WEEK 1: FELIX THE FRIENDLY NURSERY MAN

Felix Rasta in situ 

Every time I go to that specific nursery Felix is there to meet us with his adoring smile. And his friendly advice on all things plants. With a smile. I also call him Rasta. And he loves it. We engage on what life has to offer us. It is clear that he and I live life vastly differently. Our worldviews are light years and galaxies apart. And yet, I engage with him. And we buy plants at the nursery.

Felix Rasta in situ

I was always under the impression that FELIX in Latin means “happy” or “happiness.” Looking at this series of photos I took of him just the other day, it is obvious that he is a happy character. Always smiling and of good cheer.

Then I decided to have a look in my “Latin/English English/Latin dictionary” and I was surprised by what it actually means. Not happy at all! So, what do I mean “not happy”?  Looking at Felix’s happy face I am sure it means happiness? Then I cross-checked it against Wikipedia – and there it is stated clearly and categorically that it is “happiness.” And to top it all, Wikipedia have lists of people with that name – have a look yourself.

I am in a bit of a quandary as to what the “correct” meaning is then. Maybe I should not go for perfection or for 100% accuracy.

According to my dictionary means a host of things: for instance: it can mean fruitful. And I am sure his employer will be happy to read this, that this happy guy’s name means fruitful. That is a good omen that will bring them luck and will come in good stead for the nursery.

Or, it might mean “fertile.” Oh shucks! Here I find myself in trouble. What shall I do with this one? Fertile? Fertility? Him? Or the nursery? Well, I don’t know him that well and therefor I will opt that his labour is “fertile” while working for the nursery.

It may even mean that he is of good omen – this is lucky for the owner’s sake shall I say? Or shall I say that it is favourable for the nursery?

Well, it might even mean “favourable” and that is once again somewhat problematical if I link this meaning with, for instance “fertile.”

It is rather daunting and my imagination is auspiciously fertile at work here.

It can even mean “luckily” or “successfully.” It seems to me as if this guy is extremely versatile! Good luck to him.

Next time I see him I will discuss the meaning of his name with him. He also might have an idea and then I will let you know. When I know more, you will know more.

Please write me a letter: neelscoerste@wirelessza.co.za

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Number 31 21.12.2022

 

Ford Anglia - courtesy the internet.

Ford Anglia - courtesy the internet. 

My last day of the commitment to write everyday for my blog from 21 November 2022 is today. I’ve made it. And I do hope that you have enjoyed it.

It was raining during the night; at present it is not raining; the clouds promise more rain. The forecast predicts thunder storms in the afternoon. Eventually it became the sun was blazing away and all of a sudden it disappeared behind curtains and you guessed it: it started raining again. As I am typing away, it is raining.

My treasure chest

Yesterday my friend showed me his museum in the making. He’s got an impressive array of things that he’s kept since childhood days. His late mother collected various things; the most impressive to my mind anyhow, is her collection of Dinky toy cars, and Corgi cars and other makes I don’t even know existed. As a young boy he assembled lots of plastic toys and kept it. Now, it can go into his museum. One piece struck me as rather sentimental: a Ford Anglia. Yes, the one with the back window that slants diagonally from top to bottom; that was the “guarantee” that not a single raindrop would ever fall on that back window!! Now I regret not taking any photos in his archives!! It is a real treasure house waiting to be put in place. A place he and his grandchildren will enjoy. A place where he can show them magazines from his youth, he kept from 1960’s. A place where he can tell stories and anecdotes from his early youth – stories that he had forgotten and yet that re-surfaced when working with this stuff.

There is even a fair number of Nordic books, inter alia, a Nordic dictionary which is as ancient as Norway is.

During his army training he served in the Pantzer corps. To crown it, he kept his note books, paging thru slowly and reminiscing. Detailed sketches in his own hand of military weaponry with detailed descriptions alongside. And cartoons of his lecturers. An old radio with a makeshift coat hanger making do as an antenna – and the story behind that radio that came all the way from the Netherlands when his wife and family when they relocated to South Africa.

The Queen and King of the Netherlands glares gloomily out of an old colour photograph with a shattered glass cover. Boxes full of model cars that will make your mouth to water; cars stacked on top of one the other. It is a colourful array of shapes, metal, plastic and rubber wheels. A mishmash of old dated toys – the real value lies inside him.

I was looking eagerly to see an old school report of my friend [without success]. He showed me some of his diaries his parents gave him; he paged thru and started reading some of his write-ups: “I woke up this morning. Got dressed. Had breakfast. Went to school. Came back. Had a conversation with my mom. I had a nice day.” He was about 9 at the time; how precious. Virginia Wolf would have confronted him about the say so: “I had a nice day.” No, she would say. Where exactly did you go to? School? Which school? Who was your teacher? What exactly did you read? Did you understand everything you read? If not, why not? So, Virginia would drag a weird and wonderful story out of this 9-year-old.

The perennial question remains: how will you preserve your legacy? What will you preserve/keep alive for your descendants, if anything at all?

In the mean time we keep going and we keep on making stuff.

Have you read my Number 26? The stories Leendert Joubert wrote? He is passionate about a walking stick! Not just any old walking stick. Not a walking stick that you bought when you were on a very expensive overseas trip. This walking stick evolved from its former life as a fishing rod. Not just any old fishing rod. It was Leendert’s father’s rod. He says about it:

“Another example is the cane walking stick, that originally was my father's fishing rod. Anybody can make a walking stick from a piece of cane for less than twenty rand, but mine is not for sale for any amount of money. And still, I doubt if any of my children would want it. It just won't fit in with their lifestyles or living conditions.”

Leendert’s dad had a unique influence on him: he left him a walking stick that no money can buy. By the way, Leendert who made that walking stick? When?

The abbot of the Coptic Church in Johannesburg once gave me a wooden cross and this I keep in a special red leather covered box with other stuff.

Coelacanth and other carvings.

You can see some of my soapstone carvings: the coelacanth’s tail, a snail, a crab, a broken shell and a star shell. Miss Courtenay-Latimer springs to mind and the time I met her in her quaint little house in the Eastern Cape.

Somewhere along the line I picked up soapstone and I took a brave step to turn it on my lathe. It caused havoc amongst my chisels but I sharpened it afterwards for my woodturnings. The last piece I turned was a Zambian rosewood fruit bowl for my wife, which I finished off with layers and layers and layers [20? 30?] of special wood sealer/varnish: Danish varnish.

Malawian pumpkin plaster casts

What on earth are the white plaster of Paris stuff? Let me explain. When we lived in Morningside, my gardener brought me Malawian pumpkin seeds and we grew it. It is a prolific grower with the most delicious flesh. The giant weighed just over 15 kg – it was big. On average I harvested 7.5 kg per fruit. And I never kept its seeds.

Our erstwhile neighbour visited us in Rivonia and brought a pumpkin that is an offspring that I gave her years back. And then I saved seeds which are now growing on my pavement. Let’s hope there will be enough for my neighbours to share.

Let’s go back to Morningside: the leaves were big and beautiful. I made a plaster-of-Paris cast of some leaves, especially the underside of the leaf. I keep it in my office because one day … The underside of the leaf is pronounced, rough and three dimensional. What to do with the cast? One day is one day …. Then. Maybe then …

If I ever will come around to do something with that plaster-of-Paris-pumpkin-leaf, it will be great. If not, it will just as well be great. I have it. I made the cast. I grew the original pumpkin. We ate it. I gave pumpkins away during the peak of covid 2020. I live with the memories of it. What will happen to it after me? I wish to know?! Are you in a better position to tell me? And by the by, I still feel the soft coarseness of the leave under my fingers.

Box with coelacanth

Joseph Cornell is always present in my mind – the American that built special boxes from ordinary throw-a-ways! If you have the inclination to click on the link to his art work you are in for a surprise or maybe you will say to me: “Thank you, but no thank you.” He was the inspiration behind my crate specially built for the cast of my coelacanth I carved originally in soapstone; that crate evolved from a throw-away rotten piece of wood. He was the inspiration to me making this special throw-away planks I used to build the box with my array of pens: the Conway Stewart fountain pen belonged to my late mother. The other pen I used to write with oil paint on a huge Philosopher I painted some time ago. In the background there is a photo of the Bronte sisters.

The very first time I saw the first coelacanth in the entire world happened in Grahamstown, Eastern Cape [now renamed Makhanda]. It was inside a galvanised zinc structure embedded inside a rough, crudely constructed yet strong as an ox, wooden crate.

Box with fountain pens

One of the fountain pens belonged to my late dad; I never saw him writing with it. I hardly saw him writing anything; yet, he was always busy making something or another. So, I venture a guess that you, my reader, have stuff that are rare and valuable to you – a plastic car collected by your mom, long since not with us; Nordic dictionary with the print so faint it is hardly legible; a fishing rod turned into a walking stick and the reverse of a plaster cast of the back of a Malawian pumpkin that once grew in Morningside, Sandton.

Axel Munthe - author of THE STORY OF SAN MICHELE

My advice to you about making or keeping or preserving legacies are manifold: keep on making things; keep on researching and writing things up; keep on making videos [albeit crude and rough and ready] it is yours. Those are your memories; your precious stuff that you made or that you inherited from somewhere. Somewhere? Not necessarily a family heirloom. It might be an unusual, rare or out of the ordinary find in a small tatty beach shop you picked up for next to nothing – it is yours. I recall that day on the South Coast of South Africa I found a book in a tatty and tasteless, garish beach café for about 25 cents. THE STORY OF SAN MICHELE by Axel Munthe. Afterwards I encountered a few times in other places; never ever in the same kind of wholly unexpected grotty place.

The secret history of the Mongols

Or THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE MONGOLS. It is on my to-read list for early 2023. Paul Kahn wrote it. Get it. Read it. And then you re-read it. This was a find by reading a book review in the Afrikaans newspaper DIE BEELD of many years ago.  It not for easy reading [my question to you is: why stick to stuff that is easy to read?]. I lend it to a friend of mine and it was brought back unread because it was too difficult to read. It is not skin of my friend’s nose – there are lots of books that are difficult to read – you are aware of the one I am almost finished with ANGELA’S ASHES which if revolting. Brother, the end is in sight. Keep at it and finish it.

Please write me your story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

 

 

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Number Thirty 20.12.2022

 

Selfie in the Olive Oil bottle

Outside my office, I hear lawnmowers going – gardening is an ongoing activity and can be very exciting.

I have often referred to it in this blog and I am still amazed to have started with gardening. My wife was gardening since she was at school and I am a young gardener; only started 1 January 2013 – yes, on that New Year’s Day she asked me to “take over the veggies.” And later it migrated to cooking and baking. I, however, promised her that I will not bake puddings and cakes except for the once a year-end-function-fruit-cake and the occasional cheesecake. My wife actually allows me into the kitchen to bake; she does not wander too far off because I depend to a great extent on her vast knowledge and experience.

That then leads to another activity and that is to learn to read recipes, and to acquire cooking books. And to actually read those books. Jamie Oliver’s curry recipes are the best. Normally, I make the curry the one day, leave it to rest for at least one or two days, before I use it. Have you watched Julie and Julia the youtube video? I have. And I have really enjoyed it. Can I recommend it? Of course.

The pleasure of food

And then, for some unknown reason I sort of stopped it and during November 2022 I started again. When I write that I stopped cooking and baking, I never stopped with the braai activities at all.

I got some “potent and hot” chillies from my neighbour; these were harvested fresh from the plants. All of a sudden, I had an incentive to do something with it. He tells me that he cooks his and then preserve in olive oil. Well, I never cook my chillies; I take my mezzaluna knife and cut it rather finely but not to a pulp. Sterilize your glass container and put it in that and cover with a good doze of extra virgin olive oil.

These were hot.

The pleasure of food

When we were still living in Morningside, Sandton, someone told me about his father-in-law and how he boasts about his love for really very hot chillies. He, so the story went, simply cannot get enough of it. It cannot be hot enough. That is father-in-law’s scene; he knows that the best.

Well, I am not an expert on the Scoville Scale of chillies. We once went to a garden show and admired the produce; we also did what about everybody does, that is to watch the world and its people go by. Part and parcel were a tent where you could taste chillies and participate in a competition. Those chillies were really to the extreme. The organisers insisted on the participants to sign a release and indemnity before you could participate. Really that potent? Oh yes. It can be really dangerous. Then we saw a young father, his wife and children on their way to their car and he sort of collapsed. He was in distress and the wife and children were worried.

The pleasure of food

Well, to come back to my street-story, I simply don’t know what was his father-in-law’s Scoville capacity. Nevertheless, I gave him a tiny bottle full of my “concoction” and warned him that these chillies were hot. He took it and left.

A couple of months later, I once again saw him and greeted the guy. He was on top of it immediately and was almost yelling:

“Oh, where were you when he tasted your chillies. And then he blamed me, his son-in-law, for giving him that ‘hot stuff’.”

When I was much younger, I could eat the really hot ones. And, afterwards, always suffered the most severe headaches and I bragged about it that, that is the price you pay for having such strong ones. Then it dawned on me: you cannot taste the food. Is that not the object of chillies? To enhance the taste and not to “obliterate” it? Not so?

The pleasure of food

That olive oil reminds me of something we saw in Rome – those Italians love their olive oil. We were sitting at a street restaurant when the owner approached us and asked that we move from the one table to the next, because he expects a delivery. What concerned me was that we were not blocking the entrance to his restaurant – why was it necessary to move away from what? He showed me that trapdoor behind our table. At that moment someone from below street level, opened it and there it was: a polished concrete slab and chefs waiting for the produce to be delivered.  

Suddenly the delivery started in a frenzy. They were offloading their delivery vehicle and rushing on the pavement to the open trapdoor. It was obvious that these guys knew exactly what to do and how to do it. They did not hesitate for a moment. Bags and bags of flour were put onto that polished concrete slab to slide down to the kitchen that was below street level. The chefs down below were grabbing it and stashing it in the storerooms.  

Then they started carting litres and litres of olive oil in cans to the kitchen down below. I have never seen such a lot of olive oil in my life. I said to myself these Italians must be the world champions to consume olive oil; how many litres per head do they consume? This question led me to do what the young people do; I googled this question. And here is the answer: no, it is not the Italians at all. They are the world’s leading olive oil producers, but that was not the question. The question was who consumes the most per capita? Click here and read for yourself.

Just for good measure, click here then you can satisfy your curiosity about for instance: how many litres water was used this year? How many people are born every day? How may abortions per year? How many cigarettes smoked today? [Really, it is true]. You want to see for yourself, then click.

Mentioning food, cooking and making plants, brings me to Pink Lady® FoodPhotographer of the Year. This is the most picturesque images of food in al its splendour and versatility. It is not Facebook photos of half-eaten hamburgers with the yummies in capital letters. The world’s best photographers are at work and display their best. Have a look.

Write me your story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za  

 

 

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Twenty-Nine 19.12.2022

 

Oh, my word!!

The word is in a mess!!

Not only a war in Ukraine, but war amongst family members and family-in-laws as well. Friends amongst friends – it is a mess. There are over 281million migrants in the world searching for a home; that is about 3.6% of the world population.

Was there ever a time when it was not a mess? Shall I entertain you with what I see and what I experience? Please give leave not to do so, lest I heap more dirt and pain on my readers. I am still reading ANGELA’S ASHES, but I hurry to get it over with. I decided to finish it and finish it I will. The end is neigh, brother, the end is in sight.

In all of this messiness, I have wonderful good news to share with you:

“Jesus Christ loves me, this I know, ‘cause the Bibletells me so!”

This holds value, even in the face of all the suffering. In all of the messiness of the world.

Yesterday, in between bouts of strong and persistent rainfalls, I examined my plants in my maternity ward. They are strong, vibrant and doing extremely well, except for my twin oak trees. On the face of it, it seems as if the one small one is dead and the other one is still holding on. I am worried about it. The others are growing very well. It is such an uplifting thing to have cultivated it from seeds I harvested from Franschhoek, Western Cape. Watermelons are growing and the scarlet runner beans are reaching for the sky. I have one scarlet runner plant on the pavement outside my house also reaching for the sky. I do hope there will be enough beans to share with passers-by. Please hold thumbs on my behalf as well, will you? I am sure you will do that for me and my runner beans – and, if you remember, please keep my oak trees in your prayers as well.

Today is a remarkable day. Monday 19 December 2022. Almost the end of 2022.

Veldmuis

I attach a video I took of my veldmuis [fieldmouse] I sketched the other day at art class and I finished it at home. I was given this instruction to sketch it with a very thin skewer with black ink. And I enjoyed it. That skewer became a woodworking tool in my hands – I used both hands. Sketched with left and right hands. Bliss!! After that I was not finished with this veldmuis, I had to make short video of it. I do hope that you will enjoy it with me. And if you are adventurous, grab a skewer or a toothpick and some ink and sketch something. A toothpick is just as much fun as a skewer. After that, I was not really finished with the mouse; I added some Egyptian hieroglyphs to it and other graffiti-stuff.

It was Jasper Johns that said [my words]

“If you make something. Don’t leave it at that. Make something else with it. And then you make something else with that … and so on.”

What are you making?

Please write me your story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

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Twenty-eight 18.12.2022

Frank McCourt: ANGELA'S ASHES

 

Sunday 18 December 2022 and we are one Sunday away from celebrating Christmas day. And I am excited about it. I want to wish you, upfront, a blessed Christmas day. May you and your loved ones experience the love of Jesus Christ in a wonderful new way like never before.

I’ve written about me reading Frank McCourt’s modern day classic ANGELA’SASHES. Oh shucks, that book leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It is revolting. The Pulitzer Prize was awarded in 1997. I wonder what the criteria are rewarding any such a prize? It is awarded for journalism and the arts since 1917. Its website is most interesting and I recommend that you visit it and have a peek at what are on offer there! After looking at some stuff on its website, I have decided that I will finish this book, gruesome, wearisome and long-winded as it is. I think it is not a feel-good book at all.

The book certainly broadens my horizons just like any other book that I’ve read – even Oxford University Press’ INTERNATIONAL LAW under the editorship of Hennie Strydom of UJ [his team of scholars were Christopher Gevers, Laurence Juma, Gerhard Kemp, Engel Schlemmer, Werner Scholtz, Frans Viljoen and Patrick Vrancken]. Even the book RAUTENBACH – MALHERBE CONSTITUTIONAL LAW Seventh Edition by my erstwhile lecturer, Ig Rautenbach; it broadens my grasp and knowledge about SA Constitutional law.

Once again, I pity those people who can read, those who are educated people, and who don’t read. Shame on you!

I once read about the Nobel Prize awards, and it was stressed, that you get a lot of books and a set timetable to comply with. And then you start reading. And so, it is more or less the same with the Pulitzer. Read. Read. Read.

I read on its website:

“There are no set criteria for the judging of the Prizes. The definitions of each category (see How to Enter or Administration page) are the only guidelines. It is left up to the nominating juries and the Pulitzer Prize Board to determine exactly what makes a work "distinguished."

What makes a work “distinguished”? Indeed. That is an open-ended question. I don’t know what other works were submitted that year when Angela’s Ashes won it and I am not going to research it. Judging by Frank’s writing style, his use of words and his ability to drag you kicking and screaming along the personal details of how many people and the filth and stench and toilet buckets overflowing with all sort of filth and hunger and throw up on the staircases and death and destruction and drunken orgies, its mishmash of Roman Catholicism, Protestantism, Irish poems, hatred for the English, the unqualified national loyalty to the Irish cause, it is a distinguished book.

When you read it, the best advice I can give is probably to do so with great caution and circumspection – do not believe everything. It seems as if there is great artist’s freedom in this. And a healthy, liberal dose of a fertile imagination is the underbelly of this modern-day classic. And then there is the backlash against some of Frank’s stories. Keep on reading and keep on asking questions – don’t expect definitive answers.

Back to the Pulitzer website. There is this video: ‘How I Did It’ – The Story Behind The New York Times’ ‘Civilian Casualty Files’ It began by one reporter asking questions; one reporter who was questioning the then President of the United States of America, Barack Obama’s say-so about the body count of civilian deaths in some airstrikes carried out by the USA Military.  And she was shocked by her investigation. I even question the legal handbooks that I read; some are outright faulty and presenting a questionable narrative.

I suggest to you that if you investigate the loadshedding saga in the RSA, and if you do go deep down, you will take you own life into your own hands. It would be extremely dangerous.

I repeat Prof Feynman’s advice:

“Educate yourself about things. Study hard what interest you the most. Don’t worry about what others think of you, that’s none of your business. Train you mind to think, doubt, and question. That’s how you grow.”

On that note I leave you for today.

Please write me you story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

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Number 27 17.12.2022

Polyhedrons

Polyhedrons

Polyhedron

Polyhedron

Polyhedrons

St Paul is reported to have written in Ephesians chapter 5 verse 31 - 32 about marriage:

“Therefore, a man shall leave his father and mother ad fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh” This mystery is profound …” ‘

This saying intrigued me for many years. And then after I tried to sketch it with two circles separate and later when they intersect. It satisfied me for some time.

Then I came/stumbled upon a three-dimensional model that is to my liking. At the moment I am building such a thinking model: first of all, it needs a hexahedron [cube] and separate from that, it needs an octahedron. I see in that a symbol of a male and a female. Then after marriage when they become one flesh, you have a compound of the two.

The compound of the octahedron and the hexahedron is quite tricky and difficult to construct. I am, however, busy with it and am quite excited about the prospect of success.

I use second-hand cardboard boxes for the construction of it. It is a bit of an activism from my side in that I object to all these perfect plastic stuff that are available. The tools that I use are very simple: a metal try-square, pencil, Stanley knife and cold wood glue. 

My intention is to make videos of these polyhedrons and to post it on my youtube channel as well as on my blog for you to look at. 

I hope that you have enjoyed it. 

Please write me your story: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

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Number 26 16.12.2022

We are preparing to move from Morningside Sandton to Rivonia 

It is not everyday that I get reaction on my blogposts. My friend Leendert Joubert reacted to it and his reaction is helpful to think over and to decide for yourself. We all have “stuff” that are “valueless” – especially to other people. Does price enter the equation? No – it does not.

When I sold my property in Morningside, it was not my home for almost 41 years that I sold. I sold the property because the house is priceless! No one could afford to buy that house.

The bricks and mortar [every single brick we saw it when it was laid] [we built the garage big enough for my woodworking tools to fit in], glass, carpets, light fittings, door handles, built-in cupboards, ceilings [even the dust on the ceilings], my chicken coop, the stones in the garden and the vegetables that were still growing there, were not for sale. The nostalgia is within ourselves.

There were a couple of non-negotiables when I started negotiations for the selling; one was: no entry into the home itself. The purchaser was interested in developing the property and therefor, so my reasoning went, he had absolutely no interest to see the interior. And it was accepted.

Now for Leendert’s contribution:

Neels, your blog [NUMBER 24 published on 14 December 2022] [CJC] about all the stuff we gather during our lifetime, is rather thought provoking. One of the thoughts that came to my mind while reading your blog, is whether or not one should put a price tag on those items that have sentimental value.  I have stuff that have no or very little commercial value, but beware if anybody should try to steal or damage or even insult it.  You just may see the complete opposite of the so-called gentle giant or Sagmoedige Neelsie.

You might recall my effort in the genealogic newsletter about the air rifle. Nobody might be interested to buy it, and it's okay, because nobody in this world will understand the bond it provides me with my dad and grandfather. Another example is the cane walking stick, that originally was my father's fishing rod. Anybody can make a walking stick from a piece of cane for less than twenty rand, but mine is not for sale for any amount of money. And still, I doubt if any of my children would want it. It just won't fit in with their lifestyles or living conditions. Neither can I see it on display in a museum. Chances are that it ends up on a dump site covered by thousands of tons of sand and soil and rocks and other people's stuff, just to be discovered a million years hence by some curious aliens. Apparently the same would apply to the grotesque hand I sculpted from the roots of a camphor tree, or the image of a three-legged pot I carved out on a plank to serve as stand for my potjiekos pot.

Do we really have a responsibility to conserve all the stuff, or is there a guideline to distinguish between stuff and real valuable items, or is it acceptable to take a photo of it and store it in the cloud, where nobody can access it if they don't have my password?  

His ideas are worthwhile to keep in mind; if you are in position to do something about it, to do that thing, more so if it is your last thing that you do. “Sagmoedige Neelsie” is a reference to one of my countries most prolific and loved authors of many years back: C.J. Langenhoven who lived most of his life in Oudtshoorn Western Cape. I can recommend Dominique Malherbe’s book SEARCHING FOR SARAH THE WOMAN WHO LOVED LANGENHOVEN. She casts another light on this Afrikaner icon and I must say it is revealing and not altogether flattering on Neelsie. I know her book was not about the drunkard, Advocate Langenhoven, but about her aunt Sarah Goldblatt; she tried to tell us about her aunt. She succeeded and left a great many questions in the wake of the waves her book stirred up.

Considering Dominique’s book, it is also another way of preserving a legacy. Do your research and write your story.

My friend’s grotesque hand that he carved is another thing altogether. They uprooted a camphor tree in their backyard, he kept it and recently he started carving this hand. And the hand lost its thumb in the process; he tells me that there was a weakness in the wood but he kept that “thumb.” He craftily put it back; my “woodworking-surgeon friend.”

Leendert's hand carved from a tree stump

Leendert's hand carved from a tree stump

Leendert's potjie carved from pine

The three-legged pot he carved years ago is still serving its purpose.

We are creating legacies as long as we are alive and as long as we live. Some years ago, I attended a funeral service of a friend who was a member of a woman’s co-operative. She focused on baking milk tarts. That went on for years. And she apparently kept notes about this lot.  Another friend who presented the eulogy, told us how many kilograms flour she used baking all of those milk tarts. And how many tins of condensed milk went in there. How many hours she spent in the kitchen; how many kilometers driving around in her car buying the ingredients and sourcing new ingredients and then delivering the baked items to the co-operative and how many hours she spent servicing the clients.

The same reasoning applies to Frank McCourt’s books. I am busy reading his modern-day classic: ANGELA’S ASHES. That is part and parcel of his legacy. You will think that you cannot attain that because, so your reasoning goes, you cannot write. That is besides the point. You have a legacy while you are reading this post. You should do anything possible to preserve some of it. If you don’t do it, who will? If you don’t do it now, when will you do it?

On my desk in my office, I have a lot of literature that I am busy reading. Every single book that was written by a single author or more than one is a legacy. And that is their legacy – for the moment. The law treatises will get dated and then their time is up. And new treatises will have to be written. And so, the cycle goes on and on an on … Judges come. And judges go. And they pass judgement because that is what a judge is called to do. Blog-authors come. And blog-authors go. That is the way life is. Prime Ministers come and go. Some faster than others, ask Me Liz Truss in the UK about it.

Prof. Dr Feynman allegedly said:

“Educate yourself about things. Study hard what interest you the most. Don’t worry about what others think of you, that’s none of your business. Train your mind to think, doubt, and question. That’s how you grow.”

This ties in with the saying: Try to learn something of everything and everything about something. 

I suggest to you that it is imperative in life. Get on with the job and tell me your story please: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za

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