The Scent of 2009

As you look back over 2008 what thoughts and feelings come to your mind? Is there a sense of achievement, or do you feel there are lots of loose threads that you really should have attended to? Has the year left you feeling that you have grown into a much better person and that you have developed more than you thought possible? Or, are you feeling that although the wheels are turning, perhaps you need to speed things up a bit before you can begin to realise all your dreams and desires?
When 2008 dawned everyone was full of anticipation, what would the year bring into our lives, would we have a happy prosperous year, or would we struggle through it, longing for 2009. It is never long into a New Year before we forget about it and start thinking that time is passing so quickly, days go by, one after the other and before we know it Easter has passed and winter has arrived. Then we long for spring and summer and when we next stop to look, Christmas is upon us, and so too the end of another year.
If one thinks about it, each year has it's own scents for every individual. It could be the musky smell of fear, or the awakening aroma of mint. Perhaps you fell in love this year and could only smell sweet red roses. Were you feeling loved, protected and safe in your home environment, with gentle wafts of lavender greeting you at your door whenever you returned home? Did you loose a loved one and have the peaceful scent of Lily of the Valley to comfort you in your loss?
If you were sick, were you shrouded in the healing balm of ancient sage as you began to feel better? Unless, of coarse it was just a cold you had and then strong camphor would have permeated through your lungs to clear nose and chest.
Just as every year has it's own scent for each one of us, so does each season have it's own fragrances that come back to tease us of memories long forgotten, some happy and some sad, but all waiting patiently to be recalled.

I DO NOT APPROVE OF FIREWORKS BEING USED FOR ANY CELEBRATION, THEREFORE I AM NOT PUTTING IN A PICTURE OF THEM.

The year begins with the strong odour of fireworks as they crackle, blaze and whoosh through the night air as midnight strikes and a New Year is born. Champagne bottles pop and spill over, and the fruity smell of the grape vine is hardly noticed in the excitement and thoughts of new beginnings. Tomorrows go so quickly and before we know it we are digging out musty school bags and wrapping books in dull smelling brown paper.

Easter comes, always sooner than we expected it to, and our homes are filled with the spicy scents of nutmeg, cinnamon and mixed spice. The aromas of frankincense and myrrh fill our churches and these scents seem to bring us so much closer to the God within. What a delightful feeling of goodness and prosperity we get from all these homely Easter tide smells.


In the Southern Hemisphere Easter seems to be the sign that the season is beginning to change, and don't you enjoy happy autumn with the last flush of roses to cheer you up and prepare you for winter? Their dainty perfume lingering long in the air with promises of spring and summer.
Autumn never lingers long enough for me, there is nothing I enjoy more than taking a walk through a park in autumn and as I trample on the fallen leaves they seem to give off so many different smells. Each one so different to the others, each hiding it's own secret of where it came from and where it is going to.


Suddenly winter arrives on icy wings and what could be nicer than arriving home after work and smelling soup or stew as they bubble away and warm up the kitchen. Or sitting quietly in front of a fire that you have scented with orange peel and cinnamon sticks. And what about cuddling under a soft, thick blanket that has been stored with pot pourri, and as you nestle into it, floral perfumes gently scent the air around you.


When spring arrives and you open your doors and windows to let in the gentle breezes and clear the home of winter staleness it could only be Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow that clears the air and brings promises of warm and sultry days. Then the first rain comes and with it the earthy smells of soil and grass. Soon peach, apple and citrus blossoms permeate the air and we really know that once again spring is upon us.


Spring, like autumn in South Africa is never long enough and soon the hot sunny days of summer are with us. It is usually only in the early mornings or late afternoon that we are lucky enough to catch the sweet scent of flower blossoms that waft along on a gentle breeze. Then with our lovely highveld thunder storms we have the crisp, clear aroma of plants newly washed and refreshed, and the supple smell of electrically charged air.


End of year examination time comes and as results start coming out we have that beautiful sweet smell of success, or the dry and lonely smell of failure from our children. Another year is nearly passed and the Christmas season is so suddenly with us once again. What could be nicer than the spicy, mouth-watering scents of Christmas? Christmas, so close to Easter in so many ways. Cinnamon, mixed spice, cloves, frankincense, myrrh, all are with us once again. As festivities begin we smell roast turkey, ham, Christmas pudding, brandy sauce, the gun-powdery smell of Christmas crackers.


Through each season and whatever the occasion the hot, waxy smell of candles seems to link everything and create an ever present flow of unity of all and everything. Candles, so much like flowers, cheer us up and brighten our days.
To me, each year begins like a fresh fragrant rose bud, a perfect rose bud, sweet scented and hiding all it's glory within the closed petals. It is up to us to water that rose and make sure that we cherish it every day and as the petals of the year slowly unfold we must appreciate every joy that is unfolded to us. If we really care about our 2009 rose it will carry it's fresh perfume throughout the year and our lives too will carry that same perfume wherever we go and whatever we do.
I give you your 2009 rose.

Universal

UNIVERSAL

Am I beautiful?
As beautiful as raindrops, falling from the sky.
As beautiful as the blue, in a new born baby's eye.
Or lovely, like a whale, beached upon the sand.
Lovely as a sunrise, shining gently on the land.
Pretty as a flower, colourful and proud.
Pretty as a young girl, wrapped up in a shroud.
Small as a sand grain, tossed about by the sea.
Small as a field mouse, working busily.
Mighty as an elephant, charging to protect her young.
Mighty as a frightened child, hiding behind a gun.
Strong as a lion, fighting to survive.
Strong as an infant child, struggling to stay alive.
Gentle as a rainbow, after a thunder storm.
Gentle as a mother's touch, when her child is sick and worn.
Yes, I am of the Universe.
As are the stars up high.
Then being of the Universe,
Beautiful am I!

All the folk out there have a great day.

Thunder storms, no electricity, slugs and snails.

Hot, sultry, sticky South African summer afternoon. Clouds building up to something or nothing in the distance. It's Friday and things are slowly winding down for a quiet weekend. Supper is planned for whenever we are hungry and is going to be hamburgers or steak rolls with lashing of fried onions and mushrooms.Ray and I have no definite plans for the evening, or the weekend for that matter, so we will let things plan and sort out by themselves.

A flash of lightening, a crack of thunder and as we look skywards so the Heavens open up and heavy rain with tiny hail stones lashes down onto our world. We sit quietly in our lounge looking out through the window, curtains of water falling in every direction. This is Africa.


The noise of the storm is terrific and the lightening and thunder seem to be right over our heads. There is that crispness in the air that I so love when there is a storm. That wonderful smell that only visits us with plenty of lightening and thunder.
We grow tired of gazing out the window and turn on the television to see if there is anything of interest there, as usual we end up watching a documentary. Ray gets up to turn the light on and as he does there is one very large flash and the deep sound of rolling thunder, television goes off, computers go off and once again we sit as we so often do these days with no power.
The storm quickly passes over but the power does not come on. A walk around the garden, an over the wall chat with neighbours, back to the house and still no power. It's getting dark and our tummies are rumbling, candles and lamps are lit and nothing in fridge or cupboard takes our fancy for what to do about supper.
In the end as it is getting late we decide to go out for a bite. Car out of garage, fresh clothes and off we go to Pretoria. The country roads are lovely in the darkening skies and we drive slowly along enjoying the view.

Twenty minutes later we park the car and go into a rather nice,
upmarket restaurant and decide to sit outside watching the sunset and the traffic go by, very pleasant indeed.
And that good people is when the slugs appeared, they looked human and were dressed like humans. There were what seemed to be two female and two male of their species. They talked rather loudly and swore and cussed a lot. I seem to have no feeling about smoking one way or the other, but please if you do smoke then use the ashtrays. They all smoked and flicked ash and threw butts onto the pavement. When their drinks arrived the papers from the straws were also thrown over the balcony and onto the pavement. Last of all when they had finished their meal they threw the paper serviettes over as well.
Apart from our unruly table neighbours we did indeed have a lovely meal and as we were enjoying our snails I wondered if there was any creature on Earth that would willingly eat one of the four dressed up slugs sitting so close to us.
I think not.

We all have good sides I just wish some of us would show them more often. Manners are easy things to use.

Dust and telephone poles.

We have just moved from rural country into rural village, and I am trying to find my feet in a rather quite and well swept part of rural suburbia. Country life is quiet, unless you realise, like I did very quickly, that one can play one's own type of music full ball all day and there are no neighbours close enough to complain.
At any time you can pick up a sturdy stick, (even Eden had it's snakes), grab something cold out the fridge and set off with dog and camera to explore, first the walled off garden and then the outside world. Out the back door and don't forget to lock, then to see how the seedlings are growing - marigold and portulaca, pansy and petunia. As each bud forms you wait impatiently for the full blossoms. Then on to check the flowering trees, hedges and bushes, keeping eyes open for birds and butterflies.
Through the gate and on to the dusty road, the world is yours for the moment, and as the wind whispers to you it dances in the roadside grasses and plants and on looking carefully you spot huge spider webs decorated with the sparkling fairy diamonds of early morning dew. Wayside flowers of bright yellows, blues and pinks draw your attention, the dog pulls at the lead and onward you go in harmony with yourself and all that is around you.
Distances are measured by the telephone poles and the decision is made on how far the walk will be, How much do you need to escape before you go back to Earthly reality?
Every day brought something different into my life and there was never time nor room to stop and think about what could or should be done. Country life is a musical rhapsody in colour where each fresh dawn paints the landscape in a different hue.
Village life on the other hand is still, almost as if the houses, walls and fences try to block nature from entering. Neat edges and swept pavements and roads, clusters of annuals to bring in the colour and great tropical plants for cool shade. Muted sounds of radio, TV and CD, children playing, cars passing.
Why is it here in the village that I feel alone? My home is lovely, the garden neat and colourful. I am close to neighbours who seem friendly. Yet there seems to be something missing, the sense of freedom of being on a hot and dusty track with nothing to bother about except what the wind and sun allow to enter into my being. To count poles instead of pennies, to shuffle along not worrying if feet are dirty or not. To skip and sing, to run and play, to be myself where I feel safest.