Canal Walk

Me & Edie 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Journey Through The Years

Image
1959 23 Oct I was born in Johannesburg general Hospital sometime just after 5pm, so I hear. I am named Carol. Youngest daughter of Audrey Anne Bashford (no longer married to Bashford, formerly Andrews, born Blake), father – unknown. I am told his name is/was Roy van Aswegen? Never met him, so can't confirm.                                        LIFE SUCKS When you born you cry Then you try Then you die When you born you cry You live a lie Then you die When you born you cry You sigh You ask the reason why Then you die 1960 1961 Den and I get adopted by Harold Crombie. The best Dad ever. 1962 1963  Cally, Andy & Denny (& dollies) 1964 Sardine Fever at Marina Beach Denny, Andy, Mom ...
Read more

The Eternal Listener (a self analysis)

They rarely acknowledged my existence.  I felt invisible at times, being there and yet not being there.  It was a strange sort of twilight zone I seemed to be living in. my thoughts, my feelings, my hopes and dreams churning around inside me continuously waiting for that precious invitation for an outpouring. The waiting would sometimes last for days but then eventually it would come like water to the thirsty. I always waited patiently for that moment of truth, as I opened my mouth to speak, to have my chance at last, to let them know of my ideas and to be seen for what I was.  A heart full of love and compassion, a comforter for the lost and homeless, an ear for the deaf and a voice for the voiceless.  I was always there to step into the breach, just waiting to be called. But just as my moment arrives, when I have every eye on me, it happens.  It's almost as if it happens with pre-planned precision.  They all start talking at the same tim...
Read more

THE LITTLE TWISTER

Image
I've just finished cleaning up the house and everything is spotless and gleaming.  I make myself a cup of coffee and settle down at my desk to start writing.  It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining and the birds are twittering in the tall pine trees.  It's the kind of day that dogs love, when they can laze about in the sun doing nothing in particular. I sit at my desk writing for a while, trying to encourage the inspiration to sneak out of its hiding place, when I notice that a deathly hush has descended over the reserve and the birds are no longer twittering.  Something must have scared them off; they always manage to see the signs of approaching disaster before we do.  I hear now a steady rumbling off in the distance and over the rooftops I see a huge cloud of dust approaching fast.  Suddenly realising what it is, I jump up out of my chair and rush around the house madly, locking doors and closing windows.  "Batten down the hatches, there's...
Read more