cape point vineyards

My car has been acting up. It's going fine, as long as I don't get stuck in traffic. Crawling along at slow speed quickly leads to great belches of black smoke and funny noises. Getting it fixed is on the To Do list ...

So when I realised the girls and I were 'stuck' in the Noordhoek area until after evening traffic abated yesterday, we decided to find somewhere to have a little supper.
And by happystance stumbled upon the Cape Point Vineyards Thursday Food Market.

Not a bad little spot to wait out the traffic right?

It's TOTALLY Cape Town. Vegan patisserie, craft beer, lily white patrons and views so profound your eyes and brain have to use every colour in their paint box to try and do it justice.

Vineyards, pretentious food, kids called Tucker and lots of hippies in BMW's. It's Cape Town see?

But the beauty. I can be grinchy about many things, but every day I have pause to gasp at the beauty of this place we live in - and there's an uncomplicated purity in that which appeases my cynical old heart.

The Cape Point Vineyard is a damn fine place to be briefly appeased.

Even that silly old car had a view!

channeling Nancy Botwin

So then obviously something happened today which was totally blog-worthy, and all about me.

Just because I've decided not to share their humiliations on the internet doesn't mean I can't share mine right?

I've been working hard at gardening. And by hard I mean tending to a couple of herb/veggie plants in a motley assortment of pots, and culling small pieces of plants all over the place and sticking them in the earth at home in the vain hope they'll like it here.

Most of them have. Thereby boosting my garden and my self-confidence.

So when Friday's school sent home some seeds weeks ago with instructions to nurture a small plant to return in time for the annual fundraising Plant Sale, I was confident. I got this. I can grow a measly parsley plant right?

Wrong. 

Turns out the bursting new green buds I celebrated, the little shoots I protected and nurtured (Friday, btw, could not have been less interested), the small (but flourishing!) little plant I packaged up and carefully transported to school this morning is not parsley.

It is a weed.

At the school gates I spied a tiny fluffy purple flower on the plant and with a sinking feeling broke off and tasted a small leaf.

Not parsley.

I was nearly, nearly, that mother who tried to sell weed at the school fair. 

blurred lines

I've been a bit absent here of late. Just a bit right?

Life has been busy - work and illness and emotional ups and downs - but through all of that I've still been parenting, still been thinking about parenting, still felt inspired and at times utterly exhausted by these too small beings I've been charged with.
I've still had material to bring here. But I've felt hesitant.

The girls are growing up really fast at the moment, and I'm getting into that space of wondering which of their stories are mine to tell.
Obviously I still think it's all about me, but the reality is what goes on in their hearts and minds is theirs, it's precious, and I feel we might be getting to the stage where they're too old for me to share their stuff online, while still too young to ask their permission to do so.
And my response to their 'stuff'? That's kind of theirs too.

Yup, apparently now not even my own thoughts are mine. It's only a matter of minutes until they're wearing my sneakers and driving my car.

I'll be taking a while to ponder this.

one city block: bree street

I had some time to kill in the city last week, in that magic hour of calm between the day workers leaving and the night joll-ers arriving.
I had my phone camera, the streets to myself, and a overwhelming need to stretch my legs and my lungs after being holed up indoors in meetings all day.

I want to recreate everything about this last picture at home, isn't that gorgeous?

A fast walk and some lovely sights, I felt much rejuvenated and ready for the next stage in my super-long working day. Yoh, it's been busy!

last week I wore a bra

Every. Day.
Like, a proper under-wire bra. Not a cami with built in support or a sports bra or a tight-fitting vest.

I wore big girl pants too. No boyfriend jeans, no wrap-pants, no yoga pants.

And blouses. Proper need-to-be-ironed blouses. I even wore a blazer one chilly morning.

And pumps. With closed toes. To, you know, conceal the toes ...

Yup. Last week I started a job outside of the home. Just a two week contract, putting together a small event, but the nature of the job is immaterial.
The differences between working from a proper office versus working from home are IMMENSE.

None of my office colleagues barked, or hacked a furball on my foot. No one tried to sit on my lap and purr. I didn't need to know if any of them needed to pee.

At the office, there is nothing on my desk but my laptop, a phone, and a couple of sheets of notes pertaining only to the most current things I'm working on.
There are no story books in need of repair, no toys, no distracting rolls of washi tape. There are no other To Do lists or nasty reminders of things I've not remembered to do.
There are no crumbs.

At the office there are no snacks. Barring those I've remembered to bring with me (i.e. none). This is good. And contributes to the lack of crumbs.

There is no facebook, no Pinterest, no blog reading, no tweetering on the edge of full social media immersion.

There is no laundry upstairs waiting to be hung. No dishwasher needing to be emptied (well there is, but it's not my job ha ha ha ha ha). There are no breakfast dishes still on the table or towels in a soggy heap on the floor.

At the office there is calm. There is a lot of silence. There is a clean, efficient energy which embraces me like the arms of a long-forgotten friend and reminds me that I can do this: I can focus on one thing and just one thing only for long stretches at a time.
I am reminded that The Zone still exists, and my password to enter it is still valid. At the office I remember I can work like a well-oiled machine.

I love free-lancing. Last week I remembered how much I love doing it in someone else's office. I think I need some more of that.