WEEK 3 White stinkwood tree – Celtis Africana and the Stone/Rock of Ages

 

Stone art!

Stacking stones is a silent art form.

I love the English description for this silent art form: it is ephemeral.

Ephemeral – this is a loaded word; full of nuances and new meanings it can mean: fleeting; short-lived; transitory; momentary; transient, brief; short, temporary; passing; impermanent; evanescent – all of this in brief moment of time.  It is not long lasting – it tumbles any time. Even while you are creating it, it tumbles over. And over you start again.

Please have a look at the art of stone balancing created by Strijdom Van Der Merwe by clicking on this link.

And his counterpart in the UK Andrew Goldsworthy by clicking on this link.

This story is actually twofold: it is about stones and a tree: a celtis Africana; my celtis on the pavement outside my home in Rivonia.

At my place in Rivonia, we have a huge white stinkwood tree [“celtis Africana”] with its roots bursting from the ground; these roots are breaking free from the soil that enclose it; it is seeking new territories; these roots are strong and robust; these roots are bulging and showing its beauty to all who would take the time to stare at it. Have you ever looked at this phenomenon? It is there all of the time for us to admire and to stand in front of it in awe and admiration.

While we were negotiating buying this property, I walked around the celtis Africana, admiring the audacity of the roots to leave the sanctity and protection of the soil bursting from beneath doing its job of keeping the tree stable and to carry nutrients to the upper most parts of the tree. It is as if the roots ruptured the earth that enclosed them. “We want to get out!!” was the silent cry deep down below and then it happened: they got out.

Back home, as it then was, my stones were waiting on me; what to do with it? Stacking; arranging around those roots. Stones and roots and soil – it all belong together. There is a synergy that is too obvious not to see; the stones and the dry twigs and bigger branches are communicating some deep and profound to each other. And yet, it goes by unnoticed. But not by all. Some see it. And some take it further and do something with it.

And so, my stones had a joy ride in the removal truck from Morningside to Rivonia to my celtis. The removal-boys were looking side-ways at me when I insisted that those stones come with us to Rivonia.

I started playing with the stones. At first, I was very lonely and felt looney on top of it. An old man of 72 years standing in public on the pavement, playing with stones. And then it got going. People that were standing offish, were actually approaching me and some even started talking to me.

Our neighbours’ children were standing around when I started moving it around. And I invited them to play with. Oupas [Grandpas] and Oumas [Grandmas] and pa and ma and nannies all interfered. “You are going to break the stones!” Can you believe it? How on earth is a three-year-old going to break a stone?

These stones are mine. The tree is mine. The twigs and branches are mine. The pavement is mine. They can play here. And now it is an extended playground for them.

They can build whatever they wish to – no prescriptions at all. And I approved every single “thing” built by them.

At times, right at the beginning, the parents interfered and “corrected” the children; “don’t do it like that.” “Stack it like that …” and so on. “This is not right. You should …” and on and on they would “correct” the child and try to impose their views.

I stopped them immediately; let the child do it.

There is no correct way to stack a stone.

There is no correct way to build a castle.

There is no correct way to build a stone tower.

And besides, you don’t know what is going on in your child’s head.

No man, leave them to build; give them freedom.

I insisted on that freedom for the child.

And after some time, the parents are now standing to the side and lately I see that they are also “building” with the stones or it might have been the nanny that was building? So, it became an adult playground! Not an adult shop! An adult playground with their children. I even had a grandpa visiting from Pakistan playing with his grandson. That was a wow! experience.

Why am I so in love with trees? Are there any special reasons behind this? Why does a tree move me so much?

And stones?

For now, I will concentrate on stones? The next blog I will concentrate on trees.

The world of stone balancing/stacking opened up to me and I am fascinated by it. Besides that, stones/rocks figure prominently in the Scriptures: in the 2020 Afrikaans translation the word for stone can be translated differently. Stone or “klip” in Afrikaans appears 130 times and the word rock in Afrikaans “rots” appears 93 times. And Jesus Christ, whom is the Son of the Living God is referred to as a Rock. For some it is a stumbling block/rock. For others, He is a Rock of refuge. A rock that protects.

Reading the Scriptures, it became clear to me that this is most apt that the Rock is either a stumbling block/rock or a Rock of Refuge, a Rock that protects. And much more.

The apostle St. Peter writes in his first letter chapter 2: 1 – 8 referencing this aspect of being a stone of stumbling or a cornerstone that is precious.

St. Luke wrote down the parable of a man who built his house on a rock; but there are those who prefer to build it on sand and then they suffer the consequences [See Luke 6 from verse 47].

The choice is yours.

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

 

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Week 2 Physical work – degrading? Or shall we respect the artisan?

 

Burnard McKenzie - my friendly plumber

“Judaism has always shunned the Greek idea that physical work is menial, only appropriate for slaves.  As William Chomsky has pointed out, “The Aristotelian lofty aloofness, which regarded manual labor as degrading, and those engaged in it as inferior people, who are unworthy and incapable of education, was utterly alien to the Hebrew mind.” [page 290; OUR FATHER ABRAHAM JEWISH ROOTS OF THE CHRISTIAN FAITH; Marvin R Wilson; William B Eerdmans Publishing Company Grand Rapids, Michigan and Center for Judaic-Christian Studies, Dayton, Ohio; 1999.]

Indeed, manual labour is not degrading. It is not unworthy work. It is utterly alien to my Christian mind as well. I respect people that do manual labour. Marvin Wilson quotes from the Talmud: “He who does not teach his son a trade is considered as having taught him thievery.” [Wilson, p. 222].

On 17 May 2021 I wrote about my plumber, Burnard McKenzie as a man living a life of gratitude. Having a roof over his head. He daughter having a job although far from home in Nelspruit – grateful she is working.

I had to call him the other day to my home in Rivonia to attend to a plumbing problem. He arrived 20 minutes ahead of schedule. And he smiles. He has a job to do. And he will earn something. He has car to drive around in. And he sold his old house and moved to another home that was prior to 1994 an Afrikaans, white stronghold of apartheid.

That is where he is living now: Bergbron.

Me: “Do you enjoy living there?”

Burnard: “Oom Neels, I get along with people. And they get along with me.”

Me: “It was a stronghold of white apartheid-Afrikaners? Does it worry you?”

Burnard: “No, Oom Neels. We are happy there.”

While we were chatting, I was reminded of the above quotes in my book OUR FATHER ABRAHAM and I wondered about this man: my plumber who are doing this stinking, filthy job with such a smile on his face. And he turns around and attends further to the work he came to do.

“Burnard,” I called him. “Tell me about that tiny welding machine you bought back in 2021.”

“Oom Neels,” and he gave me a big smile “… that machine paid for itself. I earn money with welding jobs I can get. R100 and R200 jobs come is regularly. And it such a blessing to get it. I do it and the people are happy to pay me to repair their stuff.”

I sense a deep gratitude for this wonderful thing God gave us and what we call “LIFE.”

According to Wilson [Wilson p.223], the Hebrew verb abad “to work can be translated “to labor”, “to serve,” and also “to worship” [italics mine]. Just re-think this phenomenal idea: the sacredness of work. It is an act of worship. And I see this is alive in Burnard.

Wilson finds a lot of common ground in FIDDLER ON THE ROOF. I grabbed our CD and had a joyous time looking at this video again. Now, I am struck by the industriousness of the characters: Tevye wants to work. His horse became lame. And Tevye himself pulled his cart. But work, he shall. He is daughters, each and every one is not shy: they work: milking, washing and cleaning. The background is busy: people are working in the village Anatevka – it is really busy. People are busy. People are working. It is a privilege to work.

LIght is necessary for a life of gratitude

We are living in a dark, evil world. And yet I am positive and optimistic about life. In spite of the darkness that surrounds me. And I see and experience that in my plumber. Have another look at the image above: we will not survive if it only darkness that surrounds us.

In light of my legal background, I am acutely aware of darkness in and around us. The internet is brim-full of evil and depravity – and then I am constantly confronted with the fact of the judicial murder perpetrated on Christ; His resurrection and His ascension. This is the backbone, the foundation, the measuring rod for my life and my attitude in me about life around me.

Some say the witnesses who witnessed Him alive after the resurrection, were hallucinating. St. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 15 that more than 500 menfolk alone saw Him alive. How is it possible that these guys were hallucinating all at once?  I read in Romans chapter 16 that Andronicus and his wife, Junia, were Christians even before Paul had that supernatural encounter on his murderous way to Damascus to sniff out Christians and to drag them before the authorities. Now these disciples, found themselves in Rome and they are commended by Paul. In other words, they must have been amongst the very first converts. First converts in Jerusalem at that time, must have seen Christ after the resurrection in person. What a privilege.

Back to Burnard McKenzie! I hope that you have enjoyed my story about him.

Of course, the workplace is no longer the same as in Biblical times! Shall I say that it has changed “unrecognizably”?  Even so, I think that there are constants that are universally applicable [maybe I should not put it that high! Shall I tone it down and say: to my mind and in my experience, there are universally acceptable unchangeable standards?!] Work ethic 

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

 

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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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