It's all real.

Sometime last week I sent this image to my friend Elsibe, because when I look at it, I think of her.

Renée Perle photographed by Jacques-Henri Lartigue,1931.

It's those dark eyes and the sense of occasion. I try to imagine what this woman's day must have been like. Her lips painted with such precision. What on earth did one eat for breakfast in Paris in 1931?

Even living in the same city, even in the same profession, we have such unique lives. They are all real - a million different universes.

I thought of you on Wednesday. I was out at the Stellenbosch studios bright and early. About two years ago, I worked on a film about a U-boat, set in the forties. Back then we packed a container full of props and dressing and it's been standing in a corner of the lot. 

While I waited for the truck, a herd of goats passed by on the other side of the fence. Two Pied Crows wheeled overhead, flying very low. The truck came. The key didn't fit. The set builders from next door had to grind the locks off for us. Sparks flew.

So strange opening this time capsule. Bits and pieces of submarine, beautifully painted. Old dials and mattresses and sheets. A crate full of documents. And in the doorway, a letter on the floor. Stamped with an eagle crest, it starts: Guten Tag, Mein Führer.

On a koppie in the distance they are building a Medieval Village for someone else's fantasy. I spoke to one of the scenic painters, her clothes stiff with paint spatters. Then I drove back to town, listening to Ethiopian jazz.

Seven Rand.

Walk in peace little doglet.

We'll miss you very much, but I know there's a cloud up there with your name on it.

On lambs, lentils and limes.

Last Friday night saw the rising of a Full Buck Moon. It's the time of the year when the new antlers of buck deer push out of their foreheads in coatings of velvety fur. I should have cooked a hearty venison stew, but here in the south it's unseasonably warm. So with a nod to Winter, I cooked lamb and lentil soup and then after that, with another nod to a Winter that isn't, and all of these balmy days - a key lime pie.

Recipes over at my food column at H triple S.

As the years flash by, I realize over and over again how lucky I am to have friends that span decades. Here's to them, and to many more meals around my table.

The Owl and the Pussycat.

Last November I was asked to put together a special hamper for a photographer. Karl Lilje was that man. Since then, we've become cyber-friends and I met him in person last night at his exhibition. (This seems to be a recurring theme, set in motion on New Year's day...)

It was a novelty indeed to have someone whose work I admire a great deal tell me that he's a fan of my writing. It made me blush and gaze at my shoes. Thanks Karl.

The Owl and the Pussycat

I picked you a rose...

These were my favourite images. I love the ocean floor and I love her slick sou'wester evening dress. Karl later likened his deconstructed flower images to the way he photographs his subjects. Finding hidden layers. It's obvious that there is a great rapport between artist and model.

The night was made all the more magical by a tropical storm. I drove home through the heat and big plopping drops of rain, with bright flashes of lightning over the bay.

Taking the word for a walk.

My friend Ming hosted a creative writing workshop yesterday at the Castle of Good Hope. Built between 1666 and 1679, surprisingly still there. I look at photos of old Cape Town and become so despondent at what we've lost. Don't get me started on the pine tree plantings at the Parade.

I love this castle. I've seen the ins and outs of it whilst shooting there, it's hosted some fantastic exhibitions and events, drinks up on the battlements... 

The workshop was held in one of the resident artists' studios on the far side. What a satisfying way to spend a saturday morning.

Renier sang for us on our tea break. We ate chocolate cake. I walked over to visit my favourite spot - the Dolphin Pool.

 
We wrote a poem using a different formula. 

sometimes the hopes are way too big for the pin
an image the face is cut in two
that reflection in the mirror it moves me
solidity veiled by transparency
the most quiet place I know is under the water
this is what I'm trying to say
a deep droning
I hear
like swimming in temperate seas
bursting with life
best when they're on their way out
inside I dream of green arrows and summer
sometimes the hopes are too big for the pin
I hear them saying
outside it waits. it waits

And cut out the tenth word to make something new.

For information regarding future workshops, contact Elsibe via her website.

Birthdays & Love Affairs

This from Fraulein M: "Lili, I want you to put this recipe on your faceblog!"

Laughter and the clinking of glasses and spoons against bowls. There's something immensely satisfying about feeding a bunch of hungry friends.  My love affair with food will certainly never end.
 

 Felt a little delicate the next morning. Wandered through the National Gallery with the Better Halves. They were married in the Gallery last year, next to the painting of the horses. I think their love affair is rather grand.
 

He inspects...

From Pierneef to Gugulective. An outstanding collection of South African art and photography from 1910-2010. Lovely till the batteries all ran out. How do girls wear heels every day? The red boots are nice but definitely not made for walking. Though they did get me a compliment from a stranger. Thanks guy, you made me smile.
 

 I was looking forward to dinner at Ginja - I wanted them to blind me with science. But they have closed. Again. So to The Wooden Shoe we went. Still the same, after all these years! Veal cooked with brandy, cream and mushrooms, served with pan-fried spätzle. Hmmm.
 

 There's much to be said for being taken out to dinner by someone who knows you inside out. Our love affair is over and we've seen the best and the worst and all of the in between but we still have time for each other and probably always will.

Thanks to The Lip. 

❤

The Wooden Shoe. St John's Rd, Sea Point. 021 439 4435

Home Boy Makes Good.

At the exhibition opening last night, there were lovely paintings to look at, interesting furniture, good snacks and copious amounts of wine, many familiar faces and the spinning of yarns. I was there for hours, but this is the only photo I took:
 

 As one of her students told her earlier in the day: "Ma'am, your shoes are the bomb!"

Shoes by Errol Arendz.

City Mouse visits Country House

The Better Halves picked me up and whisked me away to the misty mountains of Suurbraak. Their house is the perfect mix of old and new. There's an Esse stove just like my granny used to have:
 

 The gas spectacular:
 

 As well as an open hearth in the corner, for geselligheid and the odd indoor braai. Our party of six included the canine contingent: Sir Max and Lady Seven I've known since they were kids, but the new guy was a wild card. I saw him eyeing me as I piled up a second plate of supper. (Lady who are you eating all the fillet steak like some polite kind of wolf?)
 

  At night I slept under striped linen and a pile of fluffy quilts. It felt like the story of the princess and the pea, but in reverse. (The pea in question being a dog named Jean, who finally gave me the nod.)
 

 I got up at six and stood on the stoep, looking at the mountains. A long-forgotten fragment of poetry came to mind: as the mist leaves no scar on the dark green hill...

The breeze was warm and promised something about summer coming and feeling different then.
 

 Sheep grazing in the cemetery. Farm gates. Mustard mashed potatoes. Apple tart and cream. Coffee in bed. Dog's wet nose. Snowdrops. Demented roosters with no grasp of day or night. But the best thing of all: seeing the way these two people appreciate each other. Kudos.