Everyone knows how to be cautious at an ATM. Do not allow yourself to be distracted. I’m wide awake, so when the guy ahead of me said “Eish, they’ve changed their system, but I managed to get my cash,” I smiled and moved on. When he offered to help me I shoo’d him off. He persisited and shoved next to me and pointed at the screen and babbled his tale. Pest. He looked like a bit of a smiling simpleton. I felt sorry for him, but I firmly told him I can do this, I don’t need your help. Buzz off please. He hovered nearby as I made to withdraw some cash to loan to Tommy’s mate Jose. They were waiting in the car. The white Ford Ranger 4X2 diesel. Next minute my card was stuck in the machine and he was gone. I got no cash.
One minute later as I was phoning the bank about the stuck card, my phone beeped: R3000 withdrawal – my max amount.
How the HELL did he do that!? He was gone.
So I was wrong: He was no simpleton. But then again, maybe I was actually right: There WAS one simpleton in that ATM booth this Sunday.
Paddock Wood in Kent – Hosted by Pete & Val Excell, old Cape Town friends of Aitch’s
Nearby dam or lake – lots of birders! Standing three deep with binocs n scopes. Looking at a Little Ringed Plover, I think. He says, dubiusly.
Road trip in Pete’s station wagon – a Ford, I think – Cortina? Grenada?
Across Dartmoor to Cornwall. Ponies and a shirt walk on the moor.
In Bodmin, we are generously hosted by Den and Mary Bluett, Mel Spaggiari’s folks, on a beautiful small farm. There’s a stream and pond on their property. We see a newt and a hedgehog
And Yay! Another Dipper! After seeing one in America, we see one here! And he’s even more beautiful. He has a nest under a bridge and is feeding chicks.
One of my heroes died! Sydney Brenner, Germiston boykie, Witsie and a real mensch. Always a heavy smoker, he only lived one thousand five hundred and ninety five C. elegans life cycles. Or 92 human years. He was amazing. Some colleagues called him “the funniest scientist who ever lived.”
So what was he famous for? For his research fellow Caenorhabditis elegans, who is pictured below. And also for RNA. Syd was short, but his colleague was only 1mm long – and transparent. Syd could see right through him . .
Syd Brenner realized he needed a simpler animal to study than the fruit fly, a standard organism used in laboratories. He settled on Caenorhabditis elegans, or C. elegans, a tiny, transparent roundworm that dwells in the soil, eats bacteria and completes its life cycle in three weeks. That worm has spun off many developments, starting with the decoding of the human genome.
The worm is, of course, an invertebrate, but Syd said as it was a hermaphrodite worm with occasional males he would call it a PERvert-ebrate. Using the worm, Dr. Brenner and his colleagues first worked out methods for breaking a genome into fragments, multiplying each fragment in a colony of bacteria, and then decoding each cloned fragment with DNA sequencing machines. His other colleagues John Sulston and Robert Waterston completed the worm’s genome in 1998, and they and others used the same methods to decode the human genome in 2003.
Another major project, made possible because of the worm’s transparency, was to track the lineage of all 959 cells in the adult worm’s body, starting from the single egg cell. This feat, still not accomplished so far for any other animal, made clear that many cells are programmatically killed during development, leading to the discovery by H. Robert Horvitz of the phenomenon of programmed cell death.
The topic assumed an importance that transcended worm biology when it emerged that programmed cell death is supposed to occur in damaged human cells, and when that process is thwarted, we call it cancer! The humble worm’s DNA has turned out to be surprisingly similar to our own, helping us understand how our cells grow uncontrollably to cause cancer and why they sometimes die in excess.
For their work on programmed cell death, Dr. Brenner, Dr. Sulston (who died last year) and Dr. Horvitz were awarded the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine in 2002. So the worm was good for him and colleagues would teasingly call him “the father of the worm.” In his Nobel lecture, Syd remarked, “Without doubt, the fourth winner of the Nobel Prize this year is Caenorhabditis elegans; it deserves all of the honor but, of course, it will not be able to share the monetary award.”
Long
before he got the Nobel Prize, Dr. Brenner had been the first to
conclude that there must be some means for copying the information in
DNA and conveying it to the cellular organelles that manufacture
proteins. That intermediary, now known as messenger RNA, was
discovered in 1960 in an experiment devised by Dr. Brenner and
others. Many people, including Dr. Brenner himself, believed he
should have been awarded a Nobel Prize for his and Dr. Crick’s work
on the genetic code. About his Nobel Prize he said, “In fact, to
me this is my second Nobel prize. I just failed to get the first
one.”
For years he wrote a tongue-in-cheek column called Loose Ends and later False Starts in which he’d offer advice and comment on matters scientific. To busy scientists seeking a polite way to turn down time-consuming invitations to meetings, he suggested the following reply: “Dear X, I regret I am unable to accept your invitation as I find I cannot attend your meeting. Yours sincerely.”
He
held positions at Cambridge and at the Salk Institute in San Diego,
where he was appointed, as he termed it, “extinguished professor.”
Insights into the nature of the cell would alternate with his playful scientific inventions, like Occam’s Broom — “to sweep under the carpet what you must to leave your hypotheses consistent” — or Avocado’s Number, “the number of atoms in a guacamole.” **
For
a short time he had been director of the Cambridge Laboratory of
Molecular Biology, but he did not much enjoy working as an
administrator: “You become a mediator between two impossible
groups,” he said, “the monsters above and the idiots below.”
In his last column he decided he’d need another job, writing: When one stops doing a job, one should immediately go and look for another one, if only to provide an excuse for not doing all the mundane things one has promised to attend to after retirement, so he wrote a personal service ad: Elderly, white, male, column writer, seven years experience, self-employed scientist, explorer, adventurer, inventor and entrepreneur seeks young, naive, preferably female editor of newly formed scientific journal with a view to obtaining un-refereed access to as wide an audience as possible. Has good title for a column: ‘The Well-deserved Rest.’ Please write, quoting circulation and impact factor.
As
well as a good writer he was a great talker, it was hard for any
listener not to fall under his spell. He spoke slowly and precisely
in a lingering South African accent, his sentences long and perfectly
constructed and often ending with a joke.
He tells of abandoning religion when very young on his way to Hebrew school when he had to walk through a rough part of town in Germiston. He got beaten up by a gang. “As I stood there, I said Shema Yisrael, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Ehad, but nothing came. I got beaten up, nobody helped me and I said forget it. That sort of thing stuck in my mind. To me it was just a lot of nonsense, basically.
The sixth week of our honeymoon in 1988 was an eagerly awaited visit to good friend Larry Wingert. He’d been a Rotary exchange student to Harrismith in South Africa back in 1969-1970.
We flew out of Lawton Oklahoma to Dallas/Fort Worth, on to Little Rock, to Cincinatti and on to our destination: Akron, Ohio. Friday 8 April. Larry’s friend Dave “Zee” picked us up at the airport, took us to his condominium and fed us. The first meal of what turned out to be a major good food week! Later, Larry fetched us in his Subaru – our third all-wheel drive vehicle this trip, and this one free! – and took us to his beautiful old home on North Portage Path. At home it was all wine, one woman and song, with Aitch and Larry bashing the piano and asking me to please stop singing.
On our arrival in the States some weeks before, we received a letter saying “Please accept these portraits of old American Presidents and USE this plastic card!” Various denomination dollar bills and a credit card for gas (or petrol)! How’s that for a wedding present!? In Larry We Trusted!
I love the canoeing connection with his home: North Portage Path is an 8000 year old path along which native Americans portaged their canoes from the Cuyahoga river out of lake Erie, across a mere eight miles to the Tuscarawas River from where it flows into the Muskingum river, then into the Ohio and on to the Mississippi. Thus they could paddle from the Great Lakes to the Gulf Of Mexico with only one eight mile portage, something any Dusi paddler would do without a second thought! The amazing thing: You can still paddle from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico today, unbroken except for one short section – and while trudging along that section you could pop in to Larry’s place for tea. Or ‘tea’! America’s waterways are astonishing.
Larry indulged us lavishly. There was no tea. Only the good stuff. He indulged Aitch’s joy in shopping, especially deli shopping at the best places. And Larry knows his delis!
Followed by a big cook-up at home . .
– when a man is cooking you a steak you can pretend to love his cat . . –
. . and music with the two of them on the piano, shoving me aside and asking me to please stop singing!
Then he took us to parks and nature resorts for me to indulge in my birding passion. When he wasn’t able to join us, he handed over the keys to his all-wheel-drive Subaru. Above and beyond . . One morning we visited Cuyahoga River State Park quarry area. Our favourite bird in Ohio was probably the Northern Flicker.
Afterwards we went shopping at another rather special deli – its obvious Larry is GOOD at this! For supper he cooked us some great steaks on his portable barbeque outside his kitchen door. We ate like kings. After supper there was music with the two of them on the piano, shoving me aside and asking me to please stop singing!
A visit to Kendall Lake; Later to Cleveland’s Old Arcade Centre and a look at Lake Erie. Supper at a French restaurant on Larry; He had already spoiled us generously, now this.
Suitably fortified, we moved back home to liquers and piano and song! No tea. By this time my good friend and my good wife had formed an excellent working and jolling relationship. They shoved me aside and asked me to please stop singing. To bed at 2am, rising at 5.30am;
~~~oo0oo~~~
The honeymoon album has been recorded here, and the big old paper album tossed out:
Off to Boston 13 April 1988. In consultation with Larry, we decided Cape Cod was next . . .
Reason being my young kids still seem to lurv and appreciate me! Weird.
And so we age and move with our times, forever young (we tell ourselves! Us 1955 babies).
~~~oo0oo~~~
Yet again I was caught by an April Fools joke on my birthday, Tommy (17) the perpetrator this time; Not quite 64 in a row, but too many for complacency!
So I was pleased to see one of my heroes also fell for it back in 1832:
Charles Darwin wrote this in his Beagle diary:
April 1st
All hands employed in making April fools. — At midnight almost nearly all the watch below was called up in their shirts; carpenters for a leak: quarter masters that a mast was sprung. — midshipmen to reef top-sails; All turned in to their hammocks again, some growling some laughing. — The hook was much too easily baited for me not to be caught: Sullivan cried out, “Darwin, did you ever see a Grampus: Bear a hand then”. I accordingly rushed out in a transport of Enthusiasm, & was received by a roar of laughter from the whole watch. —
——-ooo000ooo——-
“grampus“ is an old name given to several sea creatures, as well as other animals. Grampus may refer to: Grampus (genus) of the Risso’s dolphin; or a common name for the orca.
~~~~oo0oo~~~~ Paul McCartney was sixteen when he wrote the lyrics to “When I’m Sixty-Four”. When the Beatles released the song in 1967, I was 12. Now when I sing it I realise with a shock ‘Shit! I AM sixty four!’ — When I get older losing my hair Many years from now Will you still be sending me a Valentine Birthday greetings bottle of wine If I’d been out till quarter to three Would you lock the door Will you still need me, will you still feed me? When I’m sixty-four I could be handy, mending a fuse When your lights have gone You can knit a sweater by the fireside Sunday mornings go for a ride Doing the garden, digging the weeds Who could ask for more Will you still need me, will you still feed me? When I’m sixty-four
~~~~oo0oo~~~~
One of the things I remember my Old Man saying when I was a kid was “Please Shoot Me When I Turn Sixty!” Now he’s 96 and planning on reaching 100. Living alone and still driving legally. Life doesn’t always follow the script . .
When we got to River Drive in 1989 we were warned it was a fertile zone and if you weren’t careful babies would start popping out all over. This was from the Lellos who had produced three offspring there; the Greenbergs, two; The Hockeys, a few, Donna was the only one around then; the Howard-and-Dofs, three boys; And there were others. We were blissfully child-free and at least half of us were determined to remain that way.
Then the Naudes arrived and produced two boys but we had stood firm, determinedly child-free ’til 1999. When we left that river in 2003 we only had two children, having managed to sell three others after fattening them up and putting a smile on their faces.
In Elston Place there was a swarm of children; The pool was always overflowing. They all soon learned the gate code and the place was like a railway station. And nothing has changed in the thirteen years we’ve been here. Here’s the latest crop with Jess – who turned eight the month we arrived here. She goes down the road to visit most evenings:
– they worship our Jessie –
Three of these are kids of the older kids who used to swim in the pool when we first arrived!
Here are some of the early-days kids with a young Jessie leaning back:
Charles Darwin was born 210 years ago today. He died aged 73 in 1882. One of the single most profound ideas ever to enter a human brain seeped into his around 1836 or 1837 and stewed and bubbled there until in 1858 he was jolted into action and finally published his stunning insight.
No, NOT ‘the theory of evolution!’ Evolution is not a theory, it’s an established scientific fact that happens around us all the time. Don’t listen to claptrap. Evolution is accepted and observed, and is the reason – just for one example – that we have a major problem with drug resistance. Germs evolve to be resistant to drugs. Daily.
No, the theory that evolution happens by natural selection; THAT’s the amazing thought that Darwin had. One hundred and sixty years later, despite the devious efforts of naysayers – and the earnest efforts of real scientists – all the evidence still points to Darwin’s idea being right. Discovery after discovery in the fields of biology, paleontology, geology, molecular biology, genetics, anthropology, and more – each one of which could potentially sabotage his theory – have instead reinforced it. The age of the earth, plate tectonics, fossils, common structures, the distribution of species, embryonic development, germ theory, DNA, etc etc – each new discovery has been found to align with Darwin’s powerful theory – biological evolution by natural selection or ‘descent with modification,’ the differential survival of organisms following their naturally occurring variation. His amazing insight, his ‘dangerous idea’, remains a good brief definition of the process to this day.
What Darwin discovered was that ‘all life is one!’ An amazing thought. Who could ever have thought that one day when we became able to test the genes of plants and animals we’d discover that we shared some genes with chimps, yes – one of the reasons the bishop of London fought so hard against the idea when first announced in 1859 – but that we also share some of our genes with grass! NO-ONE would have predicted that. All life is one. Stunning.
– Darwin’s room, Christ’s College –
As a student Darwin was a proper, normal person! He neglected his medical studies in Edinburgh, preferring to study natural history on interesting field trips, then when his wealthy medical doctor father sent him to Cambridge to study to become an Anglican parson, he preferred riding, shooting and beetle collecting! Only beer drinking seems to be missing from a well-balanced start in life.
Then he took a gap year – five years, actually – and traveled:
– five years on the Beagle –
– the Beagle on the coast of South America –
On his return from sailing around the world he threw himself into scientific work, experimentation, meticulous research and lots of thinking. But he couldn’t bring himself to publish his big insight. His wife Emma was very religious and they both were very aware of the stir his amazing insight would cause. After twenty years of this he was suddenly nudged into action when a younger man sent him a paper to publish which he felt was almost identical to his theory. He scrambled to action, and so it happened that his friends Lyell and Hooker arranged to have his and Alfred Russel Wallace’s papers read jointly to the Linnean Society on 1 July 1958. On the evening of 28 June, Darwin’s baby son died of scarlet fever after a week of severe illness, and he was too distraught to attend the presentation. Their joint paper On the Tendency of Species to form Varieties; and on the Perpetuation of Varieties and Species by Natural Means of Selection was read. What followed was . . nothing. Little attention was given to this announcement of their theory; the president of the Linnean Society made the now-notorious remark in May 1859 that the year 1858 ‘had not been marked by any revolutionary discoveries.’
In 1859 he finally published his amazing book On The Origin Of Species, ‘one long argument’ for the idea, hatching in his head since 1837, of the ‘common descent’ of all life.
– Darwin;s On the Origin of Species –
His theory is simply stated in the introduction: As many more individuals of each species are born than can possibly survive; and as, consequently, there is a frequently recurring struggle for existence, it follows that any being, if it vary however slightly in any manner profitable to itself, under the complex and sometimes varying conditions of life, will have a better chance of surviving, and thus be naturally selected. From the strong principle of inheritance, any selected variety will tend to propagate its new and modified form.
At the end of the book he concluded that: There is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed into a few forms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being, evolved.
A toast to an amazing man and his insight!
~~~oo0oo~~~
Evolution was already old in 1859: Contrary to popular opinion, neither the term nor the idea of biological evolution began with Charles Darwin and his 1859 paper, On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection. Many scholars from the ancient Greek philosophers on had inferred that similar species were descended from a common ancestor. The word “evolution” was widely used in English for all sorts of progressions from simpler beginnings from 1647 on. The term Darwin most often used to refer to biological evolution was “descent with modification,” which remains a good brief definition of the process today.
Darwin proposed that evolution could be explained by the differential survival of organisms following their naturally occurring variation—a process he termed “natural selection.” Offspring of organisms differ from one another and from their parents in ways that are heritable – that is, they can pass on the differences genetically to their own offspring.
– to this day the truly ignorant – just as the bishop of London did in 1859 – and the merely dishonest, misrepresent Darwin’s theory –
Yes, evolution is also a scientific theory, but not when used in a negative sense. If anyone says ‘it’s only a theory nya nya’, ignore them. If anyone says its a scientific theory matter-of-factly they’re right, but then those people will also immediately tell you it’s also a scientific fact. Read about that here.
Jerry Coyne wrote a lovely affirming letter to Charles Darwin on his 200th birthday, back in 2009. How Darwin would have loved reading it, and how it would have brought relief and peace of mind to a wonderful man who worried a lot!
Sixty years ago today a plane fell out of the sky and this was finished:
American Rock n Roll musicians Buddy Holly (22), Ritchie Valens (17), and JP ‘The Big Bopper’ Richardson (28) were killed when their plane crashed in Iowa.
In 1971 Don McLean sang about that day AND – less known – about another day ten years later:
=======ooo000ooo=======
When asked what “American Pie” meant, McLean jokingly replied, “It means I don’t ever have to work again if I don’t want to.” Later, he stated, “You will find many interpretations of my lyrics but none of them by me … Sorry to leave you all on your own like this but long ago I realized that songwriters should make their statements and move on, maintaining a dignified silence.” In February 2015, McLean announced he would reveal the meaning of the lyrics to the song when the original manuscript went for auction. The lyrics and notes were auctioned on April 7, and sold for $1.2 million. In the sale catalogue notes, McLean revealed the meaning in the song’s lyrics: “Basically in American Pie things are heading in the wrong direction. Life is becoming less idyllic. I don’t know whether you consider that wrong or right but it is a morality song in a sense.” The king mentioned was Elvis, the jester was Bob Dylan.
Then the song also contains a much longer, and near-verbatim description of the death of Meredith Hunter at the hands of drunken Hells Angels at a free concert in California ten years after the plane crash that killed Holly, Valens, and Richardson. Where the music died a much more tragic and violent death. A death that was not an accident.
Oh, and as I watched him on the stage My hands were clenched in fists of rage No angel born in Hell Could break that Satan’s spell
And as the flames climbed high into the night To light the sacrificial rite I saw Satan laughing with delight The day the music died
In 1972 the title of the song came to bite me when I embarrassingly cocked up the most important part of my matric dance. None of that.
Crispin was concerned. The locquat wasn’t getting any action. It happened since the streetlights murdered the hawk moths. He himself is a man of action, so he sprung or sprang into same.
Every fetish has its paraphenalia. This case it was stepladders and camel hair brushes. Handlangers were rustled up and we went a-fertilising. I was a keen volunteer as I hadn’t had much to do with sexual parts and sperm and ova myself for some time; and even if this was actually pollen and stamens, hey, you take what you can get.
Crispin knew where our targets lived. We crept up to and up them, tickled their upright stigma and style delicately with the soft camel hair brush and bang! pregnant! one shot! The candle flower, Oxyanthus pyriformis, natal locquat didn’t know what hit it. For all it knew it may even have been a hawk moth fondling it with its moustache.
Update from Crispin Hemson xmas 2019. It would appear no pregnancies happened! My thought of bang! pregnant! one shot! was over-optimistic – but he’s bok to try again . .
So the old man buys 24 pfeil carving chisels from a fellow woodworker for R500. He already has carving chisels, but this is a bargain he can’t resist. He’s fully aware of the value of pfeils – “the best in the business”. His mate probably wasn’t!?
He makes an innovative carrying case for them, adding value:
– chisels and open & shut carry case – ole man in the background –
They gather dust. Years later, he sees an ad in one of his woodwork magazines:
R7000 for 12 !!
Whoa! So now they’re on the market. R7500 for 24, and the case is free! It’s a bargain, Koos!
I advertise them on gumtree and get an offer: R6300. R6300? No Way! R8000 like I said and not a penny less! Sigh. You paid R500 and you said R7500 Dad. Yes, but they’re worth R14 000! Don’t you agree?! There was one other query by a keen woodworker, but he didn’t follow up with an offer. So that sales effort died out.
Now it’s five months later, and he’s a seller again. I have offered them – 24 plus the case and a woodcarving book – to the same two enthusiasts who replied last time, contacting them directly. Now at R4500 negotiable. Let’s see what happens first, death or taxes.
~~oo0oo~~
My email: Subject: “Woodwork carving tools” – 24 pfeil chisels
Hi Charles – If you’re still looking, the old man has come down drastically on his initial asking price! He’s now hoping someone will give him R4500 – and he’s even negotiable on that! If you – or anyone in your guild – are interested, contact me. – Cheers
PS: He turned 96 last month, so he’s thinking “I better be flexible if I’m ever going to sell!” PLUS: He has another set of carving chisels anyway!
PPS: He now has also thrown in a book on carving! (I haven’t seen the book). The ad below is for 12 new ones; my picture is his 24 in the case he made for them.
~~oo0oo~~
Done deal: I have R4500 in my bank account and the chisels have been whisked off to Somerset West by a courier company! I now await the regrets and the what-ifs. (Charles’ response was: Hi Peter – I will not argue that price. Please send bank details and pick up address and I will arrange for our courier to collect next week. – Thanks very much for contacting me).
When you’re trying with little success to rid your place of stuff and when the stuff fills a double garage and at least one room, with other rooms a bit crowded, you should not accumulate any more stuff, but I can explain.
There was a damsel in distress. I was on my horse. She asked ‘would you?’ What was a gallant knight errant to say? Or to do? There’s only one thing a knight can do in such circumstances:
– hie kom ek! –– knight in the background knows this is mistaken logic –
Actually quite chuffed with my ill-gotten gains. Check those armrests as drinks platforms. These are practical, serviceable, lekker chairs. Comfy. Thanks Petrea!
– the plastic furniture can go now . . –
I do suppose Louis knew Petrea was divesting them of assets while he was far away in Gurugram . . .
~~~oo0oo~~~
This acquisition is made worse as just the day before I was rolling my eyes at my Dad (96) who in one breath was stating his absolute determination – ‘this time’ – to get rid of stuff; and in the next breath was mulling over buying two new armchairs for the room he wants to add on to his house ‘for her (that’s Mom Mary) to sit in the sun as the room will have big windows.’
Right. Alone in a three bedroom house with Mom now in a home, he thinks what he needs is an extra room and two new chairs.
~~~oo0oo~~~
knight errant – a medieval knight who traveled around sponging and sometimes doing brave or dodgy things and helping people who were in trouble if they were of his class or ‘above’ – Cambridge, improved
knight – a man given a rank of honour by a British king or queen because of his special achievements, usually for said queen’s benefit. Entitled to be called “Sir / Meneer”
medieval – related to the Middle Ages (the period in European history from about 600 CE to 1500 CE)
special achievements – usually helping said king or queen purloin or keep ill-gotten gains
hie’ kom ek – here I come! Stand back!
~~~~
Footnote: Don’ wurry. When the last days of Elston arrived and when stoot came to shove, Louis whipped in and rescued ‘his’ furniture, including Louw’s huge recliner, and some other stuff besides.
Lemme confess that the first emotion when Sambucca the black labrador finally breathed her last was relief. The sadness and the memories came later. See, she grew a brain tumour and it grew and grew until it was about as big as her head.
When the bump first started we knew it was the end and I told the kids I would just support the old dear and only consider ending things if she was no longer comfortable, not eating, not happy and not interested in a ear rub or tummy tickle. I said I don’t want you shooting me just cos I’m inconvenient and so I’m not shooting Sambucca for our convenience. And anyway, she’s only 87yrs-old in human terms. Born in August 2006.
Well, she hung in and kept eating while getting thinner – which is a terminal sign in a labrador. I was vrot with worry and angst as she started getting smelly and the parasites attacked her – fleas, flies and ticks. A daily bath and shampoo helped but she’d disappear for hours and come back covered again, her hidden spots in our jungly garden obviously infested with the lil bastids. Yet she still kept getting up and walking towards me tail wagging as I got home each day, asking for a scratch. Then Friday she got weaker and Saturday and Sunday she didn’t eat. I added gravy and fat and she refused it. Refused a meal! I knew it was soon. Sunday night she suddenly yowled a bit and then went quiet, considerately choosing Aitch’s birthday as her last day so we can remember it more easily.
Sambucca – Tom’s picture 2018
It’s a bit worrying that she may have gone to the happy hunting grounds, as there’s no way she can hunt! She needs her food prepared and put in a stainless steel dish preferably covered in gravy. So we can only hope there’s an ala carte section in those hunting grounds.
I started digging her grave early Monday morning and three inches down I came to an astonishing and unexpected realisation: I am not cut out for physical labour! Can you believe it!? I sub-contracted the task and Tom and his mate Jose dug a goodly hole – after negotiating a financial reward – and Sambucca now joins her predecessor Bella, a hamster and a gerbil under the soil in our garden. Also Aitch and her Mom and Dad’s ashes.
Rest in peace ole Sambucca, you made twelve years and five months and were the best watchdog ever: you watched the monkeys stroll across the yard, you watched the hadedas glean the lawn, you watched our neighbourhood kids stream in and out of the gates whenever. You only barked when I got home to say Hey Welcome Back! About Time! Look What A Good Watchdog I Am! and by the way, When’s Supper?!
And that’s when you showed you had 12% greyhound blood, as you tore off round the trailer, gleefully thinking “He’s Home! He’s Home!”. Two laps when you were younger, one lap the last couple years.
Jess was going to call you Sweetie when you arrived, so we hastily canvassed friends for a less saccharine moniker. Terry Brauer from the Gramadoelas of Pretoria came up with Black Sambucca. Just right.
~~oo0oo~~
vrot – full of; actually fraught
Found our Sambucca (‘Jena out of Yellow Daisy by Kilgobbin Zinzan’) ‘s pedigree certificate here. I think Aitch had hidden it from me, Sam being our first expensive dog.
Finns are cool, pragmatic and undramatic. They do and say what they think is right and true, not what they think you think they ought to do and say. When they chill they chill the way they want to. Sometimes they Kalsarikänn – literally “drink at home alone and in your underwear.” Finnish writer Miska Rantanen has chosen Päntsdrunk as the anglicized word for it. He outlines the philosophy in his book titled: Pantsdrunk: Kalsarikanni: The Finnish Path to Relaxation.
Apparently Päntsdrunk is a philosophy and way of life that many Finns swear by. They’ve been doing it for ages. Sounds like a concept most of us sane people could get behind, no matter where in the world.
Päntsdrunk is not complicated: Be alone, drink alcohol and do whatever you please in the comfort of your home. That might mean binge-ing on Netflix, watching meaningless professional sport, staring mindlessly at the wall or your phone, blogging, thinking – or just getting some well-needed rest and recuperation. I’m guilty: Blogging indoors; or birding on the porch, accompanied by some cold white vino or some coolish box red is a favourite pastime.
Raksha Singh had a magnificent full Hindu wedding, and me and Jess were invited! I did a bit of homework as the only other one I’d attended was probably fifteen years ago:
Marriages are made in heaven. Once you are married, the bond is to last for seven lifetimes. Hindu weddings can be long, and various rituals may be held on different days. Every custom and practice in a wedding ceremony has deep philosophical and spiritual significance. Hindu traditions of marriage vary, but some form of them take place throughout the world.
Raksha and Pratish looked magnificent sitting on stage in the center of the mandap, or wedding altar. A fire burnt brightly in an altar in front of them. The bride’s brother gave her popcorn as a wish for his sister’s happy marriage. Each time, she offered the popcorn to the fire, an offering known as a homam. I kept thinking Don’t let her clothes catch fire! especially when they did The Seven Steps, getting nearer to the fire with each step!
The traditional white horse the groom would arrive on is more often a motorcar these days, and Pratish arrived in a very noble steed: A white Merc 6.3 AMG!
But Raksha trumped him! She arrived in a McLaren 650s – much to Tommy’s awe when I sent him this picture:
The food was delicious and plentiful and everyone was so welcoming and friendly. I had the lucky job of keeping five ladies company: Jess, Prenisha and Yandisa from work, Raksha’s colleagues; Prenisha in a Hindi outfit, Yandisa in a Xhosa outfit and Jess in a Dress! plus Seema and her daughter were also at our table. It really was an awesome day.
The sixth week of our honeymoon in 1988 was an eagerly awaited visit to good friend Larry Wingert. He’d been a Rotary exchange student to Harrismith in South Africa back in 1969-1970.
