We just have to get over this bit where we just jumped.  It's all butterflies and oh my ... what if ... at the moment.

Love and Light my lovelies.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Stones, Circles and Angels


I have been away so long my computer is objecting to the exercise.
[Update: It died further down while in "moving on", but read on - more on that.]

I have read two books!  One after the other. Fiction! I haven't felt like doing that in a long time.  So books are again on the survival list.  After I closed my book shop I thought I would never want to see another book, let alone read one, but ... there it is.  I still love books. 

I am reading (that in itself:  bonus!)  a lovely one now.  Thick one, non-fiction... 

Oh well ... I can't help it.  A seeker I shall die. 

More about that later. You have missed me, right?  This will be a long one. I missed this space enough.

I have had this urge to draw again. Bought some new soft pencils - 6B, 8B, 9B - Goodness knows I am in the mood for a bit of a soft scribble.

Change isn't always all that, but the air is clear. I can see forever at the moment. 

Things are changing and, for a change, it's in a good way.  Some potential excitement might be coming my way.  No questions please.  It's brewing in the think - pot at this stage of the game.  And, and, and, being as I am essentially slow and a dreamer by nature, it might come to nothing more than it is right now: potential change. 

However, that I am even contemplating such a thing is a pure miracle.  I kid you not.  I am feeling something.

Not that watching movies is new,  but never more so than when you get to take out 4 you haven't seen before.  My grandson loves the music in movies.  Finding movies with music that pleases him is such fun.

It's beautiful to be alive.  I thought motherhood was greater than anything I discovered before that, and it is greater than anything before that, or after that, given all that has happened, but gran-e-time comes along and makes motherhood all the more charming.  One's offspring produces a new person and all things glow.

Old Things
My computer died before I got here the first time.  With a bit of luck I have an old one in not such a great state, but still working, and reviving it was easier than getting my newer more updated one to cooperate.  Wouldn't it just be funny if this one lasts longer?  Anyway, blog survived.  I survived. All is well with the world. 


Where I have been, has been without television, the news, the drastic things that bother me so much, and I have to say I feel all the better for it.   Knowing everything the news channels spew out isn't all that good for me.  I have been spared the famous South African trial.  I have just watched movies.  Lots of the same movies, but movies only.

I bought three new books. I never thought I would see the day!  But, I did. 

Stoner, by John Williams is an extraordinary tale of a man who is sold to you as a not so extraordinary, but I found him good to be with, understood him completely and thought to myself, self, such is the way of goodness.  All the remarkable stuff, surviving the banal and evil, is a private thing and unless you blow someone or something up no one thinks it's all that remarkable. 

But surviving is a great thing.  Surviving without making too much of a fuss about it all is especially noteworthy.  I'm too much of a blabbermouth to fall into that saintly category, but without the internet, I might have just sunken into the earth one day without anyone knowing much about the event - life and all its lovely mysteries and jokes.  Not true, I remember.  I kept and keep journals all about the place.  Notes will be found.  Not necessarily read, mind you, but at least found.

I have no special line for you.  The whole book is a line to be savoured. It's all important and underline worthy, only I did not underline one line in this book.  It did not leave me sad.  I only sighed, nodding.  I know this man. I know his audience, the spectators and his opponents.  A beautiful book.

The Circle, by Dave Eggers is quite thick, but the print is large, (yay).  It gives one another view of the human species.  It might have rocked my ship a little had I not enjoyed seeing my own ideas made manifest in it.   One thought in particular came out in it.  Man is jealous of G-d and is striving to be the all knowing, all seeing being that he imagines G-d is.  

Man does not know G-d, perhaps only a few ever have; such a plan is bound to fail miserably, but perhaps not without some of us perishing in the stream of it all.   Also, those who have eyes to see and ears to hear are like one character in the book. 

"Well, Ty said, "That was about what I imagined would happen."

But, don't let me spoil it.  It will change the way you look at things and especially make you think about the act of "liking" things.

The best for last.

The Better Angels of our nature : A History of Violence and Humanity. By Stephen Pinker. 

It is as thick as my pinkie is long (I have big hands) and is meat for the mind.  I am loving it.  The writer warns one at the beginning that he is going to sell the idea of how much more peaceful mankind is these days than we imagine.  I am only on page 82 (the print is smaller), but I am already sold by the conclusion.  It makes me feel better about being told by psychics that I have killed people in my previous life, "in a good way," they add.  It seems I killed bad people.  I'm off that in this life time.  I am trying to be more remarkable, like Stoner: live and let live.  There are 841 pages if you don't count the notes at the back. Over a 1000 if you do. This one's going to last a bit.

As it was in the previous two books there is a thought I share.  Men have a lot to answer for (my thought); 

"Men in non-state societies (and they are almost always men) are deadly serious about war, not just their tactics but in their armaments. which include chemical, biological, and anti-personnel weapons."


We managed to lose a big plane, all the people on it, and no one seems to know how.  There we were all shaking in our boots at the visuals and the audio equipment and what all that means.  So they lost it, or hid it.  The mind boggles at potential stories, but let's not go there.

My interest is less global without having had news to bother me.  I picked up a paper.  News hounds die hard.  I saw a piece by Helen Zille.   "A Beautiful Project Thwarted."

"The mayor and I have often been tempted to withdraw from the Hangberg process altogether;...."

While all lament the lack of provision for the New South Africans it does seem that you can't deliver even if you really want to.  At least, in my experience, that is how it seems.  Then on the way home I had the radio and in one talk show - and that does seem all there is to listen to if you are me -  the presenter asked for only positive comments about life in the new South Africa.  Glad of this, I turned it up.  There were quite a few people who called in to say how much better things were.  Ordinary Joe Soaps called.  Mostly Joe's, though a couple of ladies contributed. 

One comment was a tad funny, if you are warped like me.  Paraphrasing: Back in the day we had to walk 15 kilometers to get water or to find wood ... well the ladies did, because, of course, I am a man ... (and that means you sit about a lot while the ladies walk to find ...) and these days the water is close.  And there is electricity.  Very positive that the said man was grateful that the ladies didn't have to walk so far anymore.

Another was precious in its innocence.   It seems that some community was given water via some piping and water meters were installed to ... ludicrously, I suppose ... charge people for their consumption. This fellow said the positive thing he had to report was that the community merely broke the meters and fixed it so that they could get the water without paying.  After all, the water belongs to the people.  The presenter said that breaking things was not good ... (her three dots) and the man said, no! it was indeed good.  He meant it and he meant no malic by it.  The meters were obviously a silly mistake and the positive news was they knew how to fix it. Now all is well with the world.

Just a thought ...

Hmm - I suppose I might ask men to think before they get excited and draw lines in the sand that need defending.

After my 82 pages of Mr. Pinker's book I am already more relaxed about the state of things.  Firstly because things do seem to be better at the moment than they were, and secondly because if we are falling back into the dark ages (by accident or design or because it is written) then there is precious little I can do about it.  I expect we ladies might have to go back to walking a distance to find water and sticks for the fire again, only this time for different reasons.

And, and, and, we forget the remarkable men who go to their graves. Repeating the past is inevitable.  Best we can do is make sure we survive for a while in as good emotional circumstance as we can conspire to achieve, with a little privacy and a lot of freedom.  And books, of course.  Lots of books.

Love and Light my lovelies