St. James - my personal epiphany.

I'm ashamed to say, that in over 30 years of living in Cape Town, (each one a gift wrapped jewel, for I can think of no better city in which to live) I have never swum in the St. James tidal pool. My grateful thanks to the family we met in Hermanus who suggested this as a good place to swim for those like me, who love the sea but are nowadays rightly frightened by the omnipresent Great White sharks. We headed off, perhaps a little too late on Monday morning as there was already quite a turnout at 9 am, but we were immediately hooked. The pool is large enough to get some decent laps done, the water is a refreshing 18' I would guess, bracing but not freezing, and clear and clean. There is the bonus of swimming along the wall and feeling the ebb and flow of the tide and having the occasional wave break over you to give a real sea swimming experience without the fear of coming face to face with Jaws. (Tiny little lie, I remain ever afraid!)

Come Tuesday, and we were vroeg uit die vere as we say here (up early, literally, out of the feathers) and on the edge of the pool as the sun rose. The cleaners were already at work, and the beach and subway were spotless.  I took a deep breath and headed out to the wall with the sunrise reflecting in my path. It was surreal, and the swim a truly heavenly experience. Mr Suzy Q, not quite as keen a swimmer as I am, donned his holiday snorkel and goggles and surveyed the ocean bed, searching for lost treasure. He was rewarded with R2, and a flask of hot tea.

 I love swimming, specially in beautiful places like this, with the view of the mountains, the feel and smell of the ocean and the quaint brightly painted changing huts reflected in the pool. There is a wonderful camaraderie amongst swimmers (well, definitely not in my local gym where it is all so serious and I have been the victim of serious lane rage!) and we got chatting to the local early morning crowd. By day three we are one of the gang, and yes, it is definitely worth setting the alarm for 5.30 am to get there before the crowds and experience the sunrise. I foresee this will become difficult in winter, but we'll keep going as long as we can, as it really is the most divine way to start the day.

Our "new' democracy is now 17 years old, and whilst I decry the corruption and lack of constructive progress (do we really need to rename old roads at great expense when the man in the township needs running water and decent healthcare and schooling?) I did marvel at the fact that we were able to share this wonderful, natural free facility with people of all hues, who would previously have been denied access to the beach and pool. 


Fortunately those dark days are now long behind us, and I wish we could all move on...

Inner health, outer beauty.

Well now, I've really let the cat out of the bag mentioning that miniscule wedding dress, haven't I? I'll treat it as a slip of the tongue and an impossible dream, but that's not going to stop me trying to live a healthier life now and forever more. Unfortunately, along with awful weight gain, I also discovered during the last year that I had severe hypertension and cholestrol so high that I'm embarrassed to tell you. This came as a very rude shock, as I am fit,  exercise regularly and apart from my lifetime wine habit, thought I was eating pretty healthily. It seems that 52 is an age when so many changes happen in a woman's body that many things can, and often do, go awry, so check you numbers ladies. Whilst I was initially upset at having to start chronic medication as I've never taken anything stronger than a panado, I am now grateful that I have access to such lifesaving stuff and that my conditions are manageable.


I am also doing everything in my power to put the right types of food into Mr Suzy Q and myself, as he has similar health issues. So this month we have been eating a meat free diet, and using as much in the way of vegetable protein as possible, in order to start shedding those Christmas kilos and unclogging our arteries. We've been enjoying oats for breakfast, lovely fresh salads for lunch, using avocado pears as much as possible, and delicious vegetarian suppers. To this end I have been using our own Lynn Bedford Hall's Pick of the Bunch vegetarian cook book, and have been having so much fun trying her fabulous recipes. These are a far cry from the sack cloth and hessian veggy burger image.  We've had the Greek-style vegetables with beans and feta, stuffed brinjals ratatouille (a bit of effort but well worth it), simply splendid vegetable curry, and will try the  potato and lentil pie tonight. We are both feeling fabulous, and will hopefully look that way again soon.

Talking food, we have the most welcome addition to the southern suburbs in the way of The Food Lover's Market on Main Road, Retreat. It is a veritable food emporium, offering the freshest fruit and vegetables, spices and to be honest anything you can think of regarding food. Our best find is the buffalo mozzarella at R30 for two big balls, and the friendly assistant advised us to weigh them without the water to be sure to get good value for money. It's unbelievably delicious, no resemblance at all to the cellophane wrapped supermarket stuff, so there's no going back. As I'm growing my own tomatoes now (a big, abundant bush from one squashed tomato - so proud) we have tomato and mozzarella salads with basil and a shot glass of extra virgin olive oil as recommended by another great doyen of South African cookery, Marlene van der Westhuizen. Pizzas have also taken on a new dimension, as we top our homemade pizza dough with rounds of tomatoes, slices of mozzarella and bake away on the pizza stone I got for Christmas. To die for doll, or maybe from, as it seems that the cheese is not the healthiest around, but hopefully not as dangerous as camembert and the likes, and what's life without a weekend treat?

Which brings me to another point, as I must confess that I haven't quite managed to give up the evening glass or two of wine, but then, isn't January stressful enough anyway, without adding to your woes...?


Slightly guilty,


Suzy Q

Back to school

Yesterday I saw my baby, Miss Suzy Q No 2, heading off for her first day of matric, with yet another tear in my eye. (Yes, we had them very close together, so close that some people mistake them for twins.) It’s all passing too fast, but what a joy it is to see my youngest daughter striding off looking suddenly so grown up, tall and confident. I heard a lot of muttering about the cheeky Gr 8’s doing things she would never have dared to do or say to the matrics in her day, and great plans afoot for decorating the matric bathroom. Ah, status at last! She is in the buddy system, and has been assigned a Gr 8 girl to assist her in her transition to high school, and a pool party was held the day before school started to introduce them to the campus. (Just threw that in, it’s another word I detest, used in a school context, but it seems to have caught on, so I may as well learn to go with the flow.) A far cry from my first day at high school, when I was dropped at the gate of a new school where I knew nobody, as we had, yet again, changed neighbourhoods. It’s all for the better nowadays.

I’m also back at school, or class, so to speak, as from today, and I’m so excited to get my routine back and see my pals. It’s back on the mat at my weekly Pilates class (my middle aged indulgence dolls, ever trying, sadly in vain, to regain my pre-baby flat belly.) Whilst we do a lot of stretching and stuff, the best belly workouts we get are from laughing. It’s a great group of girls (bit of a euphemism that) and we know each other pretty well from hours lying next to each other on the mats, but we seldom, if ever see each other elsewhere. We’ve shared hours of exercise, laughs, life events and tips, restaurants and recipes with nary a bad moment between us. We show a polite, passing interest in each other's children, spouses or grandchildren, and never have I heard anyone say that they were raising them wrong or being unfair to their husbands. Maybe that’s the secret to good relationships, lying with your legs folded in the air and a bit of breathing space between you, too puffed out to deliver insults to each other, or too much at mat’s distance, unlike blood and other ties, to deliver hurtful commentary. For, if I were to be honest with you, the worst and most painful times in my life have been inflicted upon me by the people I love the most, and with whom I have entrusted my deepest emotions. Silly old me, if only I'd kept them all a mat's distance away...

While I can’t wait to catch up with the gang after the long hols, I’m wondering if there’s the faintest hope that with all these efforts, I might just squeeze back into my wedding dress for a BIG and exciting wedding anniversary coming up soon?

Watch this space…


Ever hopeful


Suzy Q

Plett Rage - a parent's survival guide.

Plett Rage - the two words destined to strike fear through the hearts of matric parents. Like a visit to the dentist, one buries these thoughts deep in the subconscious, hoping it will never happen. But the day dawns, and it does happen! Well, I can safely say, been there, done that, and it wasn't, fortunately, as horrific an experience as we had imagined.

Our normal, responsible, "goes to a few clubs, has an odd drink" 18 year old daughter was giddy with excitement at the prospect of going on this traditionally wild week away to celebrate the end of school. "Of course we're going to party like there's no tomorrow," she promised us, defending her jail break plans after years of being a good scholar. We couldn't argue with that, but worried ourselves sick at the prospect of hordes of teens, suddenly responsible for themselves alone in rented accomodation, with free access to booze and the opposite sex. Tales abounded of the quantities of the morning after pill which reached peak sales proportions in local pharmacies. It transpires that many of the locals felt the same way about the annual descent on their once sleepy hollow, and finding accomodation was easier said than done. Super rich kids were bragging about fabulous beach houses and penthouses apartments, but my daughter and a few close friends were happy with an old house close to town. They eschewed maternal offers of frozen meals to keep their strength up after all that hard partying, and packed lightly, though I definitely heard a few bottles clinking in her travel bag. They left sounding like a circus act. I had two rules: 1. Have fun and 2. Check in once a day at noon (figuring that it might be a good time to have recovered and before going on the next wild spree) and I promised not to phone or nag and let them get on with it. "Trust me Mom!"

Vasbyt for me.  They arrived safely by noon, courtesy of a kind and concerned Mr Suzy Q, who settled them in and deemed the house to be perfect for their needs.  This was a good idea, as it seems that some of the houses were not as promised, and one even had the male owner still resident while five girls were renting it. Early that evening I received a call, and my heart simultaneously lifted and sank. She was calling because she missed me! No, there was something wrong, as teens only sms and never waste airtime on calling parents. I answered cautiously, but could only hear something akin to the Minstrel's Carnival in the background. It was a handbag call - ha, now I'd hear what they were really up to! It ended with a rather sloshed sounding girl's voice, which I recognized, telling my daughter that, "I'm shhooo drunk guys I can't shhee shhraight..." And this at 7pm!!

Well, after a rather sleepless night I received my check in sms the following day, and they were having a ball. (No kidding!) And so it continued. I kept my word (and my secret - till now) and the week went well it seems. They met many old friends at the beach, played card games (shot glasses were involved) and partied into the small hours. However, it seems that by the third or fourth night, they were slinking back to base, somewhat tired of so much unadulterated revelry. For many, a week of trying to keep up the party pace was simply too much. They all survived, as did we, and a rite of passage passed mercifully without tragedy or trauma. Naturally, what happens on tour, stays on tour, so for me, ignorance is no doubt bliss.

Oh, I forgot to mention, when she came home hoarse and weary, my daughter proffered a lucky packet ring on her wedding finger. "I got married on Plett Rage Mom,"(at a communal wedding ceremony on the beach, to a virtual stranger.)


My new "son-in-law" is a super chap, and in their  post "honeymoon" newly domesticated bliss, the two of them cooked a delicious meal for us over the weekend AND cleaned up. He is a very welcome guest and new "addition" to our family.


Worse things have happened at sea, I guess...


A mildly relieved,


Suzy Q

A Rose Garden of note.

Time to let you in on some of my favourite haunts in Cape Town. Bearing in mind that I live in the Southern suburbs, this is generally my area of interest, though I have been known to venture further as needs and must dictate.

Chart Farm in Wynberg is both a visual and sensual feast for the soul. It is a rose garden so beautiful, with it's expanse across the Constantia Valley and breathtaking view of the Constantiaberg Mountains, that I can't visit it often enough. The roses are for the picking, so that the public may come and borrow buckets and secateurs and pick beautiful, fragrant blooms at R4 a stem. My best kept secret is that on Sundays there is a half price offer. Loathe as I am to spoil the fun for everyone, I'm not sure if anybody is reading this blog yet, so I doubt that there's likely to be a stampede. However, that is your little reward if you are kind enough to take the time to read my writing. I hope that you too will discover what it feels like to be the Lady of the Manor with armfuls of beautiful roses as you stroll along the rows of rosebushes. The garden is in full bloom at the moment and I have never seen it looking better. There are many varieties from which to choose, but Harmony, for it's name and nature, not to mention fragrance, remains my all time favourite.

Chart Farm also offers grape picking in summer, and has some of the freshest vegetables imaginable at it's farm stall. The spinach especially, which makes it's long journey of 25m from the field to the stall is the best available at only R8 per bunch. The stall also sells Klondyke cherries and a variety of jams. Compost, mulch and rosebushes are available at the garden shed. What I particularly like about these outlets is that they are good old fashioned farm stalls in the true sense of the word, nothing pretentious at all, in the way that farm stalls have been souvenir emporiums.

The tea garden, which shares the magnificent view over the valley, will no doubt tempt pickers and visitors. In my experience it serves passable fare, but I have found the management to be rather unpleasant, so we avoid stopping off there, which is a pity, as it would be fabulous to revive with a cuppa and a piece of cake and continue drinking in the view. But it's up to you....


Chart Farm, Klaassens Road, Wynberg
www.chartfarm.co.za
021-7610434
Open: 9am - 4.30pm daily (but be sure to get there before 4pm if you wish to pick flowers)