Tuesday, 30 September 2008

Apples and honey

So, it's been a dramatic couple of weeks. Nikolai decided that married life was no longer for him, so I decided that London was no longer for me. Which means that Kolya and I get to live in Cape Town with my lovely friends and family, great weather, mountains and oceans and penguins and all sorts of other things. The shock of change is still sinking in, but we're finding our feet. Which meant that, unexpectedly, we were with the family for Rosh Hashanah, and Kolya got to hang out with his little cousin, Adam Chad.

Saturday, 27 September 2008

Lesson hard learnt

Beware the man that falls in love with you by betraying someone else. Chances are, he'll do it again, when you're someone else.
Beware the man that betrays you often in your dreams. Chances are, your intuition is more powerful than you know.
Beware the man that tells you too often you're the only one. Chances are, he's trying to convince himself of something.
Beware the man who believes he is always right. Chances are, he will be unable to listen to anyone, including you.
Beware the man that calls you a good girl. Chances are, he inwardly wants a bad one.
Beware the man that wants to cast you as his slut, his whore. Chances are, when you become his madonna, he will adoringly leave you.
Beware the man that has no appreciation for his mother. Chances are, in the fullness of time, he will cast you off.
Beware the man that values reason over compassion. Chances are, when his cold reasoning knocks you down, he will fail to help you back to your feet.

Wednesday, 24 September 2008


To the seven people that offered me and my son a place to stay, thank you.
To the friend that left a manic office and cancelled an entire day of appointments and arrangements to make sure we were not alone, thank you.
To the friends that travelled across London and stayed late into the night to offer quiet fortification, thank you.
To my family that checked on us nearly hourly - even when I couldn't answer all the calls, thank you.
To the attorneys and family lawyers that offered lucid and valuable advice, thank you.
To the lawyer that worked late on a Friday night to make sure my son's passage home would never be threatened, thank you.
To the friend that sacrificed a long-awaited holiday and instead navigated shock and turmoil with equanimity and levity, and patiently reminded me to feed myself and my child, thank you.
To the couple that hosted a tiny, meaningful satsang on my last night in London, thank you.
To the Art of Living teacher that quietly asked before offering her blessing - I don't want to give you blessings that you do not want - thank you.
To the friend that did not hesitate to take responsibility for my car and other practicalities, thank you.
To the Polish guy that sorted out the luggage with half a ton of plastic and a smile, thank you.
To the airline staff that quietly found us a place to lay down in the business class cabin, thank you.
To the acquaintance I barely knew who offered her warm and clear-eyed view to help clarify my own, thank you.
To my parents that never once said We warned you as they closed their arms around me, thank you.
To everyone in Cape Town that has reminded us that we are where we belong, thank you.
To my child for retaining his Buddha laugh, calming and charming, thank you.

Tuesday, 23 September 2008

Spring solstice

The length of day equals the length of night for only one night. After that, the light will grow and grow again in the south, and up north, days will darken.
Cape Town seas still stormy, but the whales are coming.
I didn't think I'd be back here this fast.
No time to say goodbye to the twisted purple beans at the allotment, weighing down the beanpoles with the heavy growth of two weeks.
No time to start the mum-and-baby salsa classes we signed up for in Blackheath.
Time only to zip two lives into three suitcases and a heap for fast shipping.
Time only for a short sharp shock to the heart and a change of direction.
Time only to keep a baby fed while winding down the vision of a shared home, a shared future, and excising ourselves from a small room of broken promises. It took a year and a half to grow all this, and less than an hour to shatter it. Sweeping away the pieces and preparing to leave was peculiarly simple.
Beware Greeks bearing gifts, said one friend.
Beware the dangerous cocktail of fickleness and conviction, said another.
Eat, said the third.
Look to the next thing, said a child with an unusual gift for clarity.