It’s started off so well. The day, I mean. My daughter had to be at basketball practice at 7 am. Can do this, I think. No problem. Just have to be organized very early. Off we go. Just a few minutes late. But all sorted. Come home. See her lunchbox still on the table. Alrighty then. Just another quick trip back to the school, stopping to buy a cooldrink on the way. She’ll be really thirsty after basketball and then there’s choir in the afternoon. Drop it off. No problem. Younger son is taken to school by dad. Excellent. Hours of time to self stretch ahead. Should easily get those two articles written today.
But first a quick bath. Hair fully soaked, and there’s a heavy beeping at the gate. A giant truck is awaiting instructions. Oh goody! It’s the potash due a week ago, arriving right now. Okay. No problem. Throw clothes over thoroughly wet self. Ask truck not to take gate off hinges as it reverses towards mud-pit laughingly known as the car port. But this is good. Gardener is here today. Wonderful. Gardener and potash on same day. Couldn’t get better. Gardener stands underneath truck as truck begins to tip backwards. Gardener removes a few errant stones from under truck as truck threatens to download ten tonnes of potash on him. I shout. Just a little hysterically. Gardener moves away just in time. Okay. All sorted. Still a good day. Gardener alive. Potash delivered. Gardener raking potash into shape. Excellent.
Second son wakes up. Needs to go to friend for urgent cricket playing. Having just finished school he is making huge effort to do nothing for a living. Will just run him to friend. No problem. Then will come back in time to write two brilliant articles before I go to pick up other two. On way to son’s friend, I remember I have to book son’s learner’s license. Alrighty. Can do this. Friend lives near license place. Easy. Drop off son two. Go to licence place. See suspiciously large queue wending its way around the building. Am not put off. Make way inside. Find green form. Stand in queue. Long one. This is good. I can think about articles while I wait. This is a good thing. Get to end of long queue. Am told I can’t book learner’s license unless son is with me to test his eyes first. For a booking? Yes. Okay. Alright. No problem. I can do this. Decide to leave this mission for today. Will go home and start those articles instead.
Cell phone rings while driving. University calls to say that son’s late application for BSc has been approved. Must go in immediately to fetch forms. Alright. Can do this. This is a good day. Caller caught me in my car on the way past university. Things are working out well. Get to university. Don’t stand in arbitrary queue. Ask first. Am learning! Find woman who phoned. Get form. But now have to go to bank to do immediate deposit. And then come back again with form and deposit slip. Alrighty. Can do this. This is a good thing. Things are working out well. This means I can go to the ID card place and clear my university card for this year. Have had two letters written by the faculty, paid my fees and have been trying to update card for two months. All should finally be sorted now. Right. Arrive at the window prepared for swift successful interaction. Am told it can’t be done. Something snaps in head. It’s not okay. It’s not alright. It’s not a good day. Loose it completely. Shout about how it’s so hard to get a card updated that it makes getting the degree look like a picnic! Perform. Throw toys out of cot. The woman behind the window performs back. And then I just stop. It’s not going to help. It can’t be done. And that’s when it happens. The tears. They start rolling and nothing will stop them. Have lost this battle today. The bureaucratic world has won. The woman behind the counter softens. She tries all avenues but her hands are tied by red tape. I apologise for shouting. Say it has been an awful day. Leave quietly.
Just as I go I see a sky blue egg shell under the nearby tree. I’ll rescue that I think. It’ll make everything worthwhile. Such a beautiful blue. Carry vacated shell home in my car. Place it on my desk as a reminder of beauty in the midst of crises. Older son comes home and crushes it with one twist of his fingers. I thought it was a marshmallow, he says. Try not to think about metaphors.
798 words.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Saturday, January 01, 2005
A Matter of Time: Sc 31
INT. NIGHT. VAN SCHALKWYK’S LOUNGE. PRESENT.
SARAH:So back to the game, people! Now, you have to swear that you will do whatever is asked of you as a consequence.
FRANS:I’m ready for anything. But maybe some more brandy first ... to get into the SPIRIT of the game, hey?
LEONARD:I think I’ll just watch.
SARAH:No watchers allowed.
FRANS:I’ve heard Leonard likes to watch, isn’t that right boet?
MARTINUS:Come on Leonard. It’ll be fun.
LEONARD:Okay. But I still think it’s stupid.
KOBUS:I like games.
SARAH:Oh goody!
CADDIE:(To Sarah)I’m not sure I trust you tonight.
SARAH:What do they say: ‘Trust no one but yourself.’
CADDIE:(Jokingly).And even then, think twice!
MARTINUS:So how do we start?
SARAH:Who wants to go first?
MARTINUS:You start. Then we can see how the game’s played.
SARAH:An excellent idea.
FRANS:Oh hel, nou gaan ons kak!
SARAH:Okay then. Let me see. Oh I love this delicious sense of power! Right then. Let’s start with ... I don’t know ... Kobus!
KOBUS:Me?
CADDIE:Is that fair, Sarah?
SARAH:Hey, all’s fair in love and war, honey.
KOBUS:(Very keen)Okay, what do I have to do?
SARAH:Just answer the question - as truthfully as possible. Now, what shall I ask dear old Kobus ...?
KOBUS:Ask me anything!
SARAH:(Thinks for a moment)I know. Would you like to kiss my friend Caddie over here?
CADDIE:(Shocked, but quite amused).Sarah!
SARAH:No-one’s allowed to play the Pope, please. Just answer the question, Kobus. Would you like to kiss Caddie?
FRANS:(Excited at the prospect)Hell, who wouldn’t?
KOBUS:(Very embarrassed)I don’t know.
SARAH:You have to answer.
KOBUS:(Very quietly)Maybe.
SARAH:(Pouncing on his answer)What was that?
KOBUS:(Defensively now)No. Not really.
SARAH:And is that your final answer?Kobus refuses to say anymore.
FRANS:Come on Kobusie. You can tell us.
LEONARD:Ja, Kobus. Now we learn the truth, hey?
KOBUS:Shut up.
LEONARD:Oooohhh!
SARAH:Now do we believe Kobus’ answer?
SARAH, LEONARD AN FRANS TOGETHER: NO!!!
MARTINUS:Hell, man, give the poor chap a break.
SARAH:This is just the way the game works, Martinus. Get used to it. Now you have to pay the consequence for not telling the truth, Kobus. Ummm. What shall I make you do? And remember, you HAVE to do it.
CADDIE:Come on Sarah. I agree with Martinus. Cut Kobus some slack.
SARAH:(Relentless and mocking Caddie’s attitude)‘Oooh. I agree with Martinus.’ Well, sorry for you. Now then, let’s see. Well because you lied, Kobus, you have to ... have to ... I know: kiss Caddie!Frans and Leonard laugh delightedly.
KOBUS:No man. I can’t do that.
SARAH:Oh but you have to, my friend. Come on.(Subtly wicked)You know you want to.
SARAH:So back to the game, people! Now, you have to swear that you will do whatever is asked of you as a consequence.
FRANS:I’m ready for anything. But maybe some more brandy first ... to get into the SPIRIT of the game, hey?
LEONARD:I think I’ll just watch.
SARAH:No watchers allowed.
FRANS:I’ve heard Leonard likes to watch, isn’t that right boet?
MARTINUS:Come on Leonard. It’ll be fun.
LEONARD:Okay. But I still think it’s stupid.
KOBUS:I like games.
SARAH:Oh goody!
CADDIE:(To Sarah)I’m not sure I trust you tonight.
SARAH:What do they say: ‘Trust no one but yourself.’
CADDIE:(Jokingly).And even then, think twice!
MARTINUS:So how do we start?
SARAH:Who wants to go first?
MARTINUS:You start. Then we can see how the game’s played.
SARAH:An excellent idea.
FRANS:Oh hel, nou gaan ons kak!
SARAH:Okay then. Let me see. Oh I love this delicious sense of power! Right then. Let’s start with ... I don’t know ... Kobus!
KOBUS:Me?
CADDIE:Is that fair, Sarah?
SARAH:Hey, all’s fair in love and war, honey.
KOBUS:(Very keen)Okay, what do I have to do?
SARAH:Just answer the question - as truthfully as possible. Now, what shall I ask dear old Kobus ...?
KOBUS:Ask me anything!
SARAH:(Thinks for a moment)I know. Would you like to kiss my friend Caddie over here?
CADDIE:(Shocked, but quite amused).Sarah!
SARAH:No-one’s allowed to play the Pope, please. Just answer the question, Kobus. Would you like to kiss Caddie?
FRANS:(Excited at the prospect)Hell, who wouldn’t?
KOBUS:(Very embarrassed)I don’t know.
SARAH:You have to answer.
KOBUS:(Very quietly)Maybe.
SARAH:(Pouncing on his answer)What was that?
KOBUS:(Defensively now)No. Not really.
SARAH:And is that your final answer?Kobus refuses to say anymore.
FRANS:Come on Kobusie. You can tell us.
LEONARD:Ja, Kobus. Now we learn the truth, hey?
KOBUS:Shut up.
LEONARD:Oooohhh!
SARAH:Now do we believe Kobus’ answer?
SARAH, LEONARD AN FRANS TOGETHER: NO!!!
MARTINUS:Hell, man, give the poor chap a break.
SARAH:This is just the way the game works, Martinus. Get used to it. Now you have to pay the consequence for not telling the truth, Kobus. Ummm. What shall I make you do? And remember, you HAVE to do it.
CADDIE:Come on Sarah. I agree with Martinus. Cut Kobus some slack.
SARAH:(Relentless and mocking Caddie’s attitude)‘Oooh. I agree with Martinus.’ Well, sorry for you. Now then, let’s see. Well because you lied, Kobus, you have to ... have to ... I know: kiss Caddie!Frans and Leonard laugh delightedly.
KOBUS:No man. I can’t do that.
SARAH:Oh but you have to, my friend. Come on.(Subtly wicked)You know you want to.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Nightmare Before Christmas
There’s a funny thing about Christmas. Unless you are a child, have a child, or approach Christmas like a child, Christmas isn’t really going to do much to fill your heart with the jingle bells of joy. I thought of this when reading Gail Cornhill’s article in the Weekend Witness recently. She has such a gleeful approach to the holiday that she just has to enfuse everyone around her with her own delight.
Young children usually feel the same enthusiasm about Christmas. I only have to think back to my earliest memories of Christmas to remember that barely tolerable excitement that the mere thought of the day itself engendered. When my brothers and I were small, my parents used to let us stay up late on Christmas Eve. When midnight struck, we were finally allowed to open our presents. The giddy joy we felt on these special nights is captured in numerous photographs where we are posing with grins as wide as Santa’s sleigh in front of the annual Christmas tree.
One year in particular stands out more than any other. My father had come home with a wonderful set of candles and holders which were meant to be attached to the Christmas tree. As was the fashion of the time, the tree was one hundred percent synthetic and a brilliant unnatural green. We couldn’t wait to light the candles on Christmas Eve. The electric lights were switched off. We held our breath, and my father moved forward to perform the magical ceremony. He took out his trusty cigarette lighter and lit the first one. Unfortunately, the lighter had delusions of grandeur and it did a fairly good job as a flame-thrower that night. Its flames leapt up about three branches high, searing a path of brilliant red flame as it went. It took just a moment for the whole tree, lovingly collected ornaments and all, to disappear in a singe of flames. A sadly blackened wire skeleton took its place, and a mournful swirl of smoke lingered around the ceiling. My father’s face was a picture. For a moment, we weren’t sure whether to feel delighted by the tree’s dramatic moment of glory or whether to mourn its sudden demise. My mother soon made her feelings clear. My father was in the dog box, make no mistake. He had to redeem himself. And quickly. He disappeared in his car, only to return a few hours later. He had a box with him and a large smile on his face. Things were looking up. Out of the box he withdrew a snow white tree, as artificial as its predecessor. He’d managed to find one late night café open with a white tree on display. After bartering with the owner for who knows how long, he was able to return, in triumph. We were thrilled. No one we knew had ever had a white tree before. And in a brief moment, Christmas became Christmas once again.
I think that is the thing about Christmas. It’s the way we approach it that makes it what it is. If we see it as just another huge responsibility and chore – which I must confess I have done for the past few years – it loses its sparkle completely. But if we can put a spin on it, and change a holiday from the singed black burnt out skeleton of consumerism and chores into a feather light white froth of inconsequential joys, then perhaps we can recreate our child-like approach to Christmas once again. And maybe, just maybe, we can enjoy the moment like we used to.
608 words.
Young children usually feel the same enthusiasm about Christmas. I only have to think back to my earliest memories of Christmas to remember that barely tolerable excitement that the mere thought of the day itself engendered. When my brothers and I were small, my parents used to let us stay up late on Christmas Eve. When midnight struck, we were finally allowed to open our presents. The giddy joy we felt on these special nights is captured in numerous photographs where we are posing with grins as wide as Santa’s sleigh in front of the annual Christmas tree.
One year in particular stands out more than any other. My father had come home with a wonderful set of candles and holders which were meant to be attached to the Christmas tree. As was the fashion of the time, the tree was one hundred percent synthetic and a brilliant unnatural green. We couldn’t wait to light the candles on Christmas Eve. The electric lights were switched off. We held our breath, and my father moved forward to perform the magical ceremony. He took out his trusty cigarette lighter and lit the first one. Unfortunately, the lighter had delusions of grandeur and it did a fairly good job as a flame-thrower that night. Its flames leapt up about three branches high, searing a path of brilliant red flame as it went. It took just a moment for the whole tree, lovingly collected ornaments and all, to disappear in a singe of flames. A sadly blackened wire skeleton took its place, and a mournful swirl of smoke lingered around the ceiling. My father’s face was a picture. For a moment, we weren’t sure whether to feel delighted by the tree’s dramatic moment of glory or whether to mourn its sudden demise. My mother soon made her feelings clear. My father was in the dog box, make no mistake. He had to redeem himself. And quickly. He disappeared in his car, only to return a few hours later. He had a box with him and a large smile on his face. Things were looking up. Out of the box he withdrew a snow white tree, as artificial as its predecessor. He’d managed to find one late night café open with a white tree on display. After bartering with the owner for who knows how long, he was able to return, in triumph. We were thrilled. No one we knew had ever had a white tree before. And in a brief moment, Christmas became Christmas once again.
I think that is the thing about Christmas. It’s the way we approach it that makes it what it is. If we see it as just another huge responsibility and chore – which I must confess I have done for the past few years – it loses its sparkle completely. But if we can put a spin on it, and change a holiday from the singed black burnt out skeleton of consumerism and chores into a feather light white froth of inconsequential joys, then perhaps we can recreate our child-like approach to Christmas once again. And maybe, just maybe, we can enjoy the moment like we used to.
608 words.
Sunday, December 05, 2004
No Going Back scs 23 - 25
23. EXT. ROAD LEADING UP TO FARMHOUSE. DAY.
The blinding midday sun is beating down relentlessly as the couple drive their car towards the farm house. The low suspension of the car isn’t particularly suited to the rutted road.Caddie looks less pleased than she did before.
CADDIE:It looks a bit barren round here, doesn’t it?
FRANK:Virgin country, darling. Virgin country.
Caddie isn’t too sure about it.
24. EXT. OUTSIDE FARMHOUSE. DAY.
Caddie stands by the car, staring at the farmhouse. Frank looks at her anxiously. She imagines the printout with the luscious green fields and the pretty, homely building and can’t quite reconcile this barren wreck with her preconception. A name on a sign near the gate is obliterated by age and neglect. Only the first few letters of the name can be made out: “Goei...”Caddie walks slowly, silently, towards the farmhouse. Frank follows her, trying to reassure.
FRANK:Remember we said we wanted to start from scratch?
Caddie says nothing.
FRANK:Think of this as a blank canvas.
Still she says nothing.
FRANK:It just needs a little TLC, that’s all.
Caddie still keeps quiet. She is not convinced.
25. INT. FARMHOUSE KITCHEN. DAY.
The kitchen is a wreck. The sink stands leaning against the wall on one side of the room. A bare bulb hangs from the ceiling. The wooden floors are grey with age and neglect, splinters flaring up all over them. The room is dark and gloomy. Light barely manages to get through the tiny window because of the wrap around verandah which encircles the house. Frank tries to switch on a light. It doesn’t work.
FRANK:We’ll get them to connect us tomorrow.
CADDIE:(Baldly)It’s a wreck Frank.
FRANK:It needs some work, I did tell you.
CADDIE:(Gesturing around the room)But not this...
FRANK:Give me a few weeks, Cads. You won’t recognize the place.
Caddie turns the tap which is in the wall above the space where the sink used to be. She turns it. A brown trickle seeps out slowly.
FRANK:(Trying to make the best of things)At least it has running water.
Caddie shoots him a dark look.She turns to walk into the next room. It is a huge living room which has large (broken) windows and grey, cracked wooden floors. Everything is in a terrible state of disrepair. In one corner is a large old mattress. There are blackish stains in the middle of it. A heap of rubbish huddles in a corner nearby, feeling sorry for itself.Caddie shivers.
CADDIE:I don’t like this room...
FRANK:Don’t be silly, Caddie. Come on, you have to use your imagination here. We’ll get the rubbish out, sand the floors, paint the walls and it will be the largest and most inviting room we’ve ever owned!
Caddie isn’t sure at all.
CADDIE:I don’t know...
FRANK:(Holding her gently by the shoulders)We have to be positive. Remember? The clinic is the easy part this time. Now we just have to put a little effort into this place and in no time at all we’ll be right as rain.
CADDIE:Looks like it hasn’t rained around here for centuries.
FRANK:I know! Isn’t it great?
She looks at him blankly.
The blinding midday sun is beating down relentlessly as the couple drive their car towards the farm house. The low suspension of the car isn’t particularly suited to the rutted road.Caddie looks less pleased than she did before.
CADDIE:It looks a bit barren round here, doesn’t it?
FRANK:Virgin country, darling. Virgin country.
Caddie isn’t too sure about it.
24. EXT. OUTSIDE FARMHOUSE. DAY.
Caddie stands by the car, staring at the farmhouse. Frank looks at her anxiously. She imagines the printout with the luscious green fields and the pretty, homely building and can’t quite reconcile this barren wreck with her preconception. A name on a sign near the gate is obliterated by age and neglect. Only the first few letters of the name can be made out: “Goei...”Caddie walks slowly, silently, towards the farmhouse. Frank follows her, trying to reassure.
FRANK:Remember we said we wanted to start from scratch?
Caddie says nothing.
FRANK:Think of this as a blank canvas.
Still she says nothing.
FRANK:It just needs a little TLC, that’s all.
Caddie still keeps quiet. She is not convinced.
25. INT. FARMHOUSE KITCHEN. DAY.
The kitchen is a wreck. The sink stands leaning against the wall on one side of the room. A bare bulb hangs from the ceiling. The wooden floors are grey with age and neglect, splinters flaring up all over them. The room is dark and gloomy. Light barely manages to get through the tiny window because of the wrap around verandah which encircles the house. Frank tries to switch on a light. It doesn’t work.
FRANK:We’ll get them to connect us tomorrow.
CADDIE:(Baldly)It’s a wreck Frank.
FRANK:It needs some work, I did tell you.
CADDIE:(Gesturing around the room)But not this...
FRANK:Give me a few weeks, Cads. You won’t recognize the place.
Caddie turns the tap which is in the wall above the space where the sink used to be. She turns it. A brown trickle seeps out slowly.
FRANK:(Trying to make the best of things)At least it has running water.
Caddie shoots him a dark look.She turns to walk into the next room. It is a huge living room which has large (broken) windows and grey, cracked wooden floors. Everything is in a terrible state of disrepair. In one corner is a large old mattress. There are blackish stains in the middle of it. A heap of rubbish huddles in a corner nearby, feeling sorry for itself.Caddie shivers.
CADDIE:I don’t like this room...
FRANK:Don’t be silly, Caddie. Come on, you have to use your imagination here. We’ll get the rubbish out, sand the floors, paint the walls and it will be the largest and most inviting room we’ve ever owned!
Caddie isn’t sure at all.
CADDIE:I don’t know...
FRANK:(Holding her gently by the shoulders)We have to be positive. Remember? The clinic is the easy part this time. Now we just have to put a little effort into this place and in no time at all we’ll be right as rain.
CADDIE:Looks like it hasn’t rained around here for centuries.
FRANK:I know! Isn’t it great?
She looks at him blankly.
Friday, November 19, 2004
Cliché Calling
Yellow-billed kite
Swoops menacingly down
Determined to decimate
Designated prey.
Prey thinks fast
And reverses under wing.
Frantic Kite back pedals
Becoming a child’s cartoon
Of incompetent flight
Clawing to
Impossible scaly skid
In forgiving and compromising air.
Swoops menacingly down
Determined to decimate
Designated prey.
Prey thinks fast
And reverses under wing.
Frantic Kite back pedals
Becoming a child’s cartoon
Of incompetent flight
Clawing to
Impossible scaly skid
In forgiving and compromising air.
Making Pancakes
The eggs crack bone-hard
on the side of the bowl.
As they plop and sink,
flour puffs up white dust.
Dust to dust.
Milk. Salt.
Beater.
Spun batter
spider webs on the bowl.
A scoop into the pan.
Sizzle. Spread.
Wait for the air bubbles.
Flip of the pan.
Brown the other side.
Pancakes for my boys.
Keep them full.
Safe and warm.
My little brother won’t be eating today.
Must feed my boys.
Keep tummies full
until after the funeral.
on the side of the bowl.
As they plop and sink,
flour puffs up white dust.
Dust to dust.
Milk. Salt.
Beater.
Spun batter
spider webs on the bowl.
A scoop into the pan.
Sizzle. Spread.
Wait for the air bubbles.
Flip of the pan.
Brown the other side.
Pancakes for my boys.
Keep them full.
Safe and warm.
My little brother won’t be eating today.
Must feed my boys.
Keep tummies full
until after the funeral.
Outside Goose Cottage
Watching darkness grow
around the house - beacon
of light slicing
the gloom.
I light a Camel.
The first in
nine months.
A firefly indicates,
turns left.
A bat swoops
under night-
etched trees.
It is possible to
feel peace - at least
For a moment.
Or is that just
The nicotine?
around the house - beacon
of light slicing
the gloom.
I light a Camel.
The first in
nine months.
A firefly indicates,
turns left.
A bat swoops
under night-
etched trees.
It is possible to
feel peace - at least
For a moment.
Or is that just
The nicotine?
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