My Favourite Moments In 2015

Andrea wrote a wonderful post about her favourite moments of 2015, and I liked the idea of reflecting on both the big events and the small moments. So, in no particular order, my moments of 2015 were...

- Being offered the job at Willoughby. Receiving that phone call made me realise just how much I wanted the job, and how much I needed a change. I feel very lucky to have been able to find a role that is just so perfect for me.

- Celebrating with lots of cocktails after Thomas submitted his PhD thesis. His viva is only a few weeks away, so fingers crossed there'll be more celebration then.

- Sitting in a pub in Walsingham, Norfolk, listening to a group of priests gossip about how their colleagues conduct Mass. It was like something out of Father Ted and very, very funny.

- Watching my brother and Stephanie getting married.

- Seeing Joanna Newsom live at the Albert Hall in Manchester, especially when she played Cosmia.

- Opening the email that told me I had permission to visit Canada.

- An impromptu Saturday bike ride and picnic with Thomas that turned into a long afternoon in the pub talking rubbish.

- Playing games with my niece; she's very into imaginative play, so I've variously been an incompetent police officer, a journalist, a teacher, a private investigator and a murder victim this year.

- Being upgraded to first class on our flight from Reykjavik to Toronto.

- Every moment of the time I had with family in Canada. Our family's a big one - my mum is one of five children and there are fifteen grandchildren and four great-grandchildren - and we live across three continents, so any chance to see my cousins, aunts and uncles is precious. But this reunion was our first chance to all be together (apart from a couple of cousins who couldn't make the trip) since 1991, so it was even more special.

- Being adopted by two local cats who proceeded to spend most of their summer hanging out with us.

- Getting the train down to London for an enormously fun Monday evening in the pub with friends. Tuesday morning was less fun.

- The wonderful speech that my Head of Department gave on my last day at school in December, followed by a rousing song he'd composed about me to the tune of Once In Royal David's City.

I mentioned in yesterday's review of 2015 that in many ways it was a tough year but looking back at these memories also reminds me of what an incredible time I've had, and I'm looking forward to more great moments in 2016.

Life Lately

Lately, it's the simple things that are making me happy: a crackling fire, bread fresh from the oven slathered in butter, a massive cup of tea on a chilly afternoon. We've had the wood-burning stove lit for the first few times this autumn and Thomas has also got really into baking (I think it's the GBBO that's inspired him) so we have the most amazing fresh bread each weekend.

I feel like it's been a long time since I blogged properly. I spent most of the two weeks before half term feeling rotten with a cold and throat infection - yes, another one. You'd think after 10 years teaching I'd be immune to child germs, but no. And then we were away for five days last week. Five blissful, internet-free days in Norfolk, spent walking, eating, drinking, sleeping and reading. Once I've sorted through the photographs I'll blog properly about our holiday.

We came home from Norfolk a bit early because I started my new job on Thursday, eek! I felt weirdly calm about it all (which, considering my anxiety levels have been sky-high recently, is really amazing). I just sort of trusted that it would work out great, and it did. I absolutely love the job. I mean, I spend my whole day looking at, reading and talking about books. What's not to like?! From this week things will get crazy busy, though. I'm still teaching four days a week until Christmas, plus fitting in my fifteen hours a week at Willoughby. 

What else have I been up to? Well, at the start of the month my lil' brother got married, which was pretty amazing! Steph and Richard both looked radiant, just so happy and in love, and it really was the perfect day.

Meanwhile, this weekend has mostly been about three things: sleeping off a monster hangover from a night in the pub on Friday, listening to Joanna Newsom's new album on repeat (so good!), and visiting Becky and her gerbils. She took me to the most incredible 40s-themed cafe, The Larder, where we feasted on bubble & squeak and Eggs Benedict: perfect hangover fodder (the gerbils stayed at home).

And the next few weeks have lots in store: the start of my manic 60+ hours a week work schedule; a trip to Sheffield to see Father John Misty; a Joanna Newsom gig; a weekend in London to visit my best mate; some time with my mum... what a great start to the new half term.

Finally, in case you didn't see my post yesterday, the thrifty gift swap is back. Details of how to sign up are here.

Off On My Travels

We've been packing our bags and readying our passports, and today we leave.

First Iceland, for three days of mountains, glaciers, volcanoes and lagoons.

Then onto Canada, visiting Ottawa, Montreal and Toronto in a whirlwind eleven days. Most importantly, a family reunion: cousins, aunts, uncles, grandchildren, gathering from across three continents for four days of re-connection. The first time so many of the Kotze family have been in one place since 1991.

So, if things are a little quiet around here, that's why. I've scheduled a post or two but, for the most part, I won't be as present here or on social media. See you all when we get back!

My goals for 2015

In the past I tended not to make resolutions or set goals at the start of the calendar year; as a teacher, September is much more redolent of new beginnings (and anyway, it's so much easier to make positive changes when the sun is still shining than in this dark, cold days of deepest winter). However, at the start of 2014 I wrote a list of 10 goals for the year as part of the #52lists project (which seemed to peter out halfway through the year) and it turned out to be the only list of goals I ever completed! Maybe there's something to this whole new year thing after all.

After the enormous adventures and changes of 2013, 2014 was an altogether calmer and more stable year. However, 2015 promises upheavals: at work, as my school merges with a neighbouring one; at home, as The Boy completes his PhD and begins looking for an academic job; family-wise, as my extended maternal family converge on Canada for a reunion (all 40+ of us). The goals that I've set, then, reflect the fact that this probably won't be an easy year. I'll need to make time for myself and the things I enjoy doing, ensure that we're in a good financial place to deal with possible short-term unemployment, spend time on the relationships that strengthen me.

1. See more of my mum, and my family generally.
Both this goal and #3 reflect the fact that 2014 was mostly about one person - The Boy. After a long time in a long distance relationship, we made the most of living in the same place last year. 2015 needs to be the year I reach out again to see more of the people I'm closest to.
2. Swim and walk more.
My natural state is one of extreme indolence interrupted by bursts of energy, which I tend to channel into doing things around the house (baking, tidying, making stuff). I always feel amazing when I get some 'proper' exercise but yet I'm terrible at actually getting myself out of the house to do so. I walk a lot to get me around, but I want to do more 'proper' walking in the countryside this year, which is a hobby that's fallen by the wayside in the past couple of years.
3. Dedicate time to friends, both old and new. 
See #1.
4. Continue the spending ban.
At the moment I have four major life goals, and all of them involve money:
- Become debt free;
- Have a lovely wedding to The Boy;
- Go back to university to study for an MA;
- Pay for my mum and I to visit South Africa together in 2018, to celebrate my 40th (gulp) and her 70th.
The only realistic way to achieve any of those goals is to save, save, save instead of spending all my cash. So the spending ban continues until the end of January, after which I'm going to tweak the rules slightly but then continue with it in some form for the rest of the year. Char is doing a complete spending ban this year, which is amazing!
5. Have one night a week that's gadget- and TV-free.
Self-explanatory really. Both The Boy and I love to draw, read and play games but - reading aside - we rarely make time to do so. Having one 'switch-off' a week will give us time to do the things we enjoy without the lure of "just one more episode of Buffy...".
6. Write a will.
Although we're planning a wedding we have no desire to get legally married, which makes it all the more important that we have wills. I also want to set up power of attorney; after seeing the chaos lack of it can cause when a friend of my mum's had a stroke this year, I'm all the more determined to get it sorted.
7. Look into becoming a Nightstop host.
Nightstop are an organisation that provide short-term emergency accommodation for young people who have been made homeless. I'd first read about them in The Guardian last year and thought, "I've got a spare room - maybe I could do that in future." When, this weekend, I saw on Twitter the story of a young trans teen who'd been thrown out of home just for being trans, I became all the more determined to do something. Luckily The Boy is completely on board and so we've just started the process of volunteering.
8. Finish the zine I started working on last year.
I was so excited to get this started and then my enthusiasm sort of fizzled out. Definitely top of the list to do on one of our switch-off evenings.
9. Go to a clothes swap.
Self-explanatory this one. I had a few planned to go to last year and it never happened. The Wardrobe Angel and I are also considering trying to set up an online bloggers clothes swap - give me a shout if you're interested in being involved.
10. Make more.
I want to take part in more craft swaps (I'm starting with Hannah's #DICraft Swap this month) and do another Week of Making, as well as doing more sewing on my days off. I've also promised Sarah something for Baby Rooftops... better get sewing!

Weekend scenes

At this time of year, a common image heading up 'what I did at the weekend' blog posts is a misty field, or a beautiful woodland walk. But me? I lead with a Lego castle. Because instead of spending our weekend taking blog-friendly snaps of autumn leaves or pumpkin spice lattes (yuk), The Boy and I did something far more fun. We spent our time visiting my mums*, playing with my niece and nephew, and watching my step-mum's choir. She's a member of Gay Abandon, Leeds' LGBTQ choir, and their annual performances are well worth the trip up the M1.

* That's mums plural, not a missing apostrophe

The wonderful Gay Abandon: image source here

Our weekends recently have been pretty hectic. Last week, The Boy's parents came to spend the weekend with us and we took them to Stratford-upon-Avon for a visit to the Shakespeare birthplace, a wander around the beautiful town (and a random visit to Poundland).

I was equally intrigued and creeped out by this straw gardener at the Shakespeare birthplace house.

And then, in a complete contrast to the quaint beauty of Stratford, we spent the first weekend in November in Manchester, visiting vintage shops and design emporium Fred Aldous, taking photographs of street art, and eating great vegan junk food at V Revolution.

We were celebrating our second anniversary, but don't think that means we were out partying till dawn. In reality, a sudden IBS attack left me feeling rubbish so, after an amazing dinner at Ning in the Northern Quarter, we headed back to our hotel  and spent the rest of the evening in our giant bed, watching Midsomer Murders and swigging Cava from mini bottles. Rock n roll.

After three weekends of travel in a row, we're both feeling pretty wiped out. But how special to be able to spend so much time with family and the dude I love. I'll take the tiredness any day.

Life lately

I'm back! It feels like I've been away from real life and work and - most importantly - blogging for WEEKS (it's actually only ten days). 

I had a cold, which became a throat infection, which became a chest infection. One of those illnesses that seem to drag on and on, and leave you with no energy. I couldn't even really read (shocking, I know!) because I couldn't concentrate on books. I just stared at daytime TV and watched old Glee episodes and Gilmore Girls reruns. I was off work for almost a week, which is unheard of for teachers (we're stubborn old sods who feel guilty for missing a single class, let alone a whole week of school).

BUT! I'm feeling pretty much myself now, with only a persistent cough to keep me awake at night.

Because I was ill, I got really behind on reading blogs and my Bloglovin is now at about 300 unread posts. So if you've written something fab recently, I will get round to reading and commenting soon, I promise! I say that because one thing that's been really lovely is the amazing comments people have left here in the past couple of weeks. I was so nervous to tell you all about the Bravissimo review, and everyone was great about understanding my reasons for doing it. 

Even when I was too ill to blog, I enjoyed keeping in touch with people on Twitter and reading comments here. This is going to sound very soppy but I feel very lucky to be part of a such a wonderful community. I do feel like so many of the people I have 'met' on Twitter or here on the blog are my friends now. The internet is a nice place sometimes, innit?

And what else can I tell you? 

Well, not to brag but someone got 'Outstanding' on her performance management observation. Again. I know I shouldn't care about arbitrary judgement of my teaching, but it is nice.

The Boy and I went to Norfolk and had a wonderful long weekend. A full post with photos to follow soon.

At the moment I'm staying with my mum and step-mum, who also have my uncle & aunt visiting from Canada. I have a large (30+ and counting) family on my mum's side, and not one of them lives in the UK, so it's always amazing to have a rare chance to catch up. 

We also got a chance to go and see the house my brother and his partner - The Wardrobe Angel - have just bought, which has the most amazing view. Our own view, of the houses opposite, has never looked less appealing (and it was pretty unappealing in the first place!)

I'm still taking part in Sarah's Two Days The Same, and enjoying the challenge.

And I put up details of this year's Thrifty Christmas Gift Swap today - sign up is open until November 17th.

So that's my life lately, I think you're all up to speed now!

When a chair is not just a chair

This is my most precious item of furniture. Doesn't look like much, does it? It's a dodgy shade of brown velour (after being reupholstered at some point in the 80s) and it has too many scratches and marks to mention. Looking at it, you're possibly wondering what makes it so precious. Well, sometimes a chair isn't just a chair. Sometimes it's also a symbol: of love, of family, of the journeys people make.

The chair came into my family when it was bought by my grandfather, Theo, for my grandmother, Helen, when she was pregnant with my uncle. It was to be her nursing chair.  That was in 1940s South Africa but the frame is obviously older than that and I think it must have been owned and loved by another family first. What I do know is that my grandpa would have found it at a garage sale or auction. He almost never bought furniture new, always preferring to find something secondhand that he could restore and breathe new life into. When it was reupholstered in the aforementioned brown velour, he did it himself.

After being bought some time in 1941 the chair accompanied my grandparents and their growing family on many moves around South Africa; from Johannesburg to Rustenberg, on to Durban and finally Cape Town. My grandmother nursed five children in it, and they kept it even after their sons and daughter grew up and left home. And this is where the history of my chair becomes entwined with world history.

By the 1970s my grandfather, a charismatic Methodist minister, was the regional director of the anti-apartheid Christian Institute. His outspoken writings and public lectures against apartheid meant he ran afoul of the South African government. He was banned and subject to virtual house arrest, and in 1978 plans were made to smuggle him out of the country so that he could continue his activism in exile. In June 1978 (my granny having come ahead to England using the cover story that she was visiting her daughter, my mum) my grandfather said goodbye to Cape Town and began a journey that involved a chain of cars driven under cover of night, transfers conducted in dusty and silent desert towns, a trip across the Botswanan border in the boot of a sympathetic diplomat's car, and finally a flight to London. He didn't know if he, or my grandmother, would ever see South Africa - and the things they'd left behind - again.

It didn't take long for the authorities to work out that Theo had escaped and soon my uncle was able to start packing up their house. A lot of their possessions went to friends and family in South Africa, but some important pieces were shipped to the UK ready for my grandparents (who by late 1978 had temporarily moved to the Netherlands to work for the Christian Institute office there) to return and settle in England. The chair was amongst the few items of furniture that made the journey from Cape Town to their new home in Birmingham.

Theo & Helen in the early 1990s

The drama of escape over, the chair settled into calm domestic life once again. Theo first got a job teaching at a theological college in Birmingham and then moved to work as parish minister in a Warwickshire village. My memories of the chair are of perching on my granny's knee as she read me bedtime stories. Of my grandpa, older now and exhausted by a life lived in exile, sitting reading letters from friends and colleagues back home.  And when, in 1994, Theo and Helen were finally able to return to a new South Africa (now governed by their friend and comrade Nelson Mandela), the chair stayed behind in Bradford with my mum, where it lived first in her living room and then the conservatory.

When I bought my house five years ago, mum asked if I might want to give the chair a new home. After making seventeen moves in twelve years, I was finally ready to settle and put down roots. I could think of no better piece of furniture to take pride of place in my new home than my granny's old nursing chair.

The chair now lives on the landing after many years in my bedroom. It's getting a bit tired looking and the colour doesn't match anything I own. I've thought about having it reupholstered many times. But sometimes a chair is more than just a chair, and nothing on earth could convince me to change one that holds so many memories.

This is my entry into the British Gas History Of Home competition. It was also a good excuse to write about Theo, one of the most important people in my life. After a long illness Theo died in 2003, aged 82. Helen passed away last year at the age of 91. I wrote about her here.

For family, far away

Our international family in 1983 (with one brother, Stephen, missing.  He was then living in Lesotho).  Back row from L-R: my mum & dad, living in Oxfordshire at the time; Barbara and Michael, South Africa; Elane & David, London; Derek & Judy, USA. 

Also proof that my brother Richard and I (we're the very blonde children at the front) have been looking awkward in photographs all our lives. 

 

They say blood is thicker than water.  I always understand the truth of this when I spend time with my extended family.  Scattered across three continents by the apartheid-era South African diaspora, I've always lived thousands of miles away from the people I'm most closely related to.

At a memorial service for my uncle (my mum's brother) this weekend, I thought about how, despite the distances between us, we strive to maintain relationships.  My mum is one of five and, now that David has died, her remaining three brothers live in three different countries.  If I counted, I could probably tally the amount of times I've met most of my twelve cousins on one hand.  I spent my childhood waiting years to spend time with family, before being plunged into intense and emotional and wonderful weeks together during their very occasional trips to the UK.  As an adult, I've spent scant but precious time with people during my rare visits to the US and South Africa.

And yet... and yet...

I feel close - I am close - to almost all of my Kotze family.  I have cousins I see once a decade, if I'm lucky, yet they understand me almost as well as the friends I see every week.  When we're together, we talk about the things that matter and we talk about the things that don't and we laugh and we cry and we play games and it's all real.  There's a connection there, with these people whose blood runs through my veins and mine in theirs; a connection that transcends miles and years apart. 

Living so far from family, you can forget that there are people in the world who belong with you.  When we're together, I see it in a look, an angle of the face, a familiar nose or curl of the hair.  The similarities that say: these are your people, this is where you come from.

The stories we tell ourselves, about who we are and where we come from, are inextricably linked to family. I see this in my 6 year-old niece's questions about our family and her recitation of names: which uncle is "grandma's" (my mother's) oldest brother? What was "granny Helen's" middle name? The photographs that line my bedroom wall are of grandparents, family weddings, my parents as small children; I see the same photographs on the wall of my cousin's apartment in Brooklyn. And so, despite the miles separating us, we all share a common experience of each other and of family history. 

Time together is always bittersweet.  As much as we find joy in our times together, it serves as a reminder of all the experiences we can't share with each other.  And never more so than on a sad occasion like yesterday's, when the reality of mortality hits hard and I wonder how many more visits from my uncles there will be; how many more times my mum will see her remaining brothers.

But through the marvel of social media, my cousin from Canada already knows what I've been up to before he sees me (his first question yesterday, "How's the head?"!).  My aunt and I trade blog links, from South Africa to England and back again.  My cousin in New York can Facebook details of her husband's art shows and her dance performances, so although we can't be there we can read the reviews and watch the videos.  Email enables my mum to keep in contact with her brothers, even as she goes deaf and talking on the phone becomes near impossible.  Even when far apart, we can be involved in each other's lives and maintain our close relationships.

My favourite photograph of the Kotze clan, from 1976 (well before I came along) - one of the last times all five siblings were in South Africa. The watermelon in the middle is a very typical Grandpa touch!

Weekend in pictures

Bravely, The Boy ventured home to Yorkshire with me this weekend.  Despite a stinking cold on my part, we still managed to have a lovely and relaxing time.  I...

... Enjoyed a few ciders in Mooch, a lovely cafe/bar in Hebden Bridge (thanks to Lisa for the tip), where I was also lucky enough to meet my brother's girlfriend for the first time.  Nerve-wracking, but lots of fun;

... Shopped for vintage goodies, books and organic food in Hebden;

... Ate amazing vegan food, most home-cooked by my lovely mum;
... Walked in the woods (where The Boy made friends with a cat); 

 

... Rejoiced in the return to our screens of Strictly Come Dancing;
... Witnessed The Boy getting beaten at Scrabble by my mum (smart move, she might never have forgiven him if he beat her in their first match);

... Visited the Yorkshire Sculpture Park in glorious autumn sunshine.
 

My impossible wishlist

Photo via weheartit

I really enjoyed Lisa's recent Impossible Wishlist on Mathilde Heart Manech.  Like her, I often write lust lists of pretty Etsy prints or nice dresses, but thinking about the things that you really want but can never have is somewhat more of a challenge.  Often, the things that seem "impossible" aren't really; a lot of the ideas I came up with were just difficult, not impossible.  To pay off debts, to travel more, to go back to university... those things might not be easy to achieve but, unlike my final three, they are all attainable with a bit of hard work.  These things, though, really are impossible.

1. For my mum to get her hearing back.
Although hard of hearing since she was 30 (something went "pop" when she was pregnant with me, and from that point on she was pretty much deaf in one ear), my mum was diagnosed with degenerative hearing loss in her 40s.  She always coped well and continued to play guitar and sing, became a manager of a large charity, and worked as a Relate counsellor in her spare time.  But when - after a slow process of hearing loss - she suddenly went completely deaf about ten years ago, it came as a shock.  No more singing for my music-loving mum.  No more long chats on the phone to update her on my day-to-day life.  No more enjoying rowdy family meals, with everyone competing to talk at the same time. The  impact going deaf has had on her is devastating.  She manages incredibly well, using a combination of hearing aids, sign language and lip-reading to communicate, but watching her struggle and become frustrated and exhausted by the efforts needed to 'hear' is awful.  I wish I could have the impossible and give her back her hearing.

2. For the Netherlands to be next to Yorkshire.
And yes, smart aleck, I know that strictly speaking it is next to Yorkshire, but I'd like there to not be a bloody great sea in the way.  Because when The Boy finishes his PhD in two years time, he wants to move back there.  And I want to be with him, so I will have to move too.  I'm up for the adventure, but the thought of being far from family in Yorkshire and friends in the Midlands and London does not appeal quite so much.  So if I could just pick Holland up and plonk it down - in the Pennines maybe? - that would be grand (although I'm not sure how well the Dutch would cope with all those hills).  Oh, and while we're at it, if I could become fluent in Dutch without having to actually learn, that would be handy too.

3. For my friends to be carefree and happy once again.
The last twelve months have been amazing for me but gruelling for others.  Whilst I've been falling in love, travelling Europe, and generally having a blissful time, some of my closest friends have been facing massive challenges in their relationships, careers and personal lives.  It's horrible to watch the people who mean the most to you going through things that you can do nothing to change.  If I could wave a magic wand and sort things out for them, I would do it in a heartbeat.  Luckily, the things that would make them happy aren't themselves impossible, and I'm very much hoping that with a bit of time things come right for them the way they have for me.

Music Monday Q&A: Richard

Have you ever experienced the feeling of teaching and nurturing someone, only to have them surpass you?  That's how I feel about music fandom and my brother, Richard.  As the older sibling, in our teens I influenced and guided his tastes as much as he would let me.  Over the years, the situation has reversed and he now influences and guides me far more.  It's a standing joke that he introduced me to most of my recent favourite bands... and that I insisted most of them were crap on first listen.  But - apart from an inexplicable liking for the Fiery Furnaces and equally inexplicable dislike of Beirut - his taste is impeccable, and I've been badgering him to do a Q&A for me for ages. 

If anyone else fancies doing a Music Monday guest post, give me a shout in the comments!

What’s the first record (single or album) that you bought?

 

I’m horrified and ashamed to reveal the answer is Ten Good Reasons by Jason Donovan.  Undoubtedly his best work though.

 

I can still remember Richard listening to this album.  He also had a childhood fondness for Jive Bunny.

 

What was the first gig you went to?

 

REM in Huddersfield for their Monster tour.  I was taken along by my sister and her friends (who I’m sure were thrilled to have a 13 year old boy with them).  I don’t remember too much about the gig, other than being surrounded by Beautiful South fans (who were one of the support acts) and being bought a poster and T-shirt by Janet.

 

What song reminds you of being a teenager?

 

Anything from Monster, Fables Of The Reconstruction or Document by REM (they were the first three REM albums I owned).

 

How would you sum up your music tastes, in terms of genre?  Have your tastes changed over the years?

 

I mainly like American music nowadays.  I guess I’d sum it up as Indie-Americana-Folk-Noise-Rock.  I don’t think my tastes have changed much.  The first band I ever really got into was REM, and everything else I’ve got into has been a result of that initial REM infatuation.  It could have been so different though.  When I bought my first REM album (Monster) it was a toss-up between that and a Bon Jovi album – it was on the advice of my sister (thanks Janet!!) that I chose REM.  I shudder to think how my life would have been if I’d become a Bon Jovi fan instead.

 

Which songs will always get you on the dance floor?

 

I don’t dance.  Dancing’s for losers.  Plus, being white, male and heterosexual I think there’s some kind of law against it.  However, if I did decide to live dangerously and break this law, I would probably choose Don’t Be A Dropout by James Brown.

 

What are your top five favourite albums or artists of all time?

 

In no particular order:

 

1) Yo La Tengo

I love Yo La Tengo.  I love them for many reasons.  I love them because they appeared in The Gilmore Girls (which I am only partly ashamed to say I’m a fan of – as a great man once said, ‘Good is good’ (coincidence #1: that great man was the bass player from Yo La Tengo; coincidence #2: he was talking about The Gilmore Girls)).  I love them because they named a song after a joke from The Simpsons.  I love them because they once performed an entire episode of Seinfeld in lieu of a support act.  I love them because they’re the only band in which I can lose myself – forget all my troubles and just immerse myself in their music.  I love them because they have a female drummer (I surefire sign of a great band).  I love them because they just seem like nice, normal people.
 

They come top in most ‘best ever’ lists I can think of: Best song (The Story Of Yo La Tango); Best cover version (You Can Have It All); Best instrumental (I Heard You Looking); Best guitar solo (Pablo & Andrea); Best album title (I Am Not Afraid Of You And I Will Kick Your Ass); Best album artwork (Popular Songs); Best song title (Deeper Into Movies); Best music video (Sugarcube).

The comments on YouTube are usually a showcase for the very worst of humanity, but I saw something on there that just summed up how I feel about Yo La Tengo beautifully: ‘All my friends said “What is THAT?” Me? All I could say was “Can’t you FEEL it?!’.  Yes I can xbxbear. Yes I can.

 

2) Sufjan Stevens

I think he’s an incredible artist: musician, songwriter, lyricist, producer, the works.  Even his more experimental projects are better than most artists could dream of.  But at the top of his game he’s the best songwriter in the world today, and Illinois is the greatest album of the 21^st century.

 

3) Boards Of Canada

I find their music strangely moving.  There’s an emotional depth that I thought was impossible for electronica.

 

4) The Beach Boys

Brian Wilson is undoubtedly the greatest genius in the history of popular music.  It’s incredible to consider that he was only 23 when Pet Sounds came out.  What could he have achieved if not for the drugs and mental health issues?  I find the Beatles vs. Beach Boys debate a bit unfair given that The Beatles had Lennon, McCartney and George Martin (and Harrison), whereas Brian Wilson was basically doing everything himself (with his bandmates often a hindrance).

 

5) Saint Etienne

I’m not choosing Saint Etienne per se, but the phenomenon of rediscovering an artist after many years.  I’ve got a lot of CDs (over 1000 albums at last count – and yes, I do occasionally count them) and most of the time I listen to the same 5%.  But sometimes I’ll pick out a CD that hasn’t been listened to for a while, which usually triggers a week or two of frenzied immersion in some band or other, only to then forget them for another 5 years.  Saint Etienne have been the most recent recipients of this honour.  But a quick word on Saint Etienne anyway: they’re a national institution and their best songs are Nothing Can Stop Us, Like A Motorway and Avenue.

 

Do you have any guilty pleasures when it comes to music?

 

Does The Beach Boys count as a guilty pleasure?  I guess the early stuff (Fun, Fun, Fun and the like) probably does.

 

If you could sum yourself up in one song or lyric, what would it be?

 

I have no idea.

Half term travels

1. & 2. On the way to Nijmegen;

3. & 4. Political graffitti art on the walls of the vegan cafe downstairs from The Boy's abode;

5. Gracie playing in the park in Brighouse, West Yorkshire;

6. Don't get excited!  As the only daughter of the only daughter, I've had the privilege of being entrusted with my late Granny's beautiful diamond engagement ring, and have enjoyed wandering around with massive rocks on my finger.

As you can tell from this and other recent posts, I'm slipping back into bad habits: relying on my phone and Instagram rather than using my camera.  Must do better, Janet.  It's been a good half term though: DVDs and pizza with friends to start it off, then five wonderful (but bloody cold) days in the Netherlands with The Boy, culminating in a fabulously romantic Valentines Day walk through Amsterdam in the snow.  Finally, I've spent the weekend at home at my mum's house.  She and my step-mum have just returned from my Granny's funeral in Cape Town,and we - and my brothers - enjoyed sharing stories and memories of my grandparents and looking through old photographs, letters and documents.  It's at times like these that we all find it hard to be living on a different continent to pretty much everyone in our extended family.  And it's back to school tomorrow... boo.

In memoriam

Photograph courtesy of jennyjuststuff

This is my granny, Helen Kotze.  She died earlier this afternoon at the age of 92. 

Helen was a formidable woman.  Raised in South Africa as one of four daughters to a Methodist minister, her childhood memories were of climbing trees, reading books, writing poetry and playing the violin.  When she was twenty she met my grandfather - a charismatic student called Theo - and they fell in love and got married, with a son (my uncle Derek) following soon after.  Four more children followed and my grandpa entered the ministry.  From Reverend's daughter to Reverend's wife.  Helen was by Theo's side as he became active in the anti-apartheid movement and supported him in all his work; a wife's duty, she would have said.  She was of the generation who believed that a woman's role was to support her husband, and this she did in every way she could, enabling Theo to become successful and admired while she stayed in the background (although not always: she was an active member of Black Sash, a womens anti-apartheid organisation).  In 1977, a dramatic escape from the South African authorities led to a sixteen year exile, first in the Netherlands and America, and then, from 1980, in the UK.  Helen did not have an easy life, but it was one filled with hard work, children, friends, love.

One of my earliest memories is of staying at my grandparents house the summer my brother was born.  They had a houseful of family - cousins, aunts and uncles - gathered from around the world, and so we (my cousins and I) had to sleep in the garage.  Because they were older than me, their bedtime was later than mine, so granny came into the garage to sit with me, telling me stories, until I fell asleep.  I remember feeling safe and comforted by her presence.  My brothers and I were lucky enough to grow up with granny and grandpa in the same country (a luxury few of my cousins had), and I always enjoyed spending time with them.

Later, as a teenager, I found Helen an intimidating prospect.  When she and Theo left the UK to return to South Africa, I was still the sweet, studious, blonde-haired grandaughter of her dreams.  Returning on a visit a couple of years after, she didn't really know how to deal with the dyed hair and facial piercings, and we clashed at times.  She was never one to hide her displeasure: I will always remember how she reacted when she felt my brother, Richard, and I were being insufficiently attentive while playing Scrabble (which was something akin to a second religion in Helen's book).  Let's just say, we quickly started taking the game more seriously after she'd said her piece.

For the past twenty-ish years I have lived thousands of miles away from Helen, seeing her on her rare visits to the UK and on my even rarer trips to South Africa.  But I was lucky enough to spend time with her last summer, by which time her decline - begun in many ways when Theo died in 2003, after which she suffered from depression - meant that she didn't really recognise or remember me. 

My uncle, Michael, and aunt, Jenny, have done a wonderful job of caring for Helen these last few years (you can read Jenny's amazing blog post about Helen's last days here.  It is a beautiful piece of writing).  My favourite story of theirs is the time they arrived at her flat to find her laid out on the bed, fully dressed, breathing deeply.  "What are you doing, mother?" Michael enquired of her, to which he received the answer, "practising taking my last breaths".  Granny has been ready to die for a long time, complaining (as, at 92, she had every right to!) of being tired of living.  Her death comes as a relief in many ways, and to know that she died peacefully, and at home, is a great blessing.  But the quietness of her death should not eclipse the wonderful things she achieved in life. 

Weekend in Yorkshire

After an ill-advised drinking session with work colleagues on Friday night, I ventured up the M1 in an extremely hungover and tender-of-head state on Saturday morning.  But it was lovely to see my niece performing in a show at Bradford Alhambra, visit my brother (busy revising for a quantum physics exam in two weeks time), curl up on the sofa watching trashy Saturday night TV, and drop in at Horsforth book fair.  Most of all, it was nice to just spend time with my mum, exploring some lovely corners of urban West Yorkshire in the autumn sunshine.

1. Children playing in the fountain in Bradford's Centenary Square, Saturday afternoon;

2. Wakefield marina and Victorian factory building, taken facing north from the bridge to the Hepworth Gallery;

3. The view facing south from the bridge, of the exterior of the gallery: I loved the juxtaposition of industrial heritage with contemporary architecture;

4. Quotation on the wall of the Barbara Hepworth Studio room.

 

 

And for those following my £100 challenge, my jaunt up to Yorkshire made a bit of a dint in my budget.  Which is a nice way of saying I've gone way over my limit again.

 

Monday - £16.36 groceries

                  £29.82 petrol

                  £7.00 bag (to replace one that broke in London last weekend)

                  £4.00 tights

                  £3.85 this month's Diva

Tuesday - £10.27 groceries

Wednesday - £11.35 groceries

                         £19.80 dress

Thursday - £5.65 cinema ticket

                     £4.50 drinks at cinema

Friday - £15 drinks and taxi home

Saturday - £1.80 hardcore painkillers to get rid of my headache

                    £20 ticket for Gracie's show

Sunday - £9 parking at the Hepworth Gallery for two cars

Total -  £158.40

 

Oh dear.  My big mistake this week was going to Tesco not once, but three times.  If I'd only done a big Aldi shop at the start of the week, I could have cut the spend on groceries significantly.  And as always, petrol took a big chunk of my budget.  But really, there's no excuse.  I took my eye off the ball again and need to be really strict in the next two weeks (although, didn't I say that last Sunday?!).



Meet the parents

I originally wrote this post when I thought I was leaving the UK for a year, and it's been lurking in my draft folder for months.  As the post I was hoping to publish today is stubbornly refusing to take any sort of coherent form, it's an opportunity to publish what is essentially an extended brag about how ace my mum and dad are!

One of my favourite photographs -

my parents on their wedding day in Johannesberg, June 1976

My mum is the bravest person I know.  She often tells me that she doesn’t know where I get my independent and adventurous spirit, but I know the answer is staring back at her in the mirror.  At the age of 29 she left her family and the country where she had grown up - South Africa - and she and my dad boarded a ship to England.  Due to the political situation, neither of them were able to return for almost 24 years.

She was a stay-at-home mum for my whole childhood; she cooked, baked, encouraged us to be artistic and active and instilled in me a love of books.  As we (my younger brothers and I) got older, she became more and more active in voluntary organisations both local and national, and is now manager of a large charity.  At the age of 44, she left her marriage of 17 years and came out as a lesbian.  She struggled to support three children in the aftermath of the divorce but never let the strain show.  In her 50s she coped with devastating hearing loss, which has left her profoundly deaf and entirely dependent on hearing aids.  She is amazing and the most important person in my life. 

My dad, meanwhile, was on that ship to England too, leaving everything he knew far behind to start a new life and a family thousands of miles away.  And if I admire my mum for having the courage and fortitude to come out in her 40s, I think I admire my dad more for what he went through in those years.  He made huge efforts to ensure he stayed in our lives... but never tried to make us take sides.  When, in a fit of teenage pique, I told him I wanted to go to Manchester with him rather than live with my mum, he very calmly told me that it wouldn’t be a good idea because I belonged with her: quite true, but it can’t have been easy to say.

My mum has supported and cajoled and listened and cared for me for the last 34 years.  She always knows exactly how I’m feeling about anything; knows when I need a kick up the arse and when I need some TLC.  Meanwhile, my dad is the person I will always call first if something goes wrong with my car or my boiler.  He is practical and pragmatic and, in the way of dads, knows everything about everything... apart from how to send a text on his mobile.  They are both incredible people, I am very lucky indeed to have such great parents.

*Update* My dad has let it be known that actually, he does know how to send a text, he just "chooses not to - too fiddly".  He told me this via (of course) text.  So I stand corrected, my dad in fact knows everything.

Like mother, like daughter

My lovely mum when she was in her early 20s, wearing a cardigan she knitted herself.  But she's not creative, oh no.

A few months ago I wrote this post, about feminism and crafting.  I began my musings with this question: Having been long seen as unfashionable and something of relevance only to a few grey-haired WI members, the past few years there has seen a resurgence of interest in baking and crafts among the younger generation.  Without wanting to generalise, my personal experience suggests that most of the young women who are passionate about creating – whether it be cakes, clothes or Christmas decorations – are also educated, career-minded and, in many cases, feminists.  Which leads to something of a disconnect: how does one reconcile feminist views with wearing a flower-print pinny while potting homemade jams?

While I was putting that post together I asked my mum - a feminist and, although she denies it (of which more later), a crafter - for her thoughts.  Her responses have been lurking on my hard drive ever since, until I stumbled upon them yesterday and thought I would share them because, well, because my mum is ace.

The first question I asked her was "when did she start seeing herself as a feminist?"  I don't have a memory of her being anything other than a feminist; she was always vocal about equality issues and challenged me and my brothers if we said or did things she thought were sexist.  But interestingly, my mum's recollection is different.  She responded: Interesting question!  I would have actually said that it was the MA in Women’s Studies which raised my awareness (Sept 1992 – June 1993) but... I guess it wouldn’t have occurred to me to do the MA if I hadn’t had awareness raised already. I probably didn’t call myself a feminist before the course though – not sure.

What was fascinating to me about her response is that I'm fairly sure that by 1992 (when I was 14) I was calling myself a feminist, and I'm confident that I never would have done so had my mum not introduced me to the concept.

I then asked her to share her experiences of crafting with me.  My mum has always maintained that she is "not a creative person," but I'd disagree.  When I go home, I still sleep under a patchwork blanket that she knitted for my cot; every Christmas we use the stockings she sewed when we were children; she recently told me about the time she taught herself to crochet so she could make a dressing gown for me.  Not creative?!  Erm, ok mum!
I sewed, knitted, crocheted, cooked and baked because that’s what women (mothers) did!! I used to knit and sew my clothes when I was a teenager. So just continued that I guess. Maybe it was also about saving money – when you children were little I would try and find material and wool in charity shops or off market stalls. But I also enjoyed the challenge – creating things. But I always worked to patterns and recipes - I don’t see myself as creative; I follow other people’s creations. Also being a ‘stay at home’ mother meant that I had time to do these things – up to a point – and they were much more interesting than cleaning! I have wondered whether I will return to knitting or some kind of craft work when I am retired...... but then maybe not!

I was the kind of kid who was always making something, whether it was a mess in the kitchen during my attempts to bake, or glueing bits of cotton wool onto card to make Christmas decorations.  Nowadays, most weekends will find me working on a project, whether it's making teacup candles, sewing cushion covers or baking cupcakes.  And when presented with the fruits of my labours, my mum always says the same thing: "You're so clever, I don't know where you get it from".  It's clear to me that, like my feminism, I "got it" from my her; it's just bizarre that she doesn't see it the same way.