Thanksgiving.

So obviously we don't get the day off here in South Africa. My Favourite American Family celebrated with a dinner this evening. My - what a feast!

 

After being on set since 4h30 this morn, I was so excited to see the turkey that I lost focus. But that little girl's eye says it all. 

The friends were there in all their finery.

We ate and we drank and we ate some more. My very first taste of pumpkin pie. I say hmmmm and lick my lips.

So thanks to the Wampanoag people, thanks for rice and whiskey and music and airplanes. Thanks to that tearing mad woman who nearly ran me over the other day in Kloof Street. She made me realise how lucky I am to be here. Thanks to the Mother and the Father and the Daughter and the Visiting Cousin and all of the other great cooks in the world.

And good night to you lovely people.

A weekend in the week.

There's something so appealing about playing hooky... leaving the mad rush of town on a wednesday morning and coming back on a friday evening. We went to Arniston - the Production Designer, the Architect, his Dog and I.
 

 On the drive there, I thought about the previous time I'd been there. It was the Architect's birthday and George J. cooked a suckling pig on a mechanized spit, over a huge fire. It took hours and was exciting in a primal kind of way. I can't remember exactly what was in the stuffing - apple, prune, rosemary, ginger? It was grand.

This time we stopped in Bredasdorp for provisions. The new Checkers has some exotic fare: grapples ( looks like an apple, smells like fanta grape.) Also some very misshapen peaches from Micronesia. (really Mr O'Hara? this is what the people want in the platteland?)
But alas, no cumin seeds. When I asked the lady packing the shelves she said to me: "dis 'n teer puntjie, mevrou." (that's a sore point madam) The lamb and lentil soup was pretty good nonetheless.

We made fires. We laughed a lot. Someone did some drawings. We made big plans.

We went for a walk and had a glass of wine on the grass in front of Willeen's.
 

 Went to see the catch of the day in the harbour.
 

 Windswept walks along the cliffs of Waenhuiskrans.
 

 and I lost my heart to the Collie.
 

Reservoir days. And dogs.

 
I've been waiting for a quiet day to take pictures at the reservoir. Today is that perfect Cape Town day, with no ripples on the water. Even the smog looks picturesque. At this time of year there is always a pair of goose parents and their brood. Father Goose sits up high making a ruckus when you run past. 

I go at different times of the day and it's never crowded. I see girls with i-Pods, guys with long loping strides and last week I did a few laps with a charming bunch of Spaniards. There's a very old man who shuffles around a few times. He wears a blue track suit and knitted hat, very flash nikes and he always says "good morning, lovely day!", then he stands under the palms and does his calisthenics.
 

 The East-African guards told me today that taking pictures is "not official", so I had to shoot from the hip. Luckily I have lots of experience from all my years of taking photos of props in shops that don't allow it.

On my way back home, I pass a house that belongs to two of my favourite dogs. They are always guarding the stoep and when the vacuum cleaner is being used indoors, dog on the left does a perfect 'howling at the moon' stance and yodels. I kid you not. Today the gate was open and they came out to greet me with much shyness and tail-wagging.
 

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.