"This is unbelievable" - a cappuccino with Martie, Helbronner, Italy.

My early morning walk with Martie today got me thinking about the many special times we have shared, from young women in love, to young mothers raising our children and to our many travel experiences over the decades. Our day together in Chamonix in the August of 1987 is still a highlight, one of those rare perfect days.

I sent this Post Card from Chamonix in France to the family in Howick. It has the stamp from Helbronner on the Italian side of the French Alps and at 3428m, it was the highest point of our cable car ride. Mont Blanc (4807m) dominated this white wonderland as did the black needle like peaks, 'Aiguille du Midi'. It was the middle of summer in the valley and so cold at the top, we ordered cappuccino's and watched people ski.

Martie and baby Jess were visiting us in France and we had a action packed, remarkable holiday together. As Fred said, he had two wives and three children under three for a few weeks!

I remember the cable ride so clearly, the first time I had seen glaciers and glacial features, as I wrote, 'heaven for a geography lesson'. My letter to Mom once I was back home to Marly-le-Roi is still full of the wonder I felt.  Shawni was so dear, in her best 3 year old voice, she said "This is unbelievable."

We were all in awe of the scenery. Fred and I still use this expression when we are loving what we are seeing!

From my photo album: "Start of one of the most exciting days we have ever had"

One of my foodie highlights came from Chamonix too, Raclette, it is a semi-firm cow's milk cheese which is melted, served over boiled new potatoes with lots of ground black pepper, accompanied by small pickled onions and gherkins. The name comes from the French verb "racler", to scrape, because of the way the melted cheese is scraped off the block.

It has been far too long since I did a raclette evening so I think it is time for the Kersten's and Krone's to reminisce over this rather yummy melted cheese delight.

Life from the bed

Inel is spring cleaning at home in Cowra, Australia and found these two poignant journal entries.

The first entry is from the 24th of July 1998, she is writing while at the Westville Pavillion in Durban, having been to see Dad at St. Augustine's hospital; the second entry, is a year later, and Dad was driving to Kokstad to see her after the birth of Joss.

She and Guy have just been out to South Africa to see fathers' and family. And her visit to Dad in Amanzimtoti, is a visit to his bedside as she did 17 years ago.

I am so struck by these circles of life.

Inel's pen sketch of Dad in his hospital bed, day 7 after his massive stroke aged 69, already shows his weak right arm, bent at the elbow, passively at his side. His head supported by multiple cushions and the sheet crumpled at his waist.

It could be a sketch of him now, the stroke coming back to haunt him, leaving him immobile, his right side completely seized. The moustache is gone though as is the bulk around his chest and upper arms.

He did recover so well from this stroke, as can be seen from Inel's quick note that he is 90% back to normal. His 70th birthday celebrations were at Quantani on the Sterkfontein Dam and he surprised us all by walking the steep hill behind the chalets. He had so many wonderful independent years in his 5th floor apartment with its glorious views, he played really good bridge, he travelled extensively, spending special moments with us all while watching his family grow.

'It is now 6pm, he is settled watching cricket, SA vs England.'  Sport on TV is still a part of Dad's life. The remote lies on his bed, it is in easy reach of his good hand and he is able to keep an eye on the world.

Inel wrote 'he is in good spirits', and he still is after all he has experienced. He can still be driven crazy though by the noise, the staff and his fellow ward partners.

Ah, the circle of life.

Inel and Guy with Dad, looking delighted to see them both.

PostScript:

For Dad:

'...we cannot sift our histories alone. Somehow they must exist beyond ourselves.'

Extract: The Keeper.
Marguerite Poland

All about the Persian Carpets

My Kerman Afshar Persian Carpet, a special inheritance

Doing the Namaqualand 301km Ultra Walk dominated this last month but this morning I felt the pull of my Life in the Letters blogging.

It is a cool, overcast morning at the Loft. I had taken out my Dad's old, slightly rusty Document Folder and discussed it with Inel, it was still lying on the floor so I dipped into the contents over coffee.

My sisters and I have left the Document Folder here as it contains Dad's Will.

One of the folders got me excited, an envelop with Mom's writing, her record of purchasing her Persians!

And she loved her Persian Carpets.

The envelop has the original invoice and Certificate from Louis de Leeuw, of 147 Commisioner Street in Johannesburg, "The Most Respected Name in Persian Carpets"

The date is the 16th February 1971, over 40 years ago.

The folks had bought four persians. A small and large Mori Bokhara, a Baby Abadeh and an Afshar.

I immediately got sleuthing as I know nothing about Persians. Googling each of the carpet names I worked out that I have inherited the Kerman Afshar carpet.

I remember when I had it cleaned and refringed that the Persian Carpet dealer had remarked that it was a good quality wool carpet.

It is a beauty, it has pride of place here at the Loft and it defines the seating for TV watching. I particularly love the blue tones of the carpet and the warmth it creates in this cool, minimalist space.

How wonderful that Mom's careful record keeping has created such excitement and pleasure for me, I see my carpet with new and appreciative eyes this morning.

PostScript: 

'Around the city of Kerman in the southeast of Iran reside the semi nomads from the Afshar tribe. For hundreds of years these nomads lived in the northwest of Iran, but a part of the tribe were compulsorily transferred to today's area, where carpet manufacturing became an important branch of business.

The carpets have red and blue colour tones and mostly geometrical patterns.'

Reading Helen Macdonald on photographs

I have just finished reading the remarkable book "H is for Hawk" by Helen Macdonald.  

In the book she writes about the death of her father who was a photographer. I was so struck by her grappling with the question: How you learn what you are. It gave me real insight into why this project has been so important to me.

Excerpt from 'H is for Hawk':

'All those thousands upon thousands of photographs my father had taken. Think of them instead. Each one a record, a testament, a bulwark against forgetting, against nothingness, against death. Look this happened. A thing happened, and now it will never unhappen. Here it is, in the photograph...'

I am understanding how this passion of mine to both record and understand the story of our families through the letters they wrote, through their words and also through the photos that were taken, is the bulwark against forgetting and the witnessing that a thing happened and now will never unhappen.

Helen reading from H is for Hawk

Postscript: 

I went to a Jenny & Co book event where she hosted and chatted to Helen Macdonald.

I enjoyed both the brief chat with Helen, she showed me a photo of her goshawk, Mabel on her iPhone. She speaks as well as she writes, is natural and almost bemused and surprised by the huge success of her book.

Forget Beatrix Potter, this was the favourite children's book

"The Cow who Fell in the Canal (195o) is a charming story set in the countryside of Holland.  Phyllis Krasilovsky tells the story of Hendrika the cow, who although she loves her owner Mr. Hofstra, she longs to visit Amsterdam where Mr. Hofstra sells her milk at the market.  If Krasilovsky's text isn't humorous enough, Peter Spier's intricate illustrations lend further description."

Books have always been special to me and reading a joy in my life. It started very early too. 

My grandfather, Pa van der Veen, Mom's Dad, made me a wrought-iron bookshelf when I was a little girl. Dad hung it in my bedroom in Gillespie Street, Vanderbijlpark and I would play 'library, library' with my neighbour Ilse Tamsen. 

I had a wonderful collection of books, Beatrix Potter and all the Enid Blyton series like Famous Five and Secret Seven. Some of these books survived the years and Shawni has them.

The bookcase is still one of my treasures. It was used for Shawni and Barry's books and is now in it's next reincarnation as the bookshelf in my studio.

It is no surprise to me to read my letter to Mom about buying books for Shawni. "The Cow who fell in the Canal" about Hendrika the cow enthralled Shawni after her visit to Holland in the summer of 1987, she 'could relate to the windmills, flower fields etc, so when we got to the farm she could not contain her excitement about meeting Mr Hofstra, the owner of Hendrika!' 

Fred and I were just as enthralled with "The Cow who fell in the Canal". This fading photo in my album from the August 1987, of the Magere Brug across the Amstel River in Amsterdam is titled, 'Hendrika's Bridge'.

When we get to Wellington later in the year to visit Shawni and Criag I am going to dig out her book and reread it. It is a gem.

The Magere Bridge over the Amstel that Fred and I called 'Hendrika's Bridge'

De familie Kersten in Volendam

My Postcard from Volendam to my parents in Howick was sent while on holiday in Holland during the August of 1987. We took Fred's mother with us and spent some special times with our Dutch relatives, particularly Oom Piet and Tante Grada. It was 5 years since we had last visited and we now had two little ones with us.

We did all the things you are meant to do while in Volendam; bought clogs for Shawni, had a tourist photo taken in traditional costume, ate all the treats like poffertjes, croquettes, bought cheese, Indonesian specialities and 'zoute drop', stopped at windmills and dikes and as I can see from my card, my patience was wearing thin having my mother-in-law for a months visit in France.

I wonder if I thanked Tante Grada enough for her kindness, hospitality and looking after Shawni and Barry for a day, so Fred and I could explore Amsterdam.

In my next letter to Mom, I wrote that we 'walked and walked', had chips and mayonnaise along the way, pottered along the canals of Amsterdam, climbed the stairs of the Westerkerk with its wonderful views across the city and explored the Jordaan where Fred was born and lived before emigrating to Rhodesia. We stopped at a 'brown cafe' to relax with drinks and cheese, apparently these pubs are called brown cafes because of the wood panelling which dominates the decor. I felt a bit awkward that I shared with Mom our visit to 'a rather unique museum i.e. sex museum.' Definite over share.

If I did not, thank you Tante Grada and I will ask Peter to pass on my gratitude.

Family time in Volendam with Oom Piet and Tante Grada, August 1987

The poster, the cutout and Cabaret at Theatre Mogador

I was wondering what I had done for my birthday while living in Paris during the mid-eighties.

It would have been the middle of summer in France with long, hot days, so different to here in Johannesburg at the moment. This last birthday has coincided with a particularly cold period and I have been curled up under quilts. 

So I found this letter, we went to the Theatre Mogador, to see 'Cabaret' for my birthday.

I seemed to have loved my evening out, the aperitifs, the live show and 'a famous Parisien "coupe", an enormous bowl of different flavoured ice-creams, chocolate mousse, cream and meringue with a nougat sauce - delicious!" 


Sounds wonderfully decadent and I would so enjoy a replay of this birthday from 1987.

My letter to Doreen written from Marly-le-Roi dated just after my birthday, on the 26th July 1987, is full of the latest news and I had sent her a poster from the Faberge Exhibition. I write about the 'craftsmanship' and I do have a recall of the exquisite bejewelled orange tree.

I am smiling as I read about the silhouette of Shawni that I sketched in the letter for my family back home in Howick. 

How dear, the little button nose, the hat with its ribbon and the gentle curve of her chubby baby chin.

She has the framed original with her in New Zealand and I know Shawni will love reading this blog about her silhouette.

We had gone into Paris to show Fred's mother the area around the Sacre Coeur and Montmatre. She was visiting from Zimbabwe.

The Place du Tertre in Montmartre has always been a hotspot for artists to gather and to do sketches and  portraits of tourists.

My weekly visits into Paris were a highlight during my few years in Paris, I would drop the littley's off at the Halte Garderie, plan my outing; which arrondissement, which museum, where to stop for coffee and maybe a lunch with Fred too.

During the week of my birthday I had explored the Muette Quarter of the 16th Arrondissement in Paris, visited the Musee Marmottan, well known for showcasing the Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings of Claude Monet, his 'Water Lilies" especially. Interesting comment that I made to Doreen in the letter that 'some aren't that pleasing to the eye.' I think it refers to his later works that become more and more abstract.

I have just remembered a series of photos that I have in one of my albums. They are of a portrait of me emerging from a canvas done on the same Place du Tertre but a few years earlier in 1981. The artist wearing a beret, as they should, bearded and just a little seedy, worked with remarkable speed and skill.

The black and white charcoal never made it back home, it was stolen along with my luggage on a train trip to Nice. Who would have thought that some years later I would be back on the Place du Tertre, this time with my daughter and another artist would do a quick black silhouette and capture another moment in our stories.

The artist certainly  did capture my eyes and the openness of my gaze.