January 2008 Archives

'And all of these moments just might find their way into my dreams tonight' - Jack Johnson, Better Together

Today if I look up I see blue sky. If I ignore the buildings and look at the sky, with its pillowy clouds I can imagine I'm in Africa. If I replace the brown of the buildings and the tall poplars with the mauve of the hills and msasa trees, I could be at home.

If I close my eyes I can smell the rain hitting dusty earth, rippling its sweet scent through my body. Sudden raindrops falling while the sun still shines. Thunderclouds towering into the sky and the desire to offer myself naked to the rain.

I can see the dust of winter, and the cold clear mornings. The blue sky stretching endlessly above and the ground covered with a thin layer of crackling frost. The sunlight, warming the earth as the day grows, the earth abruptly turning cold as the sun sets.

The smells of maize meal cooking over an open fire, air thick with smoke, the scents of animals and people intermingled. The smell of dust and shit and life.

I can see Africa, pious and pagan.

When I open them I can see blue sky again. 

''She had a pretty face but her head was up in space. She needs to come back down to earth. - Avril Lavigne, Skater Boy. (Loving this song and it just shows what a girl I can be sometimes and how sometimes I never actually really left high school)

A hopeless romantic one day and a prosaic mom of two the next day. Because of course, you can't be hopelessly romantic every day, can you?

I blame it all on Leonard and the endorphin rushes that I get from that treadmill. I ran for an hour yesterday and biked about the same. No wonder I was high and completely not myself.

Everything is quiet at home, the kids are in the daycare, I have another day off today and then back to work for my very last day. I've spent most of yesterday and today just hanging out with my friends.

So different to have time again, so much time.

I love it. I'm reading We Need to Talk about Kevin. I'm making soup, I've cleaned the fridge, I've tidied my desk, I'm doing my ironing, I'm watching tv.

I'm going to talk to my mom for an hour on the phone, then I'm going to lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling a bit.

Just because I can, you know?

Prosaic enough?

''Years go by, will I still be waiting, or somebody else to understand, years go by, if I'm stripped of my beauty?' - Tori Amos, Silent all these Years (This version with poetry read by Leonard Cohen)

my dear, dear reader,

I'm writing to tell you about my love this week.

Leonard Cohen is my love this week. From the 'but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie'  to the 'you live your life as if it's real a thousand kisses deep'.  Listen to him read the poem of the same song here.

Listen to him again as he reads the poetry before this version of Tori Amos Silent All These Years, a song which made me run faster on the treadmill today while I listened to my own silent voice. 

I wondered if you, dear reader, had found yourself the girl who thinks really deep thoughts. After all.

dear reader, I'll waltz with you in Vienna, I want you in the Chelsea Hotel, I want you to dance me to the end of love. I would like to think that there's a god above. Would you like to think that there's a god above? Would it comfort you?

Is the moon swimming naked for you? If I asked you would you let me take you down to my place near the river?

Of course, dear reader, you are only a construct in my mind. A compilation, a frieze from my imagination, a mosaic; but if you existed I would write you letters on my skin, and you would kiss me as you read each one.

my dear reader, I wish you were real.

'it's okay…the struggle for things not to say' - U2, If you wear that velvet dress again

Possibly the sexiest song ever.

'It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes.' - Peter Gabriel, The Book of Love

If every book ever written is a love letter, even cookery books, then ...

The Daring Bakers are at it again. This month's challenge, hosted by The Canadian Baker was a Lemon Meringue Pie.

So, over two weekends, (yes it took me that long), I baked pie. Last weekend I made the pastry crust and then put it in the freezer til this weekend. Saturday night I made the lemon filling and then Sunday I made the meringue.

Verdict: nice pie, but uh, hmm.

What's with all the sugar? I'm used to the sharper taste of a classic tarte au citron, and this was too sweet. It was pretty though and the taste test team liked it. The cornflour/sugar mix for the lemon base was also kind of peculiar. The cornflour taste came through quite strongly in the final product, and the lemon mixture didn't set thoroughly.

I favour a good lemon curd mixture which you can make ahead, keep in the fridge and convert into lemon meringue pies whenever you want.

So instead of giving you the recipe for this pie, I'm giving you the recipe for lemon curd, which means you can go make lemon meringue pie every time life gives you lemons. (Sorry! Had to!)

Lemon Curd

200g butter
700g granulated sugar
grated zest of 4 -5 lemons
300 ml lemon juice (about 4 - 5 lemons)
300 ml beaten eggs (about 4 - 5 lemons)

1. Place the butter, sugar, lemon zest, juice and sugar in a large bowl and microwave on full for about 2 minutes or until the butter has melted and the sugar has dissolved. (or use the top of a double boiler on the stove top).
2. Add the beaten eggs and continue cooking in 1 minute bursts and stirring each time, reducing to 30 seconds for each burst as the mixture thickens until it's thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. On the stovetop just keep going, stirring constantly until it reaches the consistency you like. I prefer mine more solid than runny so I cook it a while longer.
3. Strain through a sieve into a wide necked jug, to remove bits of zest and any cooked egg bits, and then pour into sterilised jars and keep in the fridge.
   

This recipe takes about ten minutes in the microwave and about forty minutes in a double boiler. You can also make orange curd, passionfruit curd, grapefruit, blood orange etc. You can use this to serve with ice cream, in meringue for pavlovas and of course, in your lemon meringue pie.

Visit the Daring Bakers to see everyone else's interpretations of this month's recipe.

 

'And if I only could, I would' - Placebo, Running up that Hill, originally Kate Bush.

I'm in love again.

This time it's with Alice Oswald who says everyday things with clarity in such plain language that you can't help but be overcome with emotion.

She's a 'new poet' using techniques and methods of writing that vary wildly from poem to poem. I like the intensity of her writing.

Read some of her other poems, Time, Owl, Dunt. Also here, she writes on how to write poetry.

Recently, in my own writing, I've recognised that relationships, the emotional energy between people and the questions intrinsic to those relationships are the big questions that shape what I write and how I write it.

Not for nothing does everything I write have an undertone of despair, sex and love.

That's why this is my favourite Alice Oswald poem so far:

Alice Oswald's Sonnet

I can't sleep in case a few things you said
no longer apply. The matter's endless,
but definitions alter what's ahead
and you and words are like a hare and tortoise.
Aaaagh there's no description — each a fractal
sectioned by silences, we have our own
skins to feel through and fall back through — awful
to make so much of something so unknown.
But even I — some shower-swift commitments
are all you'll get; I mustn't gauge or give
more than I take — which is a way to balance
between misprision and belief in love
both true and false, because I'm only just
short of a word to be the first to trust.

More about Alice Oswald here.

'Run away from all your boredom, run away from all your whoredom and wave' - Placebo, Slave to the Wage

In my link-whore efforts, (whoever said this blog was going to be high-toned was obviously delusional),  and because Neil told me all about his idea and I encouraged him (ideas-whore too, hey, I'll sell myself for pretty much anything), I'm participating in Neil's Great Interview Experiment.

I'm being interviewed by Not Fainthearted and I'm interviewing Bryna from a Day in the Life Of.

There's nothing happening just yet, because:

• I haven't thought of the questions I need to ask Bryna (too busy link whoring and such), and
• Not Fainthearted is angsting about her questions for me.

In turn, I'm angsting about just how much undertone she's going to pick up from my blog.

Perhaps I've been watching too much Dirt.

Or was that Dexter?

'I'm not in a film, I'm not in a play.' - The Guillemots, Blue would still be Blue

Thank you Last.fm.

I give you the Guillemots. They are fabulous and shiny new for me.

Made-Up Lovesong #43. Blue would still be Blue, and We're Here.

So sweet, these lyrics are from Blue would still be Blue:

It's not raining cats, it's not raining dogs
And pigs are not flying, or turning the cogs
The sun has no hat on, whenever it shines
And I've never seen a cat with nine lives
I'm not in a film, I'm not in a play
I saw no aliens today
I just saw you, and thought of me.

I had a few lousy days recently. Duvet-calling-me days.

But today?

Ohhhhh today.

Today I heard birds singing at 8 am. It was light at 5 pm.

The grey of January was streaked with feathery pink. I glimpsed Spring, beckoning.

The world is turning, still. It didn't stop last night, it didn't.

Turning.

One week left.

'It's just that it's delicate.' - Damien Rice, Delicate

First the train station, and now the cafe...

'It's been how long?' she says, '3 weeks or so.'

'21 days?' he answers as he picks up his coffee cup. She picks at her food.

'Since?'  She crosses her legs, sits tight, back straight, her body tensed.

'Since I first kissed you'.

'Oh.'

Head down in her cup of coffee she hunches her shoulders, avoids his face. The urge to run. Almost as strong as the urge to stay.  His left hand, thin wristed, picks at the cuff of his sweater.  

'Don't you have anything to say?'

'No, not really,' she says. 'I just never thought it would get this far. I usually run away before it gets this far.'

'Oh.'

'Does it scare you?' she asks, lifting her head for a minute and looking at his face, 'that I usually run?'

'I think,' his hand moves across the table to take hers, 'that it means maybe you don't know what to expect.'

Either it's too whiny, too miserable, too full of sex, too emotional, too miserable, too full of why's what's where's and hows? The voices in my head keep me second-guessing (do they?)

I can't come to grips with what I want and feel. I've scrapped about fifteen posts already today and I'm still here and still editing (self-pity).

I've written poetry about tasting the clouds creep into my mouth (sad). I've listened to songs about wanting needing broken hearts misery love and hate and pain (wallowing). I've written a story about a girl who doesn't know how to deal with intimacy (poor thing). I've tried to conclude some other stories which had no endings but suddenly they all have sad ones, which really just won't do (give yourself a good talking to here Ash).

I've drunk tea, eaten nuts, I've had salad and a panini for lunch. I've wanted to eat chocolate (greedy). I've got my period (blah). I feel fat even though I'm wearing slinky black (self-loathing).

I've talked to colleagues about sex and whether getting it on with a girl really is the answer to life (is it?). I've talked to strangers in the shops about whether tomato juice really tastes nice (yes it does). I've looked at my bumper on my car and wondered if I should get it fixed (not, too expensive). I've thought about spending February with nothing to do (bliss and terror) and how I went to my dutch class last night intending to cancel but got sucked into anyway (should stand up for myself more).

I've written some things that I edited and decided were too personal to publish (stupid). I've written some things that some people might think were directed at them when really they're all about me, because obviously, this is my space, so this is all about me (vanity). I've re-written some other things when I re-read them and thought 'god, that sucks' (self-doubt).

I've collected my kids from the daycare and avoided the Nintendo discussion (relief). I've sent emails about the PTA and avoided being annoyed at a reply with a tone (politeness).

See, nothing I write today makes sense.

So, there.

'Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey, your first sweet kiss thrilled me so.' - CJ Lewis, Sweets for my Sweet. Originally by the Searchers and a 1980s dance mix here (very cute).

Blogging has been easy this week. First there was that meme, then Ms Adventures in Italy decided to write about sweets in Italy and offer an amazing giveaway on her blog.

Of course, I probably shouldn't tell you because then I have less chance of winning because you're all going to go and enter aren't you? Oh well, too late.

Go see. The ones I think are the most interesting are the honey candies and the Rossana. Yum, I hope I win.

Sweets of my childhood? Similar to British ones I would imagine. There's loads of nostalgic sweet shops out there now. Just google 'Old Fashioned Sweets'.

My favourite is Hope & Greenwoods in the UK. Look at their Valentine's selection.

Gilded cherry nipple dainty anyone?

'Need a little patience.' - Guns n Roses - Patience

Shamelessly stolen. The things we do when we need to post every day ...

What you need to do is put your ipod or itunes on shuffle, then answer the questions with whichever song comes up. No cheating!

Version I

What does this year have in store for me?

Aaliyah - Miss You. Jesus dudes, I had no idea I had Aaliyah in my itunes, let alone that it was my theme for the year.

What’s my love life like?

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Into My Arms. This is more like it.

What do I say when life gets hard?

Moke - This Plan. 'Oh for the life of a sweet child, just to know love in your life.'

What do I think of upon waking up?

Pink Floyd - Astronomy Domine. Uh..... well, I guess it's disconnected enough to describe how I feel when I wake up.

What song will I dance to at my wedding?

Gwen Stefani - What are you Waiting For? Err. two weddings, no dancing. tick tock tick tock.

What do I want as a career?

Katie Melua - Mary Pickford (Used to eat roses) - Seeing as I have no idea at all, this pretty much sums it up. Beautiful song. Maybe I should take up eating roses...

My favorite saying?

Sheena Easton - Modern Girl. Am I? A modern girl? An independent lady taking care of herself? This makes no sense at all as a saying. Maybe as a motto.

Favorite place?

Bruce Springsteen - Secret Garden. Aha. Finally one that makes sense. (Yes, I know it's not really about gardens,  I'm not that naive.)

What do I think of my parents?

Bruce Springsteen - Radio Nowhere. I was trying to find my way home... is there anybody alive out there?

What’s my porn star name?

Sarah McLachlan - Fallen. Hmm, Fallen Ash, Ash Fallen. That could work.

Where would I go on a first date?

David Ford - I Don't Care What you Call Me. Eh. Does this mean I have no preferences about first dates?

Drug of choice?

Texas - Insane. This should be the answer to the next question. Itunes is confused :)

Describe myself.

The Corrs - Would you be happier? Have you ever wondered where the story ends and how it all began? Do you ever feel you're someone else inside and no-one understands. And wanna disappear inside a dream... and then you stumble on tomorrow and trip over yesterday.

What is the thing I like doing most?

The Rolling Stones - Rough Justice. Put your lips to my hips baby and tell me what's on your mind... eh?

What is my state of mind like at the moment?

Delta Goodrem - Born to Try. I truly believe I was born to try. Sometimes you gotta sacrifice the things you like.

How will I die?

Texas - Everyday Now. Oooooookay.

Version II

If someone says, “Is this okay?” what do you say?

Nelly Furtado - Hey Man! I didn't even know I had this song.

How would you describe yourself?

Keane - Leaving So Soon. Do I seem to eager to please, to you now? You don't know me at all. I can't turn it on turn it off like you now. I'm not like you. 

What do you like in a guy or girl?

Enya - Less Than a Pearl. Hmm, there's all kinds of things I could say here but I'm not saying any of them.

How do you feel today?

Jeff Buckley - Last Goodbye. Well, possibly. But I thought I was upbeat and cheerful today. Damn you itunes!

What is your life’s purpose?

Leaf - Wonderwoman. I'm up for a little bit more.

What is your motto?

Texas - So In Love with You. Hmm, is the shuffle repeat hitting on Texas today or what? Nothing to say about this one either.

What do your friends think about you?

Kaiser Chiefs - Ruby. Ooh, this is nice. I want to be Ruby (maybe).

What do your parents think of you?

Christine Kane - The Real World.  And the real world softly falls away and the moment swirls into the fine designs of grey ... you can download this song for free from Christine's website. Buy her album while you're there.

What do you think about very often?

Melissa Etheridge - I'm The Only One. Ooooh, what does this say about me?

What is 2 + 2?

Sisters of Mercy - This Corrosion. Eh?

What do you think of your ex?

Texas - Halo. Well the dude was and still is super-religious. Of the apologising-to-god-for-the-sins-we're-about-to -commit type and the lay-preacher type and the no-eating-without-saying-grace type, and the good-at-telling-lies type. So....

What do you think of the person you like?

Cassette - AI. Hmm. I stay true, always.

What is your life story?

The Fray - She Is. No comment.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Razorlight - In the Morning. A hooker? Blame itunes.

What do you think when you see the person you like?

Snow Patrol - Run. Yes, RUN!

What will they play at your funeral?

Van Velzen - Baby Get Higher. I'm not having a funeral. Did I tell you?

What is your hobby/interest?

Train - Drops of Jupiter. Astronomy again? Miss me while you were looking for yourself out there? I guess I am on a soul-vacation right now so this one is right.

What is your biggest fear?

Plain White T's - Hey There Delilah. I guess. Did I tell you I'm going to see them on the 4th Feb?

What is your biggest secret?

Madonna - Hung Up. Time goes so slowly for those wait. Those who run seem to have all the fun.

What do you think of your friends?

The Pretenders - Stop Your Sobbing. Sometimes.

Wanna play too?

'You don't care if it's wrong or if it's right.' - The Police, Roxanne (this version El Tango de Roxanne)

Last night, the husband and I went to his work's annual party. The theme was Club Variete and I'm just sorry I didn't dress it up more. I was dressy, but I could have been so bustier, garters, frills, hats and capes. Oh my.

It was held in the Thalia Theater in Ijmuiden. There were waiters circulating with endless glasses of wine, there were shows, there was a magician. The dude made foam rabbits appear in my hand, copulate and reproduce. Cute. Rabbitsex in my hand.

He also did stuff with various bits of rope, cards, the appearance and disappearance of diamonds (yes please!) The fire-eating lady who was super-sexy, people were dressed up as tigers and go-go girls (and that was just the colleagues, not the show!). There were tango dancers doing their sexy intense thing, there was a hot DJ, who played 'Last night a DJ saved my life'.

There was this dude on stilts doing the most amazing stuff, jugglers, a parrot, yummy food; the latter despite a salmon dish that appeared to have shrimp in it only after I already had it on my plate. Had I eaten it, this blog entry would not exist.

I danced all night with K, while Husband and C got progressively more cheery. We rocked. Girls are always more fun on the dance floor, although some of those couples were having a bit more bang for their buck, if you get my meaning.

This morning the husband is still in bed, hungover. I'm on the couch listening to and watching TMF with only a little bit of a headache from my moderate three glasses of wine. The kids are playing Nintendo. We are all in pyjamas. The daring baking is waiting.

The wind is blowing and I'm writing. I have an idea for a short story, the theme of fantasy versus reality. This is what I wrote to a friend today:

'Imagination only takes you so far. It can't substitute for weight, touch, the heaviness of another person leaning into you, smell, smooth skin, the sound of someone's breath, the talking into each other's mouths while you kiss, the sweat running down into the small of your back and pooling there, saltysweet.'

'I''ve been looking so long at these pictures of you that i almost believe that they're real' - The Cure, Pictures of You

How adolescent of me. Don't laugh.

So, it's Saturday. Way-hey.

This week has been kind of crappy, despite the horoscope predictions of a fabulous week. Monday was good.

I spent some time working out on Monday evening and the company was fab. That just happens sometimes, you know? 

Thursday was good too, it was Ms Blonde But Bright's birthday drinks. I drove with Citizen Stu to Leiden and we had a little mini-blogger meet in amongst all the real people. Thanks J!

I got lost on the A2 driving Stu back home because I was talking too much, but it was fun. Stu, let's get lost again together sometime.

In retrospect it hasn't been crappy at all. The only aspect that's been crappy is money.

The loss of it, the not having it.

Oh well.

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Saturday seems to be the day when I collect all my uncollected thoughts and put them in one place. Here's one - how odd it is that I can read enough German and French to order from various online shops? Linguistic shopping abilities - chalk up 110% for Ash. Real life German and French skills? Uh.

Here's another: Tamara-the-uber-trainer told me today that people find it difficult to step over the threshold and get themselves into a gym because once inside you are confronted with yourself.

Not only the physical shortcomings, but the mental ones too, determination and drive, fear of failure. I never thought of it that way but it's true. Every time you walk in you make a choice. I guess I'm not so bad at making choices after all.

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The online shopping I did was at amazon.de. I bought a whole heap of books. Carol Ann Duffy's Rapture, The New Rules of Lifting for Women, Tim Winton's Cloudstreet and Henry & June, Anais Nin.

Don't try and find any connection between any of the books on the list. Unless I'm bodybuilding to find rapture on Cloudstreet using Anais Nin as my guidebook?

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I trained so hard today that I thought my nose might bleed. Unrelated to that: coconut really is the best flavour of protein powder.

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The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl came! (Addressing Shauna directly) Woweeeeee babe! You are so hot! I had never gone through your whole blog before because I only started reading about a year ago but so much of what you say in the book is my story too. I could tell you all the similarities but that would be boring. Instead I'm just going to say thank you so much for sharing what you have to say! Big hugs!

(Addressing the rest of you lot again) Go and buy Shauna's book. Even if you're not trying to lose weight, not struggling with an eating disorder, even if you're a man and you think it's a girly book. She's side-splittingly funny, she has a perspective on life that is guaranteed to be different from your own, she comes from a time and place very much like mine. Oh, and I'm telling you to. So shoo! Go!

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Last Sunday evening I went with my girlfriend T to the possibly-ultra-hip&happening Panama. I say 'possibly' because these places are not usually hip once someone tells someone else that they're hip. Know what I mean?

We went to watch Xandra van Rossem, a friend of T's who I had met once before at a different concert, sing at Jazz it Up.

I was completely speechless. She is breathtaking. I can't remember what she sang now, but the atmosphere was amazing and her voice is piercingly clear, yet surprisingly warm.

The club felt so 1930s. The piano and a barstool for the singer in the centre of the room, beanbags and low stools arranged all around, tables and chairs at the outside. The fake fog swirled, the conversation flowed, the jazz types were there in their hats and suits. Couples kissing on the beanbags while Xandra sang.

It felt glamorous and grownup. I could see myself in a cocktail dress, stocking-clad legs crossed demurely at the ankle, lipsticked mouth neatly sipping from my glass while I sat across the table from my partner in crime who carefully leaned forward to light my cigarette.

To listen to Xandra you need to click this link, then choose Nederlands (the English version isn't done yet), choose music, scroll down and listen to my favourite, Boulevard of Broken Dreams. Ah.

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A photo of mine was used for Schmap!  Cool beans, huh? It looks like a cute application. In the summer I plan to photograph more. You can trawl  through Amsterdam's Schmap yourself to find the photo.

Other great photography that I came across this week is from Xelia. Go see. Take heed, flickr will ask you if you want to go back to the kittens. 'Tis all I'm saying. Beautiful photography. I love it.

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I rejoined the Daring Bakers. I will be daringly baking tomorrow. Anyone want some? Come over around 4. Phone first please, let me know you're coming. I wouldn't want to be surprised.

And that ends Saturday's long, languid post. Long and languid is the best kind, right?
 

'Throw me tomorrow, now that I've really got a chance' - David Bowie, Thursday's Child

Because sometimes we need reminders and because sometimes I have nothing to say and because sometimes I was up late going to parties and because sometimes I've been sick and nothing I write or do makes sense and because sometimes run on sentences with no punctuation are fun and because sometimes despite being hesitant and cautious I feel like I can do anything in the world and because even though I feel like that I still have obligations which make me do the necessary instead of the transcendent and because making choices is difficult.

And also just because. Because.

I tell you to watch David Bowie and I give you Anais Nin. 'And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.' ~ Anais Nin

'You say you dont want it again, and again but you don't dont really mean it' - Tori Amos, Spark

Shit shit shit.

On Tuesday night, after Dutch class, at 10 pm, I was so tired that I reversed into a pole.

It was a low pole, but nonetheless it was a pole. A metal pole.

Bump, crash, ouch.

The damage? One cracked bumper and 400 euros.

I have insurance, but I don't know if I should claim for this and affect my premiums. You know?

Claim for 400 euros and then pay thousands more over the next few years? It sucks.

Or maybe trade in the car for something newer and zippier? And cleaner. I haven't been to the carwash for six months. There is stuff in my car that walks around at night.

I'm one of those people who is paralysed with indecision. It presses on me and I find it hard to breathe.

Help!

'When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings' - Sting, When we Dance

When I was a girl I happened across Contemporary British & North American Verse, an anthology edited by Martin Booth, nestling amongst the crime and romances on my aunt's bookshelf.

In the wilds of Africa poetry isn't exactly encouraged as an outlet for expressing oneself, so I'm not sure where it came from, but there it was. Pristine and on the shelf. Left behind by someone's lover, maybe? Someone with a wider life?

Sure, we did poetry in school. Lots of Shakespeare, some Christina Rossetti, classics. Nothing contemporary. I think there was too much sex in contemporary verse for it to be allowed...

When I found this book I was surprised at the intensity of the language. I was astonished that contemporary song lyrics could be considered poetry.

I still have the book, which travelled with me through two marriages and four countries. I re-read it occasionally. I like poetry. I like it more when it's obscure. I like discovering things I think nobody knows about until I find that everyone does and I'm just late to the party.

Old favourites jump out at me.

Richard Brautigan's On the Elevator Going Down and Douglas Dunn's Young Women in Rollers. Ted Hughes' Bedtime Story and The Tractor. Brian Patten's A Blade of Grass. A Blade of Grass was the first real love poem I ever read that made sense, and it's still the poem I think of when I think of romantic love.

Of course, Stevie Smith's Not Waving but Drowning is in there, and some Sylvia Plath, which I hurriedly skip over. There should be no Bee Boxes in my life.

Peter Redgrove's A Storm alarms me now, just as it did then.

He says:

Somebody is throttling that tree
By the way it's threshing about;
I'm glad it's no one I know, or me,
The head thrust back at the throat,

Green hair tumbled and cracking throat,

His thumbs drive into her windpipe,
She cannot cry out,
Only swishing and groaning: death swells ripe.

The light is dimming but the fight goes on.
Chips strike my window. In the morning, there
Stands the tree, still, bushy and calm,
Not as I saw it, twisted heel to ear.

But fluffed up, boughs chafing slightly.
What's become of her attacker?
I'm glad he's not mine or known to me,
Flipped to the ground, heel over ear:

She preens herself, with a soft bough-purr
Was he swallowed up, lip over ear?
He's gone anyway. The path is thick in her fur.
Am I a friend, may I walk near?

I find some pressed rose petals in my book from my very first love affair. They've faded to a deep brown, like a blood stain, and the colour has dissipated murkily into the surrounding pages. I can't remember who gave me this rose, but I must have loved him. For I kept its petals after it died.

Jeanette Winterson has a column on poetry critique on her website. She has reproduced some of Carol Ann Duffy's poetry. I've just added Rapture to my reading list.

Surely the rest of the collection can't be as good as this:

Uninvited, the thought of you stayed too late in my head.
so I went to bed, dreaming you hard, hard, woke with your name,
like tears, soft, salt, on my lips, the sound of its bright syllables
like a charm, like a spell.

--- You, Carol Ann Duffy

'It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you' - Toto, Africa (also immortalised by SAB in a Castle beer advertisement)

Turn up your sound, I had trouble balancing it.

'I'm too sexy for my shirt too sexy for my shirt' - Right Said Fred, I'm Too Sexy

My mini-shorts I mean?

I'm crushing on my new Bjorn Borg mini-shorts. 

Purple ones, black and white with flowers, white with a green and grey band and hot pink all over.

And sexy too.

'They can see no reasons, cos there are no reasons, what reasons do you need to be shown?' - Tori Amos, I Don't Like Mondays

Found this a minute ago. Loved the original too. It's not Monday, but hey... I don't like Tuesdays much either.

Listen to both and tell me which you like more.

'I'm learning to fly around the clouds. But what goes up must come down' - Tom Petty, Learning to Fly

I'm meant to keep at least a bit of myself for myself right?

Someone asked me recently 'How do you deal with sharing so much of yourself on the internet? Don't you feel uncomfortable that so many people know so much about you?'

I didn't have a really good answer. I don't know how I deal, except to say that most of the time what you see is really what you get.

Let's put it in perspective. I've been on the internet now for 12 years, and I've never really used a pseudonym in all that time. I had a nickname back in chatrooms in the 1990s. Otherwise I've always just been me.

When I started my first blog I used my real name and I had absolutely no doubts about privacy, whether I should keep myself to myself, whether what I wrote was acceptable or not.

Whether what I wrote might affect my family later. Whether my kids should be exposed on the internet, full names, pictures, pictures of them in the bath.

Then a picture of my boys was favourited on flickr and got around 3000 hits in a few days. Suddenly it was like, 'wow, that's really out there'.

I didn't have any real issues with the idea of 3000 old men wanking over pictures of my boys, because after all they're just inanimate pictures right?

Then I put myself in my boys' shoes and recognised that maybe later on they might not be happy about the idea that mom put pictures of them in the shower on the internet and 3000 old men spent a lot of time looking at them. Know what I mean? I restricted viewing of that picture to family and friends.

Then when I started working and my colleagues were googling me I suddenly became very uncomfortable. I didn't want to be categorised as a mother who cooked and sewed and wrote about her carefully structured life. I shut the old blog down and removed it for a while from the internet while I thought about what I wanted.

Consciously I chose to put it back online, and to start this one, which is more of how I am now. I still cook and sew. I'm still a mom who writes about her life, but I'm also someone who thinks and feels and writes about the thinking and feeling.

A lot of what I wrote on my old blog was subconsciously edited. I cut almost everything that revealed how I saw the world, what I felt. It was pretty and light and nice and nothing there, bar once or twice by accident, really let you know anything about me.

Most of the time I was on a Prozac-induced cloud nine where life was even and numb and nothing ever got to me so most of the time I really was writing what I knew.

This time it's different. I've been Prozac-free for six months now and I have very little to no SSRI-discontinuation syndrome thanks to acupuncture, diet and exercise. The eating disorder that the Prozac was originally prescribed for is back, but that's just got to be dealt with some other way now. I have to be kinder to myself. No more drugs, ever.

I tried to stop taking Prozac several times in the last 15 years and had serious discontinuation syndrome.
Shaking, tics, lying on the bathroom floor withdrawing, crying, feeling completely out of control, tinnitus, feeling disconnected, suicide attempts.

It's strange that the drug that is meant to stop you feeling like that makes you feel like that as soon as you stop taking it. I was first prescribed Prozac in 1993. In between I had my dosage changed to an incredibly high 60 mg a day to try and control the bulimia and depression, changed to Cipramil to see if it would help and eventually a MAOI inhibitor, which was a particularly bad patch for me. 

The first time I tried to stop I thought it just meant I wasn't 'cured' yet. I didn't realise that it had nothing to do with being better or not and everything to do with neurochemicals. Cue withdrawal-attempt-#2 and I started realising that it wasn't going to be that easy. A few more times and I had resigned myself to being on Prozac forever. Green & white pills everywhere.

When I started to see my acupuncturist and we talked about the eating disorder, the weight gain, the bloody Prozac, the dead feeling and wanting to get off the Prozac, wanting to be myself again, he said, 'let's just start slow'.

That was two and a half years ago.

Finally in August 2007 I felt comfortable enough to leave my little green & white pills behind and this time it's been smooth.

Smooth in that I've had no real withdrawal, not so smooth in that learning to feel again after 15 years is pretty hard work. Imagine you're some kind of vehicle on rails, and you spend so much time just chugging along on a flat road, then suddenly you have hills and valleys, and your speed hasn't changed. The bottom drops out of your world and your stomach hits the floor. That's a bit how life without Prozac feels.

My emotions haven't regulated themselves properly yet even six months later. I'm learning that yes, it's going to crap some days, but then other days I'm going to be deliriously happy for no real reason.

I'm going to lie in my bed and howl some days because things are not as I want them, but they'll be balanced by days that I sit smiling at the world, wondering how it can be so good.

Watching my boy finally hit a serve over the net, mouth open in concentration and the huge gap-toothed smile when he realises he did it. Reading a book and feeling the characters live. Listening to a song on my ipod while I run and be glad my face is so sweaty that no-one sees the tears. Laughing so much that I can't actually speak anymore. This is how it feels to feel.

Sometimes it's not pretty. Nothing is pretty all the time. Everyone wakes up snotty sometimes.

So why am I writing this? Why am I putting this little bit of myself online? Revealing the kookiness to everyone?

Because I tried to search for some information on the internet about how it feels after you come off Prozac. There's hardly any information on how you feel when you stop. There's lots of brief and incomplete information about the physical effects. Apparently everyone worries about sexual dysfunction. Priorities, people!

There is virtually nothing out there about the emotions, except advice to say 'if you can't deal with the emotions then go back on the drugs'. I wanted a guide book on how to ride the rollercoaster, not advice saying 'just get off'!

So I thought, hey look, I'll write about how it felt for me and that way I can share more of me than anyone every wanted me to. This is where you insert a wry faced smile to imagine how I look right now. To be fair to myself I did hesitate a few times before hitting that publish button, thinking hmm, maybe this is just a bit too much.

Seriously though, maybe this will help someone else who's learning to feel again.

'Please me, tease me, go ahead and leave me.' - Garbage, I Think I'm Paranoid

Look, it's a recipe. Wow, who would have thought?

Actually, this is a really nice recipe.

It's yeast based so no weird baking powdery aftertaste and it makes a thin base. It's also super fast. Almost as fast as a bought one. Faster than ordering in. Fun to make with the kids.

The kind of pizza that makes you look good in your flour-dusted denim apron all flushed and rosy-cheeked from the heat of the oven while you roll the dough.

Hey, they say sex sells.. Nigella can't be wrong, right?

The recipe comes from one of those 1970s style books that call themselves 'The Bible of ...' which is why the title of the recipe is:

Make & Bake Pizza

15 ml (1 tbsp) dry yeast (or one sachet instant easy blend yeast)
1/4 cup warm water
2 3/4 cups flour
1 tbsp sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp olive oil
1 cup lukewarm water.

1. If you're using dry yeast, sprinkle it over the 1/4 cup water and leave to stand until it makes a nice head of foam (think beer). If you're using the instant easy blend yeast skip this step and move on.
2. Process the flour sugar and salt in the food processor for a few seconds. Add the yeast mixture (or add the sachet of yeast and the 1/4 cup water).
3. Combine the oil and water and drizzle through the feed tube while the processor runs and process until the dough forms a mass around the blades. Process for about 30 - 40 seconds longer. The dough will be slightly sticky.
4. Divide the dough in half. Knead it on a floured surface into two smooth balls, (think boobs). Flatten and press out into two 12 inch circles. Spray baking sheets, place dough on sheets. Crimp the edges to make a little edge so the toppings don't fall off. Allow to rise for 10 minutes.
5. Preheat oven to 200C and brush dough with oil. Use toppings and sauce that you like and bake for 20 minutes on lowest rack of the oven.

If you don't have a food processor then, uh, just do it by hand? You know, where you actually mix the stuff in with your hands? Like Jamie Oliver?

You can freeze the pizzas unbaked and then bake from frozen for five minutes extra. You can also freeze them after baking and then give them 10 minutes in the oven at 200C.

Jane, this recipe is for you. Have fun pizza making and don't forget the sexy apron and the pose, Nigella-stylee.

'You made me forget myself. I thought I was someone else, someone good.' - Lou Reed, Perfect Day

I have the cd single here of this song. It came out at Christmas 1997.

That's ten years ago. 10 years! It seems unbelievable.

Where did it go? What have I been doing?

My oldest boy is turning 8. Another 10 years and he'll be 18 and I'll be 44, which is ten years younger than my mom is now.

My daughter is 15, which is three years younger than I was when I had her.

My ex already passed 40 and is heading toward middle-age.

There's a card on postsecret today that says 'I will be twenty in March and I really feel like I running out of time.'

Dude, I have news for you.

You are.

'I was feeling insecure. You might not love me anymore. I was shivering inside.' - John Lennon, Jealous Guy.

So yesterday was a great day. Cake, presents, cards, lots and lots of email and facebook happy birthdays. How come those facebook happy birthdays are so cool?

It was fab fab fab. We had a little party at work and I was surprised at the generosity of my colleagues - I got Brain Age for the DS.

So I get to see how old I really am! Shall I tell you when I'm done? Maybe it will be TOO shocking for words. I might be 94 instead of 34. The family surprised me with some really pretty earrings. Tomorrow more fun is planned. Tell you later.


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I have an evening dress with a halter neck and a low back for a party next week. But alas, no boobs to fill it and no suitable bra.

So this afternoon I'm going to be stuffing myself into various kinds of contraption-like bras to try and find one that can be adjusted so that the straps don't show and has a little bit of padding to help the, uh, A cup, look like a B.

Does anyone else get completely confused with those 'I'll be a halter, no I'll be a cross-back, no I'll just be strapless' bras? What about the see-through straps? I was always taught no straps ever, but it seems like those are ok? Opinions?

Being athletic has disadvantages. See the reference to the A cup above. I'm going to try one of those gel-filled bras. There's no-one to take my clothes off and be disappointed so it's not like I can't do it, right?

Sorry to the guys who read this. It's just one of those things. Sometime in your life the hot date that you spend all night chatting up is going to take her bra off and be flat-chested.

The trick is not to look too disappointed and not to say 'Oh, but I like small breasts' or 'wow, you have real boobs' or 'sorry, but I'm a boob man' and then get up and leave. It's better just not to say a word. So there, etiquette lesson over and back to the shopping.

I need some shoes. Jesus, do I need some shoes. I have heels, but this is a floor length black chiffon dress and it really seems to need a shoe with a bit more class than my Hush Puppies boot-pumps which look a little like these. I'm still jonesing for some 6 inch stilettos, but maybe it's time to be sensible.


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The gym has been so hard this week. I burnt myself on Tuesday so I cancelled my personal trainer session. Wednesday I ran a lot of intervals, 45 second sprints at 12.5 km/h alternated with 1 min walk at 7 km/h.  It was fine and I enjoyed it.

Thursday night's training session was probably the most difficult session I've had in a while. My girlfriend just started training with me with the same trainer and so the capacity was there to have a really great training session but I really had no motivation. This is the first time I've lacked motivation in about 8 months. Scary.

Today wasn't much better. I went in. I did my training, but I didn't get that endorphin rush which is the push that makes me really want to go and do it harder, better, faster. Now I'm tired and I didn't get my kick and all that effort seems a bit worthless.


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Talking of getting your kicks from sport. Did you know there's a reason girls hang around so much on certain types of equipment in the gym? I did not!

Go read, and then I'll see you in the queue for the roman chair. According to my trainer you can also have a good time with the power plate, the abductor machine and the hamstring curl. Maybe I'm just not doing it right. Think I need to go practice some more...


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I was talking to a friend of mine who is getting divorced and where the situation is getting really freaky and painful. It made me wonder how people do this to each other? It's like getting married and then deciding you don't like each other and want to split up turns you into fierce bitey animals that want to watch the blood run. Another friend I talked to yesterday already has the divorce finalised and the blood is still running. It's so sad.


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Last night at the work New Year Party, which I probably shouldn't have gone to, I got talking to some other Zimbabweans.

Did you know that I had not seen another Zimbabwean in Holland until this year when I started working in my current job? There is one other one there, and subsequently, the other Zimbabwean everyone tells me about all the time, as in 'Have you met so-and-so, she is also from Zimbabwe?' actually had an interview with me. How is that for coincidence?

So we stood in a little Zimbabwean clique and talked about politics, the 'situation' and the way things are. It was probably a bad idea to do that, but talking about the 'situation' is for Zimbabweans a bit like talking about the weather is for Europeans.

Which reminds me, why is it automatic that when you come from some small third world country that people immediately think that you will get on with everyone else from that country? I have had countless offers of invitations to 'meet so-and-so from South Africa - you'll get along great!' just to find out that you have absolutely nothing in common and no connect at all.

Please people, we don't say 'oh wow, I know another American, you guys will get along great!'  Assumptions!


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This week I've been reading and reading. This was some of the good stuff:

Neil wrote about big bottomed girls. Neil, I loved you before. Now I love you more and more.

Chloe wrote about Kurt Vonnegut's rules for writing. I like her images too.

Christine is telling us 100 ways to be delighted. This is a good one. Overload on delight while you can.

Maria told us about a guy with a bag. Not just any old bag though.

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And now, the sun's shining, the sky is a funny colour. Oh look, it's blue! The birds are singing and I'm 34.

I feel the urge to shop. See you!

'You got a way of walking, you got a way of talking...' - Shane McGowan & Sinead O'Connor, Haunted

I was browsing youtube yesterday and I came across that video up there. It's a film someone made for filmschool - pretty damned good don't you think? It also is sung by the Pogues, who you know I like from before.

Yesterday I was the one haunted by the ghost. Not the ghost of your precious love like in the song.

The ghost of lost youth and forgotten holidays. Even though the youth was just a year ago and the holidays were just a week ago.

At work it was as though someone took a hefty dose of discontent and circulated it in the airconditioning. The director was pissy and it filtered down from there. By 2 pm everyone had had a bollocksing. The irritation was palpable in every office. I think it had finally settled in that the vacation was over and this was real life.

Later on I was in the gym and it was all midlife crisis in action. Testosterone spill.  You could almost smell it in the air.

Poor darlings, their new year resolutions all parked outside with their inappropriately expensive shiny cars. It's always like this in January but it seems more desperate this year.

Maybe because today I'm 34! I get to join with in the midlife crisis crowd and this time I can play too!

Other birthday stuff later.