TODAY's PALETTE

(With love, to my husband)

The palette of today is yours -

YOURS alone!

Only YOU can paint its glorious colours.

Leave the dark ones prone.

Will you paint it with wonder & awe?

Reaching the full potential of your masterpiece?

Or, at the end of the day, will it lie unattended?

Dismal?

Don't let others destroy what is rightfully yours...

The palette of today is YOURS -

YOURS alone!

Caryl Moll

15 March 2012

TEA SETS GALORE

GREETINGS FROM SOUTH AFRICA!

I've recently been so inspired by Beth's blog - "BEYOND THE GARDEN GATE" - that I decided to put up a somewhat different post today. Beth often puts up beautiful posts and invites her cyber-guests to "have a cup of tea" with her in her beautiful garden. I always feel refreshed and inspired after reading Beth's blog.

Well today, I would like to share a "secret" with my own readers... 

I am a tea-set "hoarder". I didn't quite realise that I had so many until I recently took stock of all the tea-sets in my home.   I'm not sure exactly how many I have, but they've been put in my care by various people over the years. I must admit, they are really beautiful but not used nearly as much as they should be. 

My mother was a great "tea-party" person and she  made huge efforts for her guests. A freshly starched linen table cloth was carefully thrown over the garden table.  A small vase of flowers was added and then the tea was made.  I was often put in charge of pouring of the tea for the guests and would hand out the steaming cups to their recipients.  A sugar bowl with pretty coloured granules was also offered, followed by the day's cake or biscuit variety from the kitchen.  It was a cherished ritual. Unfortunately, my mom is no longer with us anymore, but her tea sets live on and so do the wonderful memories.  

I'd like to share some of them with you...

 Above: Hand-painted pottery tea set.

 Above: Royal Dalton: "Moss Rose"

 Above: Royal Dalton: "Cottage Garden"

 Above: A silver tea-set given to my mother as a 'Long-service' award.

Above: This tea-set was inherited from my late mother-in-law.

Queen Ann tea-set

 Above: A 'cake/biscuit' plate with 'Czechoslovakia' etched on the back (?)

Above: A 'tea strainer' that I gave my mother for her birthday.  

(Don't know who made it.)

 Above: My personal 'large' tea cup given to me by my husband

(A real favourite - both the hubby AND the cup that is, lol!)

 Above: Arzberg white morning tea set.

 Above: ???? no idea where they came from, but VERY old!!!

Any suggestions?

 Above: Also an Arzberg morning tea set

 Above: Our family's biscuit barrel.

Make???

 Above: Milk jug: British heritage collection

 Above: Plate and vase: 'The Claypit' (Australia).  Handpainted

 Above: Hand-painted cake plate: South African protea

 Above: Cake plate: South African antelope

Above: 50th Wedding anniversay

(Yes, my parents were married for 50 years1)

---xXx---

BUT ...the biggest secret of all is that I don't really use these tea-sets much.  

In our fast modern life-style, our family generally reaches for the old faithful coffee mugs in the cupboard.  How times have changed. 

But admittedly, both have merit.

:)

Sending lotsaluv to you all

Caryl

THE NURTURING OF MY SOUL

GREETINGS FROM SOUTH AFRICA!
MAXMOM here...

Somewhere in the vast landscape of the Limpopo Valley lies a small, derelict farm. It is no longer productive and I presume it's now covered with African bush and scrubland. It's the place where I grew up; where my memories were formed and my character shaped. It's also a place that is etched deep into my soul from my childhood in the 1960's. But I've not visited it for years.


 I miss those days of  youthful freedom; where I waltzed along the abundant rows of mealies that towered high above my head, and ran my hand along their sticky foliage; where I strolled barefoot, along the slope of 'our' mountain and took in the distant views; where I absorbed the african heat and the cackles of edgy guinea-fowl. I so miss the solitude of the bush, the call of the lourie and the drizzle of perspiration down my back.  I miss the smell of the potatoe tree in the evening as the sun was setting, and the songs of the labourers as they warily made their way along the paths towards their homes. I miss my secret sanctuary at the old waterfall and the hype of the farm kitchen on my return.  


Even the distinct sounds and smells of approaching veld fires is something I'll not forget.  And the bucketing rain, which poured down off our tinned roof and left troughs in the sand next to the walls.  I miss the dogs, the snakes, the birds, the scorpions, antlions and cicadas, the cattle and the wild animals of the bush.  I hanker to ride up the old farm road with its 59 erosion bumps that led to a welcoming cup of tea at the old farm house.

In my dreams, I often hear the sounds of the bats as they scurried along the rafters of the old rondavel, the hollow calls of the vervet monkeys as they hovered in the treetops surrounding our orchard. One slip from the watchful eyes of the orchard guard would result in the desication of most of my dad's pawpaw harvest. I remember his calls of frustration as he hurried to get his rifle.

 It was a time of innocence and protection.  
It was my shield from the 'real' world and a place where I could dream.  

I remember the stunning shades of the 'flame-lily' tree against bright blue skies.  And the stars of the nightime sky - washed across the heavens: The Southern Cross, the Milky way and the beauty of Saturn and Venus, as explained to me by my enthusiastic father.  
I remember my swing, lovingly constructed in the branches of that flame-lily tree, and how high I flew with the wind in my hair.  And the bamboo tree, with its itchy fronds and sanctuary for snakes.  

 I remember Sunday picnics at the Debegeni waterfall and sitting on an old blanket, adjacent to the chilly pond, to unpack our sandwiches.  It was a good 45 minutes drive from our house and I remember my building excitement as I fiddled with my swimming costume in the hope of swimming under the curtain. Most of all, I remember the waterfall's melody as it shot spray our way and drowned out our voices. 
 And the historical baobab, which my father kept an eye out on throughout his life...
We visited it often, drank tea under its canopy, marvelled at is wide berth and listened to stories of its history while green pigeons cooed in the thick overhead branches.

It's been years since I visited the Lowveld.  I suspect much has changed, but my memories will live on forever.


My heart is set in concrete in this place where my soul was nurtured...


Here is a short video of  'our' farm from when I last visited it in 1998. I've played 'Moonlight Sonata' to accompany it.  It was my father's favourite piece of piano music.  By the time of his death, his piano repertoire had diminished to only this piece, but he played it beautifully...to the end of his days.

Sending lotsaluv
MAXMOM IN SOUTH AFRICA