Kids were chatting, Kennith was driving.  Really busy main road.  I was staring out the window in the normal spaced out way I usually do.  I stare at the leaves.  I stare at the road signs.  I sometimes add the numbers on the buildings.

I just stare, but it is not in a totally blank way.

My problem is that I do take in way too much stimuli and information, and it often leads to a bit of a brain melt down.  But that is another story.

We were on Tygervalley main road, I saw a guy lying on the pavement, odd, but not that unusual.  Sometimes people need to have a little lie down and the pavement is as good a place as any.  It happens.

I noticed the guy was lying down, but he had a crutch and it looked like he was trying to push himself up.  The crutch just slipped and slipped as he tried to push his weight on it.

He was flat on his stomach, sort of spread eagled, and he had something around his neck, and he was struggling to get up.

I am funny about details.  I can pick up small bits of things at a glance.  Occupational hazard.

I know this does not look right.  I have no idea what is going on. The temperature is around 35 degrees.  It was too hot for a lie down on a hot stretch of tar.

All I can think is this guy can’t get up.  He is lying on the pavement.  He has a crutch, which means he must have some sort of injury to begin with.W

e can’t just leave him, and hope the next person helps him.

I yell for Kennith to stop.

Kennith looks in the rearview mirror and makes a judgement, which really was not an incorrect perception based on what we often see.  But I disagreed.  I felt what ever was happening there, there was a man in distress, lying on the pavement, and there we were all driving past and no one was helping him.

I suggested again, that we should stop and go and help this man.

I do take into consideration we are on a main road, there is little to no pull over space, we have three kids in the car, we have no way of asessessing what is actually going on here, and what the risks are and what we are involving ourselves in.

We stop the car in the safest spot we could find.  Kennith walks/jogs back to the spot.

I am so glad we did.

It turned out the guy could not walk without his crutch – he appeared to have a spinal issue rather than a limp.  He had a really heavy bag that he had got itself wrapped around his neck, so he could not get up.  He was also deaf and mute, so could not call out for help.  Not a good situation.

Yes, it could have quite easily been an inebriated person at the side of the road, having a little lie down on the pavement.

It could have been.  But it wasn’t.

I do think that we look away, we avert our eyes, and in so doing protect ourselves from the pure onslaught of the masses that need our help.

So what it our help is sometimes misdirected.

We give some money and some food to a person who might be, I don’t know, not as poor and needy as we think.  So what.  My guess is they have a lot less than you.

Every now and then buy a can of coke, and the next stoplight you get to hand it to the guy begging.  Imagine how great it is if someone gives you an ice-cold cool drink when you are exhausted and at the end of your tether.  How cool is that? If it is a really hot day, I buy a coke for the PnP teller or the person who packs my bags at PnP or the guy that pushes my trolley.

Its a coke, the cost barely is an issue for me – however do come back to me on the 20th of the month, when I cannot buy a tube of wine gums – but my guess is the person I give a coke to probably needs it a bit more than me.  But when I can I buy some stranger a coke, or tip the guy who helps me unpack my groceries R10.00 – because today I can.

I don’t know what everyone’s story is.

And no, I am not the Good Samaritan.  I do not plan on going around and doing good works all day, but maybe if all of us maybe looked around a bit for, and did some small stuff.

Life would be a bit easier for the next person, and the cost to you is barely noticeable.

A few weeks ago, I stopped at a PnP that I do not normally go to. I stopped in to grab something.  The guy standing in front of me was paying for what appeared to be bare necessities, oil, nappies, some mince and a few other odds and sods.  Really basic stuff.  The teller got to the end and she said “It was XYZ cost…” the guy clearly did not have enough money, so took out one of the items.

You could see it was not a luxury he was choosing to not get, it was a necessity he could not afford.  I stood there and let him put the item on the side.  Then I just thought, that item has little value to me, but clearly to him, it has a different value.  Isaid “It’s okay, take the XXX, I will get it this time,” and I handed the money he was short to the teller so he could buy the item.

You know, the amount had little to no value to me.  I did not know him.  I probably will not know him if he walked past me tomorrow.  But maybe for a moment there he thought, hey, today is not as shit as I thought it was. Maybe.

Anyway, that is my story.

    I find a dreamer’s perch on a captured balcony and indulge my fantasies.

           I’m a child in the window, who dreams of being  grown up.

   And ahead to spring.  Dreams of homes and gardens and gatherings.

Time stood still when I found this darling lonesome flower, hanging onto its life into the winter months.

             Feel the shiver from the stillness of the marina.

        Remembering the green warmth of late summer. 

What better time of year to remember the way the clouds moved just for me, completing the perfect day with a nod from heaven.  Happy New Year, and many quiet dreams to you all!

Since receiving my new camera about a year ago, I have taken thousands of pictures.  But lately I am drawn to photograph tiny little things, like my inch tall tumbling Santas, or the details on a plate designed by my favorite artist.  It happened quite by accident.  I was photographing my thrift store finds to share with my sister, who used to be my thrift store buddy.  But now, since we are so far apart, I thought it would be fun to include her in going through my loot.  I was taking pictures of a plate I found, when I began to zoom in and notice all kinds of little details.  I could almost feel the artist over my shoulder smiling, “Yes, there is a lot more to see.” 

This spark ignited a flame of curiosity about the tiny little unnoticed world all around us.  I have often thought about the vastness of the universe, but haven’t pondered the little things very much.  Now I am noticing them everywhere, in fabrics, textures, and tiny little collectibles for the knick-knack shelf.

I watched the Incredible Shrinking Man on you tube and in the end, he never really disappears, because infinity works in both directions.  He would just keep getting smaller and smaller forever and ever. 

This attention to small things can lead to a great deal of peace and wonderment!  To cease looking outward, or onward, or beyond to some far away place or time, and to be present right where you are; to notice the tiny details of your child’s fingernails, or the curve of your lover’s nose.  It’s comforting to know there is so much to explore in your very own home,  so many ways to grow in creativity just by becoming aware of what is all around you in every moment.  Why, there may even be a universe in that little dust speck after all!

Partly because it was one of the first times I remembered to push the door instead of pulling. I had just embarrassed myself minutes before at the little thrift store I like. I had pulled the handle. It didn’t budge. So I hung my head, took a few steps and started window-shopping. Then I saw a woman who was clearly browsing in there! So I went back to the door, and pushed. That was the trick. But back to the museum: this is not an ordinary museum, but quite like an old country store. And all the goodies on display are for sale! I set about to browsing, when the old gentleman running the place greeted me in Danish. I took a moment to make it obvious we have a language barrier, but like most of the Danish folks, he did his best to help me in broken English. I selected something darling to help me with a bit of Danish vocabulary. Reminded me of the old Dick and Jane illustrations in the states.  

My eyes fell to the floor where this shoehorn creature begged me to take him too! I tried to ignore him, picking him up, admiring him, setting him back down. No, there was no leaving this little guy.  

We had boot-removing devices when I was a kid, but nothing like this! Ours was just an ugly piece of wood with a v at the top. This guy became my birthday present!   

After paying for my finds, I asked the man if I might take some photos. He was more than accommodating, pointing out interesting antiques around the place, and welcoming me to different rooms.   Enjoy the slideshow!

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I have a love hate relationship with the North Country. I grew up here, so I am loaded with memories, both good and bad. But I went away and focused on the bad for a very long time: the winters, the gray days, the snow and slush. The way you can never wear anything pretty on your feet for months because you have to wear boots. And the way your pant legs are all stiff and frozen when you come inside, and then melt so your ankles are cold and damp for hours. Or the way the sun hides for weeks at a time, and turns the mood worse and worse until just being alive feels like a miserable chore. The way grumpy, petty, gossipy people feeling irritated and going through life together in one dull and drizzly haze seems inevitable for the area. As I got older I became aware of even more things: the heat bill, snow tires, property taxes, school taxes, and more taxes.

But something has happened to me since moving back here after traveling around for several years. With the window open on a late August day, I hear the sounds of the katydid, and the smell of fall in the air, and I am back in my childhood kitchen, just home from school and there on the table is a big wooden bowl full of fresh picked apples. We had gone for the day, and rode in the back of the truck, and picked only the biggest reddest apples we could find, storing bushel baskets full of them on the porch off the kitchen. There they would wait to be peeled, cooked, canned, or baked into some dreamy treat. The smell is more intense than any Yankee candle ever dreamed. And then I remember my mother making Halloween costumes. My favorite, the robot, was cardboard boxes covered with tin foil and all kinds of little gadgets attached. Then there was the hobo, or witch, or Raggedy Anne. Halloween could be enjoyed in an Indian summer, or with winter coats and boots covering your costume. I can still hear the rustling of leaves as we would shuffle through them walking all around town at dusk and continuing for several hours on a school night. Popcorn balls were the jackpot, but apples were a little lame. A pillowcase was the best carrier for your treats because it was so big, but sometimes I would use the plastic pumpkin with a hole in its head because it was cooler.Wow. All that from a little fall breeze. It makes me long for the country. I have been living in an apartment in the city since I returned to the North. I hear traffic, and sirens, and the tire shop next door with its grinder and air driver sounds. I get in my car and drive and keep driving until I can hear the high-pitched cicadas and nothing else. I smell faint manure and see open fields, cattails, and goldenrod. And everything is better. I am beginning to wonder why I hated it here. Snow? Is that the big one? Is it the snow and cold that was so awful? Again I am returned to childhood and standing on the register. I peel off my thick socks and feel the itchy red burning on my feet and cheeks. I just took off my wool snow pants and jacket and mittens and hung them on the clothes bars in the kitchen. My hair is damp and matted from my stocking hat with the long tail. I have an icicle that one of my brother’s broke off the porch roof for me. And all I can smell is damp wool. We just built a snow fort in the dark. We started it before dinner, ate, did up the dishes, and went back out to work on it under the street light. It’s at the edge of the driveway where the snowplow, and dad’s shoveling ended up in a good-sized pile. The inside is like an igloo with smooth walls, roomy enough for three of us. And the dog. I feel my heart sink as Mom calls us in from the porch. It’s bath night. Bummer.

When we weren’t making a snow fort, we were walking to the Brown Mansion where the fireman had flooded the yard for an ice rink. There was even a loud speaker playing music. We practiced skating backwards or we made a chain. Everyone holds the person if front of them, and skates as fast as they can. But you hope like hell you’re not on the end, because the end people get whipped around and fly off like a broken tail! The sledding hill was at the mansion too so if your feet got tired, or cold, you could go inside to warm up and have some hot chocolate, take off your mittens, warm up your hands, unlace your skates and put on your boots. There was another whole gang of kids out on the hill with toboggans, flexible flyers, plastic sleds, saucers, or if the hill was icy, you could even slide down on the back of your snowsuit. Sometimes we played bean pile on the plastic sled. I was lucky I was small. I would be on top.

I open my eyes taking in the old stone house for sale. I sit in the driveway with the windows down and listen to the quiet. I could sit in this driveway forever. This house is private, quiet, and very much in the country. Several acres stretch out behind a red barn. A big pond promises bullfrog sounds in the evening. Grapes hang ready to be harvested, and rhubarb and asparagus plants thrive. I still can’t believe I am scouting out a house right here in the North Country. I never would have dreamed I’d be back here to live. But as I inhale the fall air and feel the end of summer shining on my face, I dream of wood stoves, and crunchy leaves, and pumpkins to put out on the steps.

My volunteering is helping refugee kids that have arrived in Sweden without their parents, with their homework. It’s two hours a week and I feel like it is probably the best two hours spent of my week.

I feel good about helping someone else and doing something that feels useful. They feel good because I can help them with their Swedish, their reading and they get a have a grown-up around to talk with that doesn’t work at the place where they live.

It is nice and they are nice, very polite and well-behaved. Today we stayed behind for a bit, drank some tea and just talking.

Real feel good stuff!

I have my list – one child gift box from every member of the family – please go along and register it is really really easy and such a good thing and you really do not have to do much to make a difference – even if it is just a tiny difference.

I get all sad and weepy if I think that there is a child who does not get to open a gift on Xmas day – so this is a really nice campaign – give us much or as little as you can.  Get your kids to decorate the shoe boxes.

Please visit www.santashoebox.co.za and click to join.