Betty’s and baboons

One of the many things to like about Betty’s Bay is my mother’s garden. She’s understandably happy about this young King Protea (cynaroides).

Then there’s the rest of the fynbos, the soft light, the fresh salty air, wood fires to warm us at night, soccer on the flat screen, views like this one (taken from the loft) …

Just posting this picture reminds me of a story. A couple build their dream house at the coast and then invite their neighbours to come and admire the view. “Isn’t that just the most stunning view?” they ask proudly.
“Yes certainly,” says the neighbour. “It’s gorgeous. I know it very well. In fact, it used to be mine.”

I must tell you briefly about our encounter with a family of baboons in the nature reserve this past weekend. It was sobering and calming and disturbing at the same time. L and I had been to see the waterfall at Disa Kloof and we were walking back at dusk with hardly anyone around. Just as we crossed the concrete bridge a family of baboons came towards us, effectively blocking the path. Not wanting to provoke them, we backed up over the bridge to let them past. Which they did, the mother carrying a baby on her back and showing good coordination to swing over the bridge into a tree to get out of our way. The male baboon had a cut on his bum and looked a bit worse for the wear. I was worried that he might take us on and felt a bit pathetic raising my thin Wynberg Girls High umbrella (called the toothpick) as a warning to him. He swung into the trees after the mom and the other kids and that left the youngster (maybe a teenager, quite mangy) sitting there, calm as you like on the bridge, looking at us with a mix of what seemed like curiosity, amusement, affection or hunger perhaps. I felt a bit mean with my toothpick raised like a short-stabbing assegaai in case of trouble. It made me wish to have a more peaceful relationship with baboons and I felt sad that baboons and humans generally have quite a difficult relationship in Cape Town. We chase them away from our houses where they try to scavenge what they can. People shout at them and chase them with sticks and then act quite suprised if they show aggression in return. Just outside Simonstown they can be a real pest, climbing into cars and stealing bags from unsuspecting women. The lure of easy food has become ingrained now for them and it’s hardly possible to imagine that they’ll just return to the mountains and live off the land anymore.

I’ll be back next week with a book review for a change. Not sure what it is yet, either a memoir by a former psychology lecturer of mine or the rest of Positivity by Barbara Fredrickson.

As for the World Cup, my prediction for the final is Brazil to meet Spain on July 11th. Should be tense (and fun).

Baby A and bye-bye Bafana

1. Welcome to Baby A! L’s sister-in-law gave birth to a bouncing baby girl at 00:01 on Saturday morning and L already seems to be falling in love with her. My comment to the tired but obviously relieved and happy parents, after “she’s beautiful”, was to wonder at the fact that newborns come into the world with hair and fingernails. The nurses put on mittens to prevent her from scratching herself and then the security guard made sure that we didn’t steal baby A by restricting the visitors to three at a time. Later, L and I were walking through the Waterfront and suddenly I heard a sharp intake of break from next to me as L caught sight of some pink booties which just had to be snapped up as part of the welcoming gifts. I’ll admit that I thought they were cute but I was quite amused at the speed with which L appeared to bond with them. It’s as if part of herself was immediately invested in these tiny items of baby apparel.

2. There’s not much to be said about patients who don’t show up for their appointments and don’t call to cancel but I feel that I want to say something anyway. Firstly, they always leave with me a bit of a dilemma: do I call them or don’t I? If I was in private practice I would definitely call but when you’re working for the government we both know that they can probably reschedule at some point. Maybe he just didn’t feel like it today since it’s cold and rainy. Maybe he’ll call me tomorrow and say he forgot. But it does make me wonder about his suitability for therapy. After two no-shows, I start to think that he’s not really cut out for the responsibility that therapy involves.

3. I realised for the umpteenth time today that I’m just not getting round to reading all 79 feeds on my blog-reader. But who to cut and who to leave in? And on what basis do you cut? As a rule of thumb, if someone has 200 posts that I haven’t read then I should probably stop deluding myself that I will get round to reading them soon. But what if I’m the last remaining subscriber? How could I be so cruel? Well, the fact that a blog has one subscriber doesn’t mean that it only has one reader since many readers don’t use blog-readers anyway. And also, blogging is as much for the blogger’s benefit as it is for the readers so I really shouldn’t worry so much. But I know I’ll probably get distracted by the blogs themselves and leave most of them in.

4. While on the subject of not making the cut, it’s sad to see South Africa crash out of the World Cup after only three games and especially after spending so much money to host the whole thing in the first place. But Bafana Bafana are clearly not quite up to the standard required at this level and I suppose there’s no shame in acknowledging that. I still think it’s ridiculous that FIFA doesn’t make provision for TV replays but all the TV replays in the world probably wouldn’t help Bafana Bafana (literally the boys, the boys) to make it to the knockout stages. And having watched England rather tamely draw with Algeria on Friday night, I’m a little concerned about their prospects as well. But at least I got a few photos out of the game.

Notice how their open mouths predict the score (0-0)

World Cup Fever

On Friday night I was lucky enough (thanks to my brother) to attend the France vs Uruguay World Cup match at the new Cape Town stadium. What a beautiful stadium it is too. The vuvuzelas were LOUD and quite annoying but the atmosphere was good and it was an amazing experience.

Unfortunately there were no goals in the match but I saw enough of Diego Forlan (the main Uruguayan striker) to fear for South Africa’s chances on Weds night. And the French were classy as always and very assured on the ball. Bafana Bafana will have to play out of their skins I fear to progress to the next round.

People were dressed in their national shirts and flags and my brother had a miner’s helmet cut out into football-fan-like shapes. It was a bit like being at a rock concert without the music. In place of the music we had the angry buzzing of a swarm of vuvuzelas but were armed with earplugs and so our hearing probably survived unscathed. Journalists have been having fun with South Africa’s latest cultural weapon, one wag changing the slogan of the national broadcaster from “Feel it! It’s here” to “Hear it! It’s deafening.” I see the Dutch also have their own version called the “HoorNichtsMeer“. As someone who is easily startled by loud noises, I find the vuvuzela a bit of a trial but it also adds to the general sense of excitement surrounding these games.

The French fan in the middle to the left here came prepared with industry-strength ear protection and he also added a blue beret and a straggly beard. His compatriot two seats down has a blue, white and red Mohawk. I had to smile at the couple dressed in the Irish flag who came to register their disapproval at France’s progress to the finals based on Thierry Henry’s outrageous double hand-ball.

It’s hard to believe that this will all be over in just under four weeks. I hope for the Socceroos’ sake that the rest of their World Cup is better than last night’s game. Germany were scarily efficient in disposing of them 4-0. Spain are still the favourites to win it but you can’t rule out Brazil. Should be interesting to see how it develops.

On the book front I’ve been reading Philip Pullman and, well, Philip Pullman. I loved Northern Lights and The Subtle Knife but will have to wait a while to get hold of the third in the series, The Amber Spyglass. I’ll think of something profound to say about those two while I enjoy the rest of the soccer.

For now though, it’s great to be a South African and to forget about our national problems for a while. On July 12th we’ll start to worry about corruption and crime and poor service-delivery. For now, it’s about uniting behind the boys in Yellow. If only they can score another goal like Siphiwe Tshabala’s cracker on Friday.

Music Monday: Flightless Bird, American Mouth*

Flightless Bird, American Mouth
(Sam Beam, aka Iron and Wine)

I was a quick wet boy, diving too deep for coins
All of your street light eyes wide on my plastic toys
Then when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair
Stole me a dog-eared map and called for you everywhere

Have I found you
Flightless bird, jealous, weeping or lost you, american mouth
Big pill looming

Now I’m a fat house cat
Nursing my sore blunt tongue
Watching the warm poison rats curl through the wide fence cracks
Pissing on magazine photos
Those fishing lures thrown in the cold
And clean blood of Christ mountain stream

Have I found you
Flightless bird, grounded, bleeding or lost you, american mouth
Big pill stuck going down

I first heard this song, by the ‘famously uncommunicative’ singer-songwriter Sam Beam, also known as Iron and Wine, in a mix sent by my friend C. Wow, I thought, what a hauntingly beautiful song. I wish my musical tastes were as cool as C’s. I was also wondering if Dire Straits and U2 were now considered bland and boring as she seemed to imply that they were.

And then last night L and I were watching Twilight, since it was on TV and we wanted to see what the fuss was all about, and this song was the backing for the prom scene between Edward and Bella. (I still don’t really know what all the fuss is about with Twilight, apart from the fact that vampires are interesting in an angsty love and death kind of way.)

But this is the sort of song that makes me wish I was a high school English teacher again since I would play this song to my class and ask them to write some free-writing based on the lyrics and their associations.

My own free associations would start something like this:

Image: Quick wet boy diving too deep for coins.
Associations: Tim Winton’s Breath. Boys diving, danger. How deep is too deep? What about going too deep in therapy? Or in a relationship? Those coins are treasure. Remember how I loved those as a boy.

Image: … cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair
Associations: It’s always the grown-ups who want to stop the kids from having fun. Strict parents, playful children. And then the ‘long baby hair’ is a welcome contrast after the short military hair that I’m used to. I had a client today with a clipped military moustache. His manner was a bit clipped and controlled too. But the long, flowing hair. Hippies. Flower-power. Innocence. Not conforming to the strict world of cop adults.

Image: Have I found you, flightless bird
Associations: That’s such an ambiguous image. (I wonder if they could make an auditory projective test like the TAT?) Is the flightless bird content to be caught? Scared? Wounded? I can just picture the fat house cat so happy with its flightless bird. Reminds me of my parents’ cat catching mice and lizards. She doesn’t want to kill them, I don’t think, it’s just in her nature to catch little creatures and play with them. Torment them I suppose.

And then I go and look up Sam Beam and Iron and Wine and find on Wikipedia:

“Before the release of the first Iron & Wine album, Beam’s main source of income was as a professor of film and cinematography at the University of Miami and Miami International University of Art & Design.”

And then this:

“Flightless Bird, American Mouth” was used in the film Twilight. The song was specifically chosen for the film’s prom scene by Kristen Stewart, the female lead

Andy Gill in The Independent on Sam Beam:

“At times, it’s like he’s tapping into the same dark, mythopoetic imagery that informed the great country bluesmen, refracting love, death, faith and bleak destiny through a fevered dreamscape haunted by angels and demons; but confronting them not with the wracked, careworn voice of a Robert Johnson or Charley Patton, but rather the soft, emollient tone of a Nick Drake …”

* The YouTube clip is by blue90714