A Self-Indulgent Little Yarn!

Thought I should rather write here than in my handwritten journal. There’s the two plus-sides to this : I can keep y’all updated with what’s happening in my complicatedly happy little life – as well as preventing myself from self-pitying bitching in my private diary!


Plekkie: The Pink Fig, Port Elizabeth: topping up my adoration of Capetonian glamour and gorgeousness.

Beverage: Bitter, black coffee which reminds me of Greece – but probably, the Greek association comes from my recently adopted role as editor for a Greek author’s novel about a young man’s quest to discover the secret of his being orphaned, and set on the island of Zakynthos. Ironically and perhaps serendipitously, this is the one island we were forced to skip on my sweet-sixteen sailing holiday around the Ionian islands. (Running a day behind Papa’s strict sailing schedule *sigh*.)

Soundtrack : ‘Havana Lounge’ – a spot of Cuban sunshine on a surprisingly nippy day.

Here's the latest on my flourishing writing career (a slow-growing but hardy cactus! )
a) Plenty of interruptions and obstacles, some disappointments and a little too much lack of support. (After expressing my resulting anger in a response to a friend’s blogpost, he spoke to me, kindly, about rather responding in grace, and sometimes with fire&brimstone (i.e. righteous anger). His following words to me have somehow stuck in my heart:  A painful truth to internalise, but too, too true: my heart feels tough, rough and black. But the words, ‘respond with grace’, are healing: and I find myself treating everyone with more patience, kindness and beautiful love.)

‘Nothing destroys a beautiful woman faster than bitterness and resentment.’

b) Through some external and very loving, attentive nurturing, my thorns of self-confidence are growing beautifully: I daily protect my heart with grace, and sometimes an assertive little prick or two.

Image by Lisa Roberts Carter
'The Metaphysics of Knitting'

My article, ‘The Metaphysics of Knitting’, published last week in Hy-Se-Sy-Se became the departure point for a new direction in my writing and creative journey. I’ve decided to head into the sunset of fashion and beauty: analysing global trends in my quirky, detail-rich and apparently alternative style. Once I’ve defined myself as a ‘brand’, I’ll soon be creating a website showcasing my talents and passions, where I’ll be able to sell my ideas, making a lucrative living at last! (How’s that for flowering-cactus self-confidence?!)



Image by Lisa Roberts Carter
For Post about Collect Jewellery

 And while I’m blowing my own trumpet: I’m now writing for a Canadian e-magazine to be launched in September. Called ‘BoutiqueMademoiselleVintage.com’, my speciality will be adding a bit of South African flavour of vintageness! I also joined Twitter last week - and it has been the most phenomenal business and networking tool! Find me on Twitter : @lisa_the_jotter

Image by Lisa Roberts Carter
For BoutiqueMademoiselleVintage.com

Better say ciao and begin writing up my story about the TLC Blanket Project dreamed up by Judy Hendra. Inspired by her idea to knit up a colourfully cheerful blanket, embellished with numbers and the alphabet to help Ryno, a young man who, after a debilitating motorbike accident, has to relearn how to walktalkreadwrite – and even swallow again, Judy has grown her idea into something far-reaching and spectacular: to give each toddler in Africa a ‘learning and comforting’ blanket.

As soon as it’s published, I’ll post the link back here! So come back and haul out your courage to spend less time on yourself, and knit up a storm! (And, if you’d like to get started ASAP, please leave your details for me in the COMMENTS box below! Time to be a Hero! I started yesterday evening and am already almost finished my first square!)

Patriot Games & Poetry Pie

Blog-jogging in the car (blogging-on-the-run, remember?) on our way back to Grahamstown after an idyllic weekend in PE! Our BoysInGreen kicked serious Kiwi Ass (and despite the fact I didn't watch the game, I'm a)still MASSIVELY chuffed, and b)relished the vibe of patriotic euphoria, waved about in giant flags of green and gold, hooted and shouted --- hang on (!) - I didn't hear a single vuvuzela?! Ag, I suppose South African Man's a 7 Day Wonder. Pity... The vuvuzela became such an icon of our success as a world-class nation - as well as a symbol of the blending of our two different (sporting) cultures.

I spent the morning immersed in poet Elsibe Loubser's new poetry - and swimming through them in graphite and paper. (We realised we are both consumed by the same ideas about 'love vs livelihood' at the moment. So when I suggested we collaborate, she grabbed me in a great big Blackberry hug, saying: 'Yes, please!')

Then, there is the page from my visual diary circa 2003.

And the bird image is from my Black Velvet exhibition in 2003: where Elsibe and I met! She bought that particular artwork from me --- and: HUGE HAMMERING-HEART HONOUR: she STILL uses in the writing course she teaches! Lekker, ne?

Adios-time,
Me
'Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears.' Albert Camus

Goodbyes (and the eternalness of an ellipsis...)

Time is what mortalises us, I think.

A week ago, we heard the shock of news that my Aunty Lola had lost 14kg in a month. And the next day, the diagnosis, the prognosis... Inoperable pancreatic cancer; 2 - 6 weeks. 2 - 6 weeks of what? How? And... why? Why.

Her daughters and siblings have flown in from all around the world to spend this last chapter with her. And though my heart is breaking with not being able to see her 'one last time' (what horror to even type that phrase) I am scared and ashamed that I don't know how to say this goodbye. What I do know is that this final goodbye is desperately sacred. And the thought of a phonecall frightens all the memories of her out from the bottom of my childhood's heart - a Pandora's Box. I want to keep her alive in my heart - and keep my memories of her locked up tight : pink heirloom pearls in the dark, dusty velvet of my heart.

And yet, I know real, strong and true love demands a goodbye. There is honour in opening your heart in the face of the terrifying confusion of grief-about-to-happen. And this I know. I must phone. Tomorrow.

Insert: Lola as a young mother, holding Tandy, my cousin. (Her photo on my writing wall -- a reminder to pray, her very own votive candle.)

(There is more to tell. Another day. An easier day.)
'Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears.' Albert Camus

Pearls Before Breakfast!

There is a very good reason why proverbs exist: because they are distilled truths. Nuggets of divinely inspired wisdom. And my particular pearly nugget?

"Leap, and the net will appear."

And do you know that GUARANTEED, every time I leap into the void, that net catches me with the utmost grace. This circus-act of courage and blind faith has been repeated so often in my life, that I wonder why I backpedal into my coward's corner as often as I do. Surely by now I should know?!

My most recent spiritual 'bollemakiesie'* was a decision to steal back my Destiny from the numbing mediocrity of marriedness. And with no space, in every sense of the word: time, studio-space, heart/mind space, I made the painfully radical decision to choose only ONE passion to focus on. I could simply not be :
1. Mama Mia Extraordinaire
2. Online art-decor 'butik' designer/maker/owner
3. Freelance writer
4. Blogger (for myself + other sites)
5. Fine artist

And so, I chose to concentrate everything I have on my writing. Why? Our house is (and I'm not drama-queening it for a change!) is the size of a large-ish caravan. So, men, I've now proven that size does INDEED matter. There is simply no space AT ALL to function as a productive artist. At least with my writing, all I need is my laptop and a dongle. (Sounds lavishly naughty, doesn't it? But it's only a small rectangle of internet-conducting plastic...)

23 highly illicit cardboard boxes from the backdoor of our local supermarket later, and my studio was sifted and sorted, bittersweetly boxed for another time and place. But - another proverb that rings so true for me - "Get rid of the old to make space for the new" : and so, with this letting-go, there was space for something brandnew and beautiful to take it's place: so when I worked (with none of the guilty, distracting obligation of my waiting studio draining my energy/time) all weekend on researching paying writing markets and setting up my writing resume, it should have been no great surprise that after submitting an application to write for a Canadian vintage-fashion magazine only yesterday afternoon, that I woke up to their excited letter of acceptance in my inbox this morning! (Thereby proving BOTH proverbs irrevocably foolproof, reassuring and inspiring!)

(And wasn't that a nifty little method of bragging? *wink*)

PS. This photo of Layla reminds me of the photo I sent to the creative director of the magazine, describing Layla's emerging fabsession (fashion+obsession) --- in this photo, you can see the peach ribbon on her hair: she saw me packing it away into a box, and specifically asked me to put it in her hair in a bow -- even though I've never done that for her before. Amazing! Oh yes - and that also makes me think of her sitting on the kitchen counter two nights ago: and while she was sampling the avo with much lip-smacking, she announced, out of the blue: "Hmm, this is fantastic!" Quite remarkable for a 2 year old. (Well, this proud mommy thinks so anyway!)
PPS. I (unashamedly and with greenest envy) stole the title for this blog from a Pulitzer-winning article. Google it (and set aside 20minutes to slowly savour and digest it) A writer-friend in the States sent this nuggety-pearly wisdom my way - and I'm : grateful.
'Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears.' Albert Camus

A is Apple, B is for Benefactor

Apples are Layla's fruit du jour - but peeled, mind you. Miss Specific. Pears (the crunchy green kind!) are her next favourite fruit. Hence my first ever celebration of fruit as part of my kitchen decor. Miss Specific.

My second self-imposed exile in the UK opened up the unlikely treasure trove of the English institution of The Saturday Car Boot Sale --- and an almost manic, magpie-ish obsession with antiques and quirky vintageness. Hence the little 1950s Bakelite doll, and the silver and bone knives and forks (which I use every day!)

I aaaaalmost started a happy little rant about the metaphysics of beauty, but because this is quick jot from my Blackberry, I HAVE to keep it short (finger-cramp/tendon-inflamation). But - at least it's something, huh! (*wink*) (All thanks must go to Stacey Beadon for suggesting idea which I'm christening : blog-jogs ---- i.e. blogging on the run!)

PS. Internet is miraculously on the near horizon for me (*phew*) thanks to a not-so-surprising benefactor (my mom!) So soon-soon I'll be able to write more than these little Blackberried snatches.
'Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears.' Albert Camus

Layla Sleeps = Mommy Writes

Abandoned - my previous attempt at a blog post about the ( im )possibility of mothers being artists. That draft has sat there, waiting for me to come back to it, for 2 weeks now... In the meantime, I made a new friend: Elsabe Milandri - also an artist and a mama with a very young and busy toddler. Besides these two things we share, we also both have less than perfect living conditions - and the tiniest of makeshift studios. And, boy, do I mean tiny... But: in chatting to her, she handed me, on a golden plate, the epiphany I've long been hunting blindly for since Layla was born: "Use your limitations to your explicit advantage: make small works and exhibit with pride your ability to transcend what others as limitations. Use your creativity to turn your limitations into your wings. Fly!"

One of my biggest 'wings' is poverty.
1. Poverty - literally. Because I am not working, our life on my husband's teacher's salary sometimes feels a little dismal: but, in TRUTH, our life is so much richer for the life we give Layla through my constant, responsive mothering. These few short years investing our love, energy and time into her will pay such special dividends later on, when I will be earning money for us, and missing her magnificent presence around me: not like my shadow, but my sun.
2. Poverty of time. Because I am the kind of mother that is fanatically devoted to her child's development (amidst the irritable sighs of others) it means that the only time I really have to do anything for myself (brush teeth, dye eyebrows, draw etc) is when The Angel sleeps. (Hence why I have already been interrupted no less than 5 times between 12pm and 7.42pm trying to write this post!) But: I am not going to give up trying to find the flipside-positive of this time-absence thing! (What being a mother HAS taught me is to honour the time I do have: I no longer fart-arse around in perpetual procrastination! How could I have wasted all those 31 years of lazy lie-ins?! Now I grab life and my opportunities by the balls (however sporadically!) So - thank you, Layla, my baby!

(And now I have to say goodbye: time has fled!)

Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Look out for Thenjiwe Bunu's Infallible Samp Recipe: COMING SOON!

Perfectly marrying this random/personal/lifestyle blog with The Soutpiel Phenomenon, Samp&Sushi is my new blog dedicated to the glorification of all things gastronomical: taking the South African palate into special consideration, of course! (*wink*)

Have a cook - oops, I mean a 'look', and leave your comments because......................... I love hearing from you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!