Inertia possesses a momentum all of its own

It has been nearly a year since I wrote for this blog, suggesting that either:

a) I have been too busy

b) I have been having so much fun

c) I am lazy

d) Blogs make me cringe at times

e) All of the above

I decided that if I am ever to be a good writer (in any capacity) then the only way is to practice. This is a lesson I have seen in practice by my beautiful flat-mate Brooke. Very proud! So after nearly a year of not writing (or at least not a consistent effort) I have decided to start again and see where it takes me.

I am sitting at a cafe, in Claremont, for the first time since I arrived here in Cape Town - one of my favourite things to do.

Behind me is a young couple, early 20's I would say. It is his birthday. He exclaims 'I know, I will get my mommy to take me to the aquarium.'

I didn't realise that young men still enjoyed such activities - aquariums or their mother's company. And I smiled. There are nice boys out there.

I currently have 3 assignments to do. I am 5 weeks onto International Protection of Human Rights and International Disputes and the Use of Force - that's why I am here, doing my readings after going for a run earlier around Rondebosch Commons and going to the soccer with some Capetownians tonight.

The thing that I am quietly contemplating is whether or not to ask if I can redesign the cafe's menu. It is simple and well designed but, in my opinion, boring and completely lacking originality. I would like to suggest some ideas without getting my head beaten in. Something I have never done before.

I also have two dessert recipes that I would like to show them. OMG I am excited! Maybe I will start with the desserts before I pull apart their menu. Foot in the door. Best approach I think.

* 2 day interval*

My house mate/land lord Liz is having a braai tonight so I can meet her daughters. I have a lot of work to do still but I am currently baking. No surprises there.

x jnn

Youth Eviction: It's just a state of mind

This week was a big week. I turned 25, I was officially informed that my days of poverty were limited (I got a law clerkship), my flatmate finished her final year medicine exams, we celebrated, celebrated again and once more just to tell ourselves that it was actually real. Then slept for 12 hours. And now I look forward to a dentist ripping my teeth out tomorrow. Not the best note to end on; but you have got to come down sometime, right?

The "I'm on a boat" Party
My actual birthday dinner
My combined 50th Birthday Party
Me (I am in the photo -doing something naughty 4 years ago) and Me (now)
At the Boat Party - It is very very obvious that I am "Where's Wally"

The strange thing is that when it's all over life begins again (well it never really stopped)... lucky it's just a state of mind.

xx jenn (x 5)

The Breadman

The sun was warm and the lunch-timed chatter filled the park.
The passers-by starred under their not-so-dark glasses as the couples bedded on the grass.
Two men lay in solitude. Resting away the hour.
One old. One young.
How old I could not say.

Another man, age settled on his brow, drunk and homeless – or neither.
Just taking his time.
He throws the bread near the older of the two resting men.
The one in the suit. The matching suit.
The birds flock between the three men.
The suit sits up. He looks at me. I shrug a hopeless smile. We both know he’s annoyed.
His eyes pierce at the bread-man. He doesn’t seem to see the problem.
Stiff words fall on absent ears.
He is absent. And so sees no problem.
The suit collects his lunch package. Disturbed. He leaves.
He would have left anyway as time bares heavy on his wrist.

Another man approaches the bread-man, the drunk-man, the homeless-man.
The old man. The breadman.
He wears a brown suit. Unmatched, of course. But he’s better dressed than the breadman.
They embrace and walk towards the giant chess game that has played this whole time in the close-distance.
The birds clean through the bread. The lazy scavengers clear the ground.
The sun is warm and the bread is nuzzled like ducks sifting seeds.

Only the young man lies alone now. With my shaded glasses I sit. And eat alone.
My lover of years past walks by.
I stand. Greet with a kiss.
We look like the rest of them. We chat a while and I watch him eat.
The time passes with familiar ease. My lunch hour rolls over but I still sit.
But soon we stand, shake the scarf.
Then run frantically back to work. Excuses trailing behind.
Like all the rest.
Except the breadman.
The drunk.
The homeless.
Or neither.


(Written during my lunch break in Hyde Park)

The Christmas Season: Celebration or Insanity?

It is Christmas 2009. I can't remember the last Christmas where my family was together. All six of us.

This year all of us will be together. This may not seem like a big deal but between state lines, oceans and significant others it has not been a reality for a few years now. Heading back to Woopi, where we spent most of our childhood Christmas, feels cathartic. It feels like putting lids of old worn presents and opening something new, something bigger and brighter. For the first time in many years the idea of 'Christmas' itself, excites me!

So much is changing. There are wedding proposals, pregancies and for me personally, I am finally a woman. But I guess deep down I will always be 'wren' and I kinda like that.

I just love that feeling inside of genuine excitement(sp?). We are making changes that will impact us greatly. I wanted to cry so much when Meg told me that she was engaged. But for some reason I thought that I needed to hold it together. I don't know why. It was one of those moments where you realise that these decisions will strongly shape where we go. So happy for you Meg!

So Woopi brings back a lot of memories. Some vague, some almost unreal. But it makes me realise that we have all been through a lot and we have made decisions and we have been slowly changing along the way. But more importantly we will be together and I know that we will laugh. There will be excess food, wine, gossip, tears, reminiscing, fights... but I can't think of anything better right now.

I can't help but think of "Little Women" and smile because Will could have been Beth.

xx jenn

Bess...

Who said you can't teach an old dog new tricks

Coffee Next Week?

I live in communication overload. I speak to my friend Sophie on gmail for every waking minute that I am on my computer. She has even great flexibility as she can contact me online with her iphone. This is one piece of communication I still don’t have. I have a Blackberry, but I am too cheap to have internet capabilities. I have an appointment with Apple this week. The situation will be rectified.

My brother just called me to tell me that my mother may be not be well. He didn’t really have the details and this sent me into a panic. I wanted to know more but he didn’t have any further information. He told me to google it. I did. Wikipedia helped me learn about my mother’s condition. I texted mum and told her to call me. Then my friend called me, just as I had sent the text to mum – I was in a bit of a state! He said I emailed you through the documents to sign. I said I would print them and get them to him asap. Surely that will not involve a post stamp… let’s go all out and get the pigeons onto it! Then I got into a gmail chat with a friend in the USA so he asked me to Skype him. So naturally I did. Then I emailed my lecturer for an extension because my friend was a witness in a murder trial and she emailed back to grant wish. And then I came back to my assignment and in a fit of procrastination I thought I would write this and post it on my blog. Oh and I just texted a friend for validation. I have been stalking like crazy on Facebook but I am proud to say that I don’t have a Twitter account. I did. But I thought that was too much on the communication front. In my stalking capabilities I commented on a friend’s wall and then he called me and I freaked out as I didn’t recognise the number. No wonder I can’t concentrate on my Property and Land Rights assignment I have the world chatting to me in one ear and consciousness falling out the other side. But if you gmail chat me, skype me, poke me, blow me, text me I will be there with bells on but be damned if I could have the foresight to arrange a one-on-one coffee.

I clearly don’t have time to see you in person. It would be… too personal and I might blush.

What holds us together

What holds us together, for all the space between each piece, where does one puzzle begin and the other inverted soul stop?

By which piece do they divide? I stop my hand from touching you, I know that my quick, sharp nipples rise and breathe already upon your softwhite salad porcelained body.

Someone stamps my hand, I watch… turn… and fail to see that the reflection in the mirror is me. Through that soft press I am within my self and _choking ^choking for the mercy of small gaps 

that makes me never you nor me