AN ELEPHANT ADVENTURE

    Wrong color for a moose, or a bear, for that matter.

   Just as if he were standing right close to my ear, I heard Dad’s voice—or maybe it was a memory replay—telling me ‘Climb the tree. Quick.’  

   A flood of energy surged through my body. Next thing I knew, I was half way up the tree and climbing purposefully toward a high perch where I could rest in safety, look down to see if there really were wild animals about or if I’d given myself a good scare for no reason whatsoever.

   Clinging onto a branch, the bark rough against my palms and the insides of my knees, I looked down. At first I didn’t see anything, but I sensed a movement, a kind of surging of leaves. The trees parted almost like stage curtains then closed again. And there he was. Only one, but unmistakably an elephant: brownish gray, hairy skin, the distinctive head and gently flapping ears and a certain smell, almost like rotting fruit. 

   Here I was, in an extremely remote area, pretty defenseless when it came to dealing with rampaging rogue elephants. I wasn’t up for a confrontation. Not, at least, with a creature more than twice my height. African elephants, I discovered, were large. Not those dinky ones they have in the Far East I’d seen when Dad took Granpa and me to the circus. I was talking dinosaur huge.

   Closer he came, and closer. Now he was directly below me, his broad back a curved trampoline. How easy it would be to drop down and take a ride. I stifled a hysterical bubble of laughter. Right.

   I climbed higher.

   In a minute I was thanking my lucky stars I had. The elephant stretched his trunk in a swift upward curve, and like a homing device sensing something alien nearby, lifted the seeking end towards me. Yikes! I hitched myself a notch higher. If I’d been any lower down, that twitching, sensitive trunk, which I knew was extremely powerful, able to uproot quite large saplings, would have been able to reach me and possibly push me right off the tree. I had visions of being tossed around like an unfortunate bull-fighter, or trampled underfoot until I was one squashed Alexa.

   I swallowed, but the dryness in my throat didn’t ease. These were not the kind of thoughts I should be having. 

   So what were? Who knows who or what whispered in my head, but suddenly I knew. Much better to tune into the elephant, send the creature some sympathy, get into its skin, so to speak. With a conscious effort I calmed my breathing, closed my eyes and pushed away the fear. My heartbeat resumed its regular rhythm and then, all of a sudden, I was in touch with the elephantness. The massive creature was not truly threatening, just curious as to who was invading its territory.

   I looked down at him. He stood still, his trunk swaying from side to side like a giant pendulum.   

   It was as if I were transported back into another era, an ancient time when all creatures lived in harmony. Which didn’t mean I wasn’t shit scared, but that I’d kind of entered a different dimension. The elephant, large and heavy as he was, moved on soft feet, each movement performed like a master of Tai Chi. He glided to the water, lifted his trunk as if first acknowledging the gift in gratitude, then lowered the long tube to suck up at least a couple of bucketsful.

   I watched warily. At last, his thirst quenched, he turned. Took a few steps in my direction. I let out a cheep of distress. My hands, arms, legs were aching and cramping. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to cling to the tree.

   But it seemed his interest in me was a thing of the past. He lowered his trunk to inspect this alien thing that lay on the loamy ground of the forest floor. My water bottle. I watched as he nudged at it, lifted one front leg, the foot larger than a Frisbee.

   He’s going to crush it, I thought. But no, it seemed he was more in the mood for a game, because he began rolling it forward and back.

   By now my spine was a red hot poker. My fingers had fossilized and I was suffering from the most extreme case of numb bum in the universe, when suddenly, without warning, the elly lost interest. In a few seconds, with practically no noise and hardly any apparent movement, he disappeared.

   I blinked, unbelieving, unable to trace a hint of that huge animal’s movements. The forest had simply swallowed him up.

What the Dickens?

 

I'm chewing through this abridged (!) biography of the great novelist. It's a secondhand book which caught my eye because I'm considering putting up episodes of my latest work-in-progress 'The Marvellous Adventures of the Widow's Son" on a regular basis. Maybe monthly if I can manage. But not quite yet...

Reading this somewhat fanciful account I'm absolutely astonished at the energy of the man, not to mention how driven he was. How he managed to keep up with his writing, socializing, travelling, giving readings and much else, I simply can't imagine!

But I was fascinated to read how he was taunted for his surname. This, because of a Shakespeare quote 'What the dickens?' Who knew?

APRIL IS POETRY MONTH!

Like the creek not far from my home, the poems have been flowing! Not that they're always welcome, say if it's early morning and words fly into my head. Must I really wake enough, reach for my notebook and write them down? Oh well. I suppose so. Seeing as another couple of lines are now ringing — a Musey alarm clock??

As dear daughter who claims to be 'powered by poetry' gifted me with this notebook, 

saying I was unlikely to mislay it (!), I reach for the pen, click it, and start to write:

EARLY SPRING

 

Bare branches, gilded by the risen sun, 

sway in the freezing breeze, and wonder: 

when will spring come?

 

Budding catkins, tinged with red,

await the seasons’ change to warmth. 

Then at last they’ll celebrate— 

hang dangly earrings

to decorate and demonstrate

the sweet, surging sap of resurrected maple.

MUSICAL NUDGES FROM MY MUSE

 This morning when I turned on the radio (Ici musique), the soft strains of Ravel's Pavane wafted through the room... the very piece which plays a fairly significant role in my companion novel to 'Cape Town'. I considered it a sweet reminder to work further on my revisions this week. You'll see the notes from my editor peeking out from under the notebook I'm using for said revisions.

Also, I decided to change the title of Charmaine's story from 'Some Dance to Remember', to 'Reasons to Dance'. Please comment below if you disagree. (I don't offend easily... a gift my writing has brought via critiques and rejections!!)

The other tune I heard? Well, that's to do with my saga-in-progress and I'm reluctant to share too much about that for the time being. Suffice it to say, it's also set in the Cape, South Africa. I'm relishing warm sunshine and beach sand!!

MID-FEBRUARY MORNING

 Dear Reader, 

Hallo! I discovered recently that the moon can have an influence on creativity... two weeks of inspiration, two of assessment. So I decided to do an experiment, and am marking days when ideas and words fly into my head. My wall calendar this year, bought from the Musee de Beaux Arts de Montreal, is Degas. I'm looking at a close up of a young woman wearing a hat. A bit like me when I go out, except for the adjective, of course!😏

Early morning brought me a poem. Nothing particularly profound, but you might enjoy it nevertheless. The accompanying photo was taken through my bedroom window and, unfortunately, doesn't reveal the special quality of the light. 

MID-FEBRUARY MORNING

 

The world is white.

Clinging, shrunken maple leaves

reflect the golden

morning light and tremble,

oh so slightly,

in the breeze —

 

A dazzling day 

but bitter with 

mid-winter’s cold.  

 

There’ll be no

peeking my nose 

outside today,

and that’s for certain sure.

THE FIRST BREATH OF FALL

 My Corona tidy-up so far has consisted in going through many of my notebooks. Wow! What riches! What treasures! (Yes, sometimes I surprise myself ;-) Plenty of words, ideas and inspirations dwell therein.

Also, many poems, not all of which are in my 'Poems' folder on my computer. A while back I abandoned work on these in despair at the on-going revision work i.e. they're hardly ever finished, or brought to a satisfying realization. But they keep coming, so I gave in.

In order to switch away from typing, I decided to pick up my long-neglected water-colour painting. What emerged was an image that works as an illustration to a not-so-recent poem. But now, do you think I can find those lines?? Disappeared into the ether, friends.

Writing wisdom proclaims one has to write Xmany thousands of words before one finds one's voice. I'm sure I've written waaaay more than that. Result? I've found several different voices. No, I don't have a split personality. No more than other people born under the sign of Gemini anyhow.

But my notebooks are a mess. So now my task is to go through them again and make sure I add the words I've written to the relevant project. Hmm. Thinks... that'll be a good goal for the winter. Meanwhile, it's back to two on-going story discoveries! 

The ending dilemma.

Here's an old photo of me sitting at my desk in our old home in Richmond Hill. What remains the same are my desk, the chair and the pen/pencil holder. One of these fine days I'll get someone to snap a new, up to date pic.

All those words, just by way of explanation :-)

A fair amount of my writing time goes into composing emails — such an efficient and easy way to communicate with no fear of intrusion as for a phone call, a WhatsApp message etc. The recipient can open at leisure... or never, if so inclined.

My problem is with signing off. What a dilemma! What delays to my day!! I find myself expending an unreasonable amount of brain power choosing one or two appropriate words. It's simpler when replying to a received note with maybe only an initial or nothing at all. Okay with me, seeing as I already know who's hit 'send'. But that's kind of unfriendly, non?

Soooooo, many of my friends end with 'warmly'. Nothing wrong with that, but for some unknown reason I'm reluctant to follow suit. And just imagine if I typed 'coolly'!!! (might be good on a steaming hot day).

How and where to find an appealing alternative? Oh for the old days when I worked as a shorthand-typist. Matters were clear. When the letter was addressed Dear Sir or Madam, you typed 'Yours faithfully'. If you started with Mr. Mrs. Miss or Messrs and a name you typed 'Your sincerely', no matter what.

I do have a range. For e.g. love, love and blessings, till later, chat soon and so on. Also, depending on weather or state of mind, I can be Brrrrrrenda or Blenda.

Lastly, yet another dilemma: to include a signature line or not. And if yes, which one? Who would appreciate a peek at my cat blog, who my author website, who my writing life blog, who my parenting blog???? Or nothing might be better?

Oh my. Way too many choices. That's a Gemini for you!!

MY BEST WRITING ADVICE

Authors are often asked what advice they'd give to aspiring writers. I'd say: keep a notebook and write down whatever comes to you in the way of inspiration. RIGHT AWAY.

Some day I might even heed this advice myself. Only this morning I thought of something good to add to one of my on-going projects. "I'll remember that," I thought.

Ummm, no. It's gone. Completely flown out of my. head.

Next question:

What's next for me?

That's the question I'm asking myself, now that the never-going-to-get-finished revision of Charmaine's story, provisionally titled 'Some Dance to Remember' i.e. my companion novel to 'Cape Town' is finally done!! Not dusted, yet though. That, hopefully, will be up to a good editor.

Nevertheless, I've been busy. Before diving into my newish project, or taking up a revision of my set-aside women's fiction manuscript, I've been going through my notebooks. Here's a sampling:

It's true. I'm a notebook junkie, especially as I still do a lot of my creating the old-fashioned way i.e. with pen and paper. Some of these pretty things were gifts. Thanks to those kind souls! But I do have enough for the present, and am determined to use up all blank pages. With this in mind, as I already wrote, I've been going through all old unfinished notebooks. What riches reside within! What treasures!!!

Yes, sometimes I surprise myself. This has everything to do with the image below:

Art work courtesy of step-granddaughter Isabella!

Good Friday in Kalk Bay

In 2016, I was fortunate enough to spend Easter in Cape Town. Late summer is a good time to visit South Africa, and that year was no exception. I stayed with dear and precious old friends who lived in the house behind this fence... a property with breathtaking views over this character-full (in all sense of the word!) village and False Bay. Here is a poem which came to me:

GOOD FRIDAY IN KALK BAY

In Kalk Bay on Good Friday.

the boats don’t venture out-

No fishing till after

Sunday is past.

Today the sea is wild with unrest

wind lifts the waves

sea horses toss their manes.

Still, the hush of a subdued mood

reigns over the harbour.

A small world of its own.

While the greater cosmos

Waits, breath held;

While the God-on-earth

Goes through death.

We pray for a transformed fate,

New life for threatened souls;

New light for our spirits;

New hope for the earth.

MORNING VIEWS

Frankly, I never thought I'd be interested in writing any sort of a memoir. But this morning my muse, who, as you know, has been overactive recently, magicked an idea into my mind.

As is my usual habit, I lay in quiet contemplation, gazing out the window. (more on that later!... and no, I don't do what I sometimes see advised on the web i.e. jump out of bed and exercise. What remains of my dream experiences, or inspirations from that time between sleep and waking are too precious, so I try to hang onto them).

For some reason I started to remember different windows in rooms, homes, houses, flats even a couple of caravans, which, over the years,  I've looked out of on waking; how I felt, what they meant, what the place was like. So whether or not anything much will come of it, I'll consider this aspect of my life. And be grateful!

If I were a good drawer, I could provide images; images which would open that magic bottom drawer for you. This reminds me that my grandmother used to advise "Keep that (e.g. an especially nice item of clothing or napery) for your bottom drawer." She meant, for after I was married. but marriage as a goal was never my dream when I was a child... maybe, someday, one day in my thirties, say, I'd meet someone and settle down. Till then, the world and all it had to offer lay before me like a treasure chest, waiting to be opened. And no, not like Pandora's box.

So what happened? As the fates would have it, I got married at twenty-one. That led to what is now most treasured in my life: my family.

This photo, however, was taken a couple of years ago when I was staying with a very dear friend in Constantia, Cape Town. Every morning I looked out and watched the sun lighting and gracing the slopes of this beloved mountain. Every day I felt bathed in warmth and beauty.

This January, I'm in the cold depths of winter and yes, a different kind of beauty.

BACK IN THE CREATIVE GROOVE!

Maybe it's to do with winter hibernation, or the new year and decade, but I'm finally back in my writing mode. Losing my husband of nearly sixty years meant I took a while to adjust to this new reality. It also means I have less writing time because... well, nobody tells you that when you become a widow you have to do all the things your spouse used to do!

Still, I count myself fortunate. Looking back over last year, two wonderful experiences contributed greatly towards my being newly inspired. The first was a visit to Rodmell where Virginia Woolf had her 'room of her own', actually a writing hut (son-in-law, artist Richard Heys, taking a photo of her writing desk, now blocked off from the other half of the hut, which visitors can access... when I went twenty-five years ago you could still go in)

 set in a glorious garden.

The other was to Knole in Lewes where Vita Sackville-West grew up. The scale of it, and the surrounding park, came as a big surprise.

Over the years I've visited Rudyard Kipling's house, seen his writing desk and grand study, as well as Henry James's Georgian home. Luckily, I'm happy with my modest study/writing room, and enjoy settling down most weekday mornings.

AN ARTIST'S DATE AT TULIP TIME!

This past week I actually managed to go on an 'Artist's Date', Julia Cameron style. If, by any chance, you're unfamiliar with her book 'The Artist's Way', the idea is to fill the well and increase your creativity. Being open to new experiences that could nourish you is always a good idea.

Yes, it was okay to leave my desk and forget about plot, characters, etc. on this warm spring day. I'm at that point where I need to let my manuscript 'sit' for a bit, before I do another read-through, and hopefully, a last revision. Meanwhile, I'm working on a humourous story for middle grade kids.

For a delightful hour or so I wandered through dazzling displays of tulips. Along with other adults, seniors and others needing carers, families, mothers with babies and young children, teenagers with their bicycles, tourists and so on, I gazed in wonder at the luminous or soft colours, and marvelled at all the thought that goes into designing the beds every year. Every year at the Tulip Fest I experience happiness in the air, as if the sight and presence of all these flowers bring upliftment to everyone's spirit. Here are a few glimpses for your enjoyment. Come tiptoe with me!

Here I am in front of a mixed bed. Behind me (as on the notice) you can see the tulip specially created by the Dutch for our Canada 150 year celebrations.

Watching 'The Crown'

So I've recently started watching this Netflix production... so interesting and beautifully made! I'm particularly intrigued with the portrayal of Princess Margaret.

Once I'd conceived the basic idea for my novel 'Cape Town' and set myself the goal to actually write it, I attended a 'Write Your Novel' workshop presented by Catherine Bush at Ryerson University. I believe it was on the first evening that she gave us the exercise based on that game 'Two truths and a lie'. You write them, read them out, then people have to guess which is a lie.

Now, I can't remember what lie I told, but everyone guessed wrongly: that one of my truths was a lie. I told them how I'd been presented to Princess Margaret. Yes, this is true. At the time she was the patron of the Royal Ballet School and came to White Lodge one day on an official visit. Because I was from the Commonwealth, I was one of those lucky enough to be presented to her. Before she arrived, we were taught a special, non-balletic curtsey... as you can see in 'The Crown'.

Princess Margaret was every bit as beautiful as Vanessa Kirby, and her complexion! Truly she deserved comparison to her second name of 'Rose'.

This is where it happened. Sorry you can't actually see the steps or the terrace where she stood!

Writing success - What does it mean?

So this was a longer break than I intended, but here I am with a new post at long last.

This morning I received a phone call from a friend. She'd been so kind as to put us up in Montreal for the weekend although she herself was away, and as a 'thank you' gift I left her this:

Yes, a copy of my novel, published in 2012 after many years of hoping and working, and once again a recommended read from the Canadian Children's Book Council. Which doesn't mean that adults, both women and men, haven't read and enjoyed it.

Blondine began her phone call by saying, "Can you guess why I haven't phoned or emailed?"

I chuckled. "You've been reading my book."

This was an informed guess, based on feedback from many readers who said they couldn't put it down and read until the early hours of the morning.

Anyhow, she loved the book and we spoke a little about that, and how much of it was auto-biographical (certainly informed by my life but hardly anything directly), and the companion volume I'm busy writing. But afterwards, I started to think about success as a writer. The trouble is, the goal posts keep moving i.e. at first, you just want to be published, then you want to do it again only better, and so on. For me, however, the fact that CAPE TOWN is out there, on the bookstore and library shelves (and if not, you can order a copy) and available as an ebook really signifies success to me. Because this is a story I feel that needed to be told and I'm so happy that I did!

A typing tale

When I was young, women's wisdom stated 'Never learn to type because you'll end up as a secretary and nothing more'. Yes, that was in the days when businessmen actually had secretaries. Nevertheless, having left the Royal Ballet School in June, I had months to while away before heading to the University of Cape Town at the end of February. So I spent three months learning to be a secretary and to touch-type. Boy, am I ever glad I did!

Believe it or not, the machines we learnt on in that secretarial college in downtown Johannesburg looked like this.


Also, we had a piece of green cloth covering the keyboard so we couldn't cheat by looking at the letters.

After twelve weeks I'd worked up to a decent speed and yes, I did spend a couple of years working as a secretary on and off. But I had no idea how thankful I'd be for typing skills when I became a writer!
My only regret is that I let my shorthand skills lapse. They would have come in handy when I attended workshops and lecture.

Anyhow, this is kind of by-the-way because what I want to do in this post is notify you of an upcoming hiatus. I'll be taking a technology break for at least the month of December, and plan to resume blogging around the middle of January. Hope to see you then!

Thanksgivings

Gratitude, as we know, opens the soul in a very special way. So today I looked through
photos taken over this year and relived some of the uplifting experiences Mother Nature brought to me. Self-indulgent, maybe, but I hope you enjoy these images.

First of all, lunch among the vineyards in Constantia last March:

Then there were spring lilacs in California... always good to gather those, right?

Summer days in a Group of Seven lake and landscape:

And lastly, the glory of autumn gold:

HAPPY THANKSGIVING. Remember, it's all about gratitude. Right now, I'm grateful to be feeling creative about my new story!

Did a fun interview!

This week, I'm setting aside revisions and starting to re-orientate towards 'Dance to Remember', Charmaine's story. But Alexa is still on my mind, and if you'd like to read a fun interview I did with Amberly Smith, here's the link:

http://amberlysmith.blogspot.ca/2015/11/Interview-Brenda-Hammond.html

To my surprise, being interviewed is something I really enjoy, especially when I have enough time to think about my answers. Off the cuff is not my forte. If you're interested, here's one I did back in 2012 after my novel 'Cape Town' came out.

http://getlostinastory.blogspot.ca/2012/05/welcomd-brenda-hammond.html

And now, in my mind I'm gonna... not Carolina, (hums tune), but back to Cape Town. When I was there last February the great fire on Table Mountain and others had just died down. Here's a painting from Richard Ian Heys that depicts something of what they were like, even though it's titled 'Fire on the Moors':

From my Knysna Archive

I find myself reluctant to leave my main setting for 'Sailing for Trouble' and feel the need the linger in this lovely place... maybe because it's a gloomy day here, and the leaves have fallen... except for a few clinging onto the lilac in our garden.

So once again I have three photos to share with you. The first is for lunch time... here we are at the Heads cafe, a delightful and delicious place to eat such fare as bobotie, or fish and chips, and of course, carrot or cheesecake. In the pic you see across the waters of the lagoon to the Western headland. I leave it to your imagination to look left out to sea, over the bar where the waves crashing on rocks send spray high into the air. To the right you'd see Leisure Isle, and the town of Knysna with the hills beyond in the distance.

And now, talking of leaves, this is a view out the window of my room. My mother always claimed the weather was like in Camelot in that the rain usually fell at night.

And lastly, here's the waterfront and marina which Alexa explores soon after arriving in Knysna, and where she buys the wire chameleon. In the background is the restaurant she visits with Roger.

I'm sad that I didn't think to take a pic of the vendors who display their colourful and whimsical wares on cloths along the bricked pathway.

Imagine you're there right now, and about to head to the booth to buy an ice-cream cone... rum and raisin flavour. Yum!

Last look at Knysna and my last visit

So I've come to the end of this particular journey. Alexa's busy and well on her way to achieving her quest, while I'm deep in the process of discovering my new story. All this to say I hope to write something next week, but am not promising! What I am promising myself is this: next time I visit South Africa I'll take way more photos.

Here are a couple, the first gives you a glimpse of the elephant park, and yes, you can see one off to the left of the pic. Just.

Now some indulgence to show you why I love being there so much. First, the small balcony off the room at the lodge where I stay. This overlooks a vlei, i.e. a wetland, so there are many birds to be seen, including the Knysna loerie who features in 'Sailing for Trouble'... and does Alexa a good turn.

And lastly, my morning 'pozzie' complete with coffee and notebook. Yes, I still like to write quite a lot by hand, especially in the initial stages of a new book. Then there's the keyboarding in, revising, and a print out to read for more revising and editing... as you may be able to see.

May this pic bring a ray of sunshine into your life... the light in Africa is like nowhere else that I've ever been.

A fishy business

My own visit to Knysna and environs has just about run out of photos, so here are a last few which I hope will be of interest.

First of all... the treasure hunt! Here's where Alexa wanders, checking on the various boat markers. You can see a couple in the pic.

And now, back to the yacht club where members can enjoy a delicious and cheap curry and rice lunch. As for me, however, I was on the hunt for fish fresh out of the ocean because that's a real treat around the Cape coast. I turned off the causeway towards the marine right opposite this sign:

and parked in front of this sign, thinking a cup of latte would hit the spot.

It took me a while to realize Zak wasn't offering coffee, but fencing! An attractive solution, don't you think?

And here's the actual fish shop and restaurant, adorned with latte and genuine fishing nets. To the right you can get a glimpse of tables and benches where you can sit and enjoy a reasonably-priced and delicious fish dish... including that luxury crustacean of these waters, crayfish. And no, lobster isn't as tasty, believe me.

Lastly, here are the incredibly skilled workers who prepare the fish... and somehow manage to keep cheerful while doing it! I bought hake and man, was it good.      

So there you are, folks, some insider knowledge for next time you visit Knysna. Enjoy!