the gift that keeps on growing

My interest in garden management has dwindled very noticeably over the recent summer months. My little patch is looking weedy and sad and dry, and the only plants that have survived are a big and bossy bunch of indigenous barleria. Luckily, they are both indifferent and prolific. My kind of plant.

So, when I was at Kirstenbosch market on Sunday, faced with the huge array of gorgeous petunias, delicate lobelias and pretty pansies that is GiftGardens, I knew it would have been ludicrous to buy myself anything that would have to try and survive on its own outside.  May as well drop my money down a wishing well or use the paper for papier mache.  But then I saw the herbs.  Herbs will save me from complete defeat, I thought, they are already erect, green and shapely.  They won’t need much water. I can keep them on the windowsill, safe from neglect and the dangers of cutworm and hadedas. I can win with herbs.  I can even eat them. 

So far so good. I have a menàge a trois on my kitchen windowsill of parsley, thyme and rosemary, in little organic pots that can be plonked straight into the ground should my herbs ever get too big for their roots.

Giftgardens is run by sisters Mary Berry and Jane Butters. Have a look at their website www.giftgardens.co.za. The free publicity they are getting from me here, with my internationally-known blog, has nothing to do with the fact that they are old school friends, and everything to do with their energy and vision and … cute little HERBS!

To be continued…

 

just claying around

And who doesn’t need a bit of this every now and then? Yesterday I went to Springfield Convent in Wynberg, where Dale and Pumla host clay workshops in the school’s art wing every month. I’m not actually good with clay - and don’t mind at all -  but it’s still fun to work in a different medium for a change, get my hands dirty, and see the extent to which I can mess up a perfectly smooth and well-worked platter. 

This was what mine looked like at 11.30, to decorate and stamp to my heart’s delight. Sadly, I used far more heart than brain and launched into a bizarre and un-thought-out pattern involving elephants, flowers and far too many indecipherables.  It was also completely off centre but by the time I’d finished, it was too late to do anything about that. Only Allah achieves perfection, I told myself in consolation.  And if it looks really stupid, I can always use it for salad and cover up the skewness with an artful arrangement of rocket and spring onions.    

Everyone else worked slowly, deliberately, carefully, some even working from designs and ideas they had brought with them - like Dawn and Lana. I hated them. Goody two-shoes. Suck-ups. Platter flatterers.

By the end of it, I decided my cowpat (the lump of clay you use for practice) was far more interesting and successful than my platter. I became very attached to mine, and Dale kindly said I could take it home. I felt like a six-year old on my first day of school.

For tea, there was a selection of chocolate fingers, marble cake, carrot cake and biscotti.  Once I’d stocked up, I decided the workshop had been fantastic after all, and maybe, maybe, I’d do another one.  You can never have too many cowpats, right?

To be continued…

 

&^*%$!%*^& buttonhole

For once I thought I’d use a button for the purpose it was originally intended. And if using a buttonhole foot on a sewing machine is supposed to be like riding a bicycle, I am now cruelly reminded that I never actually learned to ride a bike in the first place. 

I just can’t get it right. And I’ve googled tutorials, but none of them are for my particular machine and foot combo. And No, I can’t find the manual and Yes, I have searched high and low. It has vanished.

Now, where are those *(%)#@&^5* press-studs?  

To be continued…

 

 

Finish what you start

Sometimes I start something and then don’t finish it right away. The bolt of  inspiration fades in the light of excitement about the next brilliant idea. Sometimes the stretch of time between one point and the other is so long that I forget about the thing begun until I tidy the top of the chest of drawers in my bedroom and uncover it. Then I think, But this is damn nice, why on earth didn’t I finish it? And then I do.  

Here is my latest creation. It only took me eighteen months :)

To be continued…

and another Goldberg

One of the very first things I like to do when visiting a new place is to check out the local wool and craft shops.  More than restaurants, coffee shops, art galleries – for me, a well-stocked needlework shop is an indication of the creative spirit of the town.  And The Wool and Needlework Shop in Knysna didn’t let me down. Tucked between Marcia’s fancy frocks and Fat Susi’s Bistro in the little square near the library, it was a wonderful place to be.  I was in search of crochet patterns for wraps and shrugs, and was handed a stack of files with patterns from magazines going back 30 or 40 years.

There was a cappucino waiting for me outside at one of Fat Susi’s tables so I couldn’t take too long, but I found what I needed.  And when the chatty lady rang up my purchases, we discovered we shared the same surname.  Unlike me, Elaine Goldberg really is Jewish, but despite my lack of authenticity she was still happy to play the family game - So are you related to David Goldberg? He lives in Cape Town but his sister Rebecca married a Cohen and now they’re in Toronto… Melvin, you say? Now you must know Rachel and Michael, her dad was Hymie Gundelfinger…. etc. Gotta love a network.

To be continued…