What is it about electronic and automotive equipment that causes these fiendish creations to develope such personal relationships with their people? I don't doubt but that there those who have tame and willing machines. However...I am not one of these lucky few. Perhaps I exaggerate.

So much has been happening in the last couple of weeks, that time has done the proverbial fly-by, and I have been left feeling breathless, and weak at the knees, and tomorrow morning brings the greatest miracle of them all. The arrival our little granddaughter, Hannah.

This period has been one of hope, uncertainty, loss, mourning, goodbyes, new beginnings, enjoyment, despair, illness, wellness... How can it all have been just two weeks? But when I look at that I realise that I don't need to feel too bad about not having blogged during that time.

What all has happened? Where to begin? I think the first major event really was being phoned by Red Cross Children's Hospital, in response to a job application I had put ages before. In fact, I had stopped even thinking about it. Then suddenly, I was phoned to come for an interview. That was fine, until I suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that the person who was my best friend at 'Varsity, is now prof of a related department at UCT, and I knew that she did some work in conjuction with the Red Cross Unit. So I sent her an e-mail (I was grateful that Pamela suggested it when I suddenly went into panic mode when I realised this) saying, perhaps, if she were going to be involved with the interviews (which I didn't really expect), that she could just excuse herself from my one). Well, I didn't get a reply - Guess why - When I walked into the board room to face this panel (it felt more like facing a firing squad - I've mentioned before how I feel about facing anything that vaguely resembles an oral exam, and this did - BIG TIME!), who should be sitting in the panel but my friend. It was only moments before I discovered that she is not only head of the Liver Department at UCT, but she is also head of the Kidney / Liver Translant Unit at Red Cross. My first impulse was to turn around and walk straight back out, leap into my less than trusty, somewhat rusty steed, and head into the sunset (or in this case, somewhat to the northeast, so I don't think that'll see much of a sunset).

However, I sat down - and I looked - shall I dare say in control of myself, and the situation? Shall I be reckless and say that I looked - confident? Or is that just me trying to convince myself? (Because I was actually quite a wreck inside). I won't pretend that it went brilliantly, but I don't think, all things considered, that I was as bad as I expected to be. Especially seeing as I haven't practiced hospital medicine in 25 years. The worst was when my friend asked me things. I went blank on some things she wanted to know about technicalities of medical practice. It's one thing with the others on the panel. I wouldn't recognize them again if I fell over them, and I had forgotten their names as they were said. But, my friend is another matter. She matters to me.

Finally it was all over, and they said I would have to wait a couple of weeks to hear. It was thankfully only 1 week to find out that I don't have the job.

So that was one big one in my life. There have been several others, but I don't think I'll discuss those.

However, there is a very big one that affected my whole extended family, and one small branch most severely. My cousin, Catherine was killed in the aeroplane crash in Lybia this last week. My aunt and Kate's sister, Jenny, have been devastated. They are a small but close-knit family. I think that the thing that has especially saddened me, has been the fact that we haven't had any contact for many years. What a waste. Family is precious. When I spoke to Jenny later on the day of the crash, she said how Kate had been around to her house before leaving, and spent some time with her. Jenny said she was so glad they had no unfinished business. Their relationship was really close, and she had no regrets. I hope that I may be able to say that about those I am close to. Kate had been an air hostess for many years, and she was training others, I understand. My prayers are with them to be able to find comfort, and hope for the Eternities ahead.

Right now, I think I need to get some sleep. I need to be up early and functional, to assist with the Caesar on my daughter. I do so wish she could have natural births. I hate the thought of her post op pain, and having to cope with that while she has a baby and a 2-year-old to deal with. I know countless women do it, and I feel for each one who does. It is the greatest priviledge in the world to be assisting at my grandbaby's birth. Last time, it just kind of happened. It was an emergency caesar, So the Gynae would be needing to get a doctor in to assist. I was on hand (Richard, Cindy and I had been at the hospital all night while she was in labour). So when the Gynae was coming down the corridor, from Labour ward to theatre, I sort of stuck my hand out and said "I'll assist." So she said great. Come and change. And next thing Josh was on his way out. But it's different this time, being a planned caesar. I had been so hoping that she would go into normal labour, because she was going to be allowed a trial-of-labour, and if that didn't progress well, then she would be taken for the caesar.

But, thankfully we live in an age when women don't have to die in childbirth with nearly the frequency that they once did. If we did, I'm not convinced that my Shelly would have made it past that first time. We wouldn't be worrying about the arrangements for tomorrow. We are indeed blessed.

So in less than 12 hours our little Hannah will have made herself known to the world. A new life - always there is joy and hope in a new life

"The time has come," the walrus said.
"To talk of many things.
Of shoes and ships and sealing wax,
Of cabbages and kings.
Of why the sea is boiling hot.
And whether pigs have wings."

Lewis Carroll penned these words in 'Alice Through the Looking Glass'. Without any question, my absolute favourite quote. My children have grown up hearing these extremely profound words oft repeated in their infant ears. And then in their adolescent ears. And now, I am quite certain they could repeat them back to me without any prompting.

Their value? you ask. How could I waste my children's impressionable youth hearing such nonsense? you ask. Perhaps you are right. But, think just for a moment, of the joy of imagination allowed to run wild. Think of the love of exploring books, of conquering the Everest of Questing Knowledge, the 2000 Leagues under the Sea of Thirsting Enquiry.

Cabbages? Are you kidding? No. Where do caterpillars often live? Then the wonder of developing life from there. Adults may be jaded by the old stories of Peter Rabbit and the vegetables. But those same stories are brand new to young ears, who can't get enough of those old cabbage stories.

I recently read a blog in which someone was expressing views of the jaded sort, and thought how sad that was. Why can't children be allowed to be children? This individual was wanting a very much more sophisticated approach to just 'entertaining' children. Watch any young children on their birthdays. The things they enjoy playing with the most, are the simplest - very often the wrappings, the boxes, the balloons - the extremely costly gifts get left unattended until some time later. When the child has grown older, and we have taught him or her to be more sophisticated in their expectations, then the simple things no longer please. Then, the costlier the better. And then - we watch sadly, and wonder: where has our little one gone?

Perhaps a little more time spent talking to our children, with the walrus, of the absurd, the unreachable, the down-to-earth, the monstrous, the tiny, the unimaginable, the fun...Yes, just the fun of books, of learning, of playing with parents and siblings, of playing in the sand and climbing trees. Aah! How many, many problems in life we could solve. Just think of the happier families, more balanced children, fewer learning problems.

And so I say again:

"The time has come," the walrus said...

There are some truly wonderful people in this world. I had the opportunity to meet with one a few days ago. This lady is a published author of 40 years standing, an English lecturer - I think you get my drift about the kind of qualifications this lady has in the area of writing. Well, the point of all this is that, with all of this going for her, she offered to mentor me - for free!

Ja well no fine, as the saying goes. I was all excited about it when she offered this when I met her in Feb. With one thing and another on her side and on mine, the opportunity for the meeting only came came this last Friday. She had had my manuscript for a few weeks, to read it and do what she felt fit. I simply put it from my mind (actually, I was coughing so violently, there was little chance for anything to remain in it no matter how much it tried to hold on. Poor brain - yet another assault on it.)

Then came the e-mail (pause - dramatic music) Sally, I think we could meet this week.

Oh, that'll be wonderful. Would Friday work for you?

Yes, Friday would be fine. Come at one and we can have some lunch, and then get to work.

Great, I'll see you on Friday.

The week passed, and with each passing day, I came to an increasing realisation of what I was facing. Let me just give you a little flashback in life here:

We are in the early 1980's. I am facing exams. Which exam? Pick one, any one - medicine, surgery, paeds, obs, gynae, whatever - I hated them all. There wasn't an exam that I enjoyed. Exams and I were bad company. And what was the worst part of exams? They were all ORALS and CLINICALS. Performing in front of people was always my worst nightmare. My brain goes into freeze-mode (I-am-frozen-I-can-no-longer-think-please-do-not-ask-me-my-name-definitely-do-not-ask-me-the-underlying-biochemical-reaction-argh-argh-argh-ddying)

Right, so perhaps you might be starting to get a little bit of the picture of what was starting to happen inside me. Of course, This isn't happening to me, I'm fine, I'm not going to have a panic attack about this, This is NOT an oral exam.

Fine? Fine.

But, she's going to rip it to shreds! That's what professional people are meant to do to manuscripts (MS as the professionals refer to them. I will now do that - mainly because it's shorter). She's going to shred my 80 000 word baby. I don't know if I can do this. Oh, this is so hard.

I stop on the way to get a melktert and apple juice to contribute to lunch, and then take a leisurely drive out to Somerset West. Don't know where I'm going, so I've got to leave lots of puncture time. I get there an hour early, which doesn't suit her, so I go off to look at an historic old farm down the road.

I'm back. We chat. We have a leisurely lunch in the garden. We chat about our children. Time is passing, and I'm anticipating the MS-ripping. It's chilly in the garden, but I don't think that's the major reason I'm shivering.

Finally, she starts edging gently into the subject of books and publishing, and what a bad market it is now. Youngsters read less and less, and what they do read - is in competition with TV, the Internet, X-Box, i-Pod, etc, etc, etc. Therefore, the writing has to be different. Snappy, quick, action-filled. No time to describe anything, to build a scene, hardly time to build a character.

Are you feeling breathless? So was I. Then she said: I want you to cut a third out of your book. See, I told you.

That being said, she then sat with me with my MS. She had read the whole thing, and then gone back over the first 9 chapters with a red pen. I haven't seen a red pen all over work of mine since I was in school. Whoa! She was really professional. Once I over my initial mental "Oh my hat! A third - I've got to cut out a third? She's got to be on something." I was able to listen with an open mind and heart.

She knows what she's talking about. She didn't need to take all that time for me, not only to read my MS, but to give me very sound advice.

So you see. Full circle. There are wonderful people in this world. Because of this one, I have a whole lot of work ahead of me. Oh, incidentally, she did say that she does really like my book and would really like to see it published.

Pam Cerff gave me a lovely quote this morning, by Dorothy Parker:
"If you have any young friends who aspire to become writers, the second greatest favour you can do them is to present them with copies of 'The Elements of Style'. The first greatest, of course, is to shoot them now, while they're happy."

Seeing as nobody obliged me with the first greatest favour, I shall have to see if the library has a copy of 'The Elements of Style', to do myself the second greatest favour.

On that happy thought, I bid thee farewell, gentle folks.

So here I sit with the proverbial blank page in the proverbial typewriter (except for the fact that there is no page and no typewriter). But, you get the idea. Ready to start writing a masterpiece. Of course I am quite determined that it will be a masterpiece. The world will never have seen its like before. The acclaim from "those who KNOW" will overwhelm me. The sales will be like nothing like the publishers (the ever doubting and cynical publishers - bless their hearts) could possibly have anticipated. JK Rowling and Stephanie Meyer move over. A new name has arrived in youth literature.

Through it all, modesty will be my watchword. The media will battle to get an interview from me. My privacy, and my family life are essential and I write for the sake of my ART. Never for the sake of filthy lucre.

"I can't take it any any more. This needs to be a dialogue."

Okay, okay! Stop pelting me with the fruit (Ow! I thought it was supposed to be soft and squishy. That was rock-flipping-hard. I'm going to be bruised for days.

How is an artist to work? But then all great artists have suffered for their their art - shivering in and starving in a garret with nothing but a threadbare blanket about their shoulders, while snow lay all around. Just one guttering candle to work by.

"Excuse me! You are sitting on a very pleasantly warm autumn day in Cape Town, with more than enough clothes to keep you warm, even if you were cold (which you're not). And on top of it - you have a decidely well-developed writer's butt! Starving? I don't think so."

Philistine! Have you never seen La Boheme? That was the epitome of the artist's life. So tragique.

"Look, I'm not saying don't write your book. Just get on with it - as though you were a reasonably normal person. Could you pretend, do you think?"

What an absurd thing to suggest.

"What? That you try being normal?"

I do not think that you will ever understand the mind and heart and soul of a writer. There is nothing whatever abnormal about me. What you fail to understand is that I cannot simply get on and write today. It is by no means as simple as that. The muse has quite left me today. And that is certainly your fault - all your fatuous arguing and fault-finding.

"So what are you going to do for the day now?"

Hmm, I think I might go for a walk along the beach.


***************************************

Well, such might be my life, if I weren't genuinely trying to write in order to get published. Make no mistake, a fair share of day dreaming does happen, and there are too many times that days are not adequately productive.

However there is also a fair amount of time spent trying to find other means of earning a living. That is the reality of life. We can't live the life of starving artists in Paris. Well, we could, but it's really impractical. For us in Cape Town, we don't have to go to Paris, we simply need to look around to our nearest sqatter camps.

Informal housing is the lovely politically-correct euphemism for shacks which people have erected from a combination of any materials on which they could lay their hands. This includes corrugated iron, cardboard (none too weather-proof), odds and ends of wood, and anything else available to be make a dwelling which more or less keeps out the weather (so long as it's not too wet, too windy, or too hot ).

There are a couple of similarities between these folk and our starving artists back in Puccini's opera in Paris. Perhaps not on first glance. However, money was and is a real problem with both groups. Food, and therefore healthy nutrition, to be able to combat illness was and is a problem in both groups. Which then follows into the acual illness - TB is rife in our country. Of course, HIV has greatly worsened that situation, but when I was a medical student in the late 70's and early 80's, when HIV was only just coming into its own, and hadn't yet made its dramatic impact, TB was a major killer without the benefit of what started as its accomplice, and has since become its master. And think back to the lyrically tragic love story set in the cold and poor garret in Paris - dear beautiful Mimi died of none other than TB.

And so the story comes full circle. The sad conditions of those starving artists are all around us here. I am grateful that I am not living in those circumstances. But there are many, many who are. Diseases of poverty, overcrowding and malnutrition are all around us. Those conditions have not gone away. We all know these things. So why labour the point again? Is this the usual begging letter? Or the kind of thing to just make statements, make us all uncomfortable, and then we continue as usual?

Well, I don't think I'm in the position to do either of those things. I don't have the backing to be collecting money for some wonderful charity to make a financial cause, and while that can do wonders, I think the most important thing is to inject money into educating, not simply giving handouts. Lift people to be permanently independent - not permanently dependent on you.

No, I'm just one small voice. All I can do is some small thing for one or two people at a time. Does it make a difference? I hope so, in some small way. What I do know is that if all of society in general tried to make a difference to one or two people at a time, society in general would be better. Is that simplistic? Maybe. My big dream is to make a difference to the education of our people. My little dream is to make a difference to one or two people today.

Hopefully my book will eventually get written, and will make a difference to the way some young people feel about some things - mainly about reading. If even one teen can come away from my book feeling a desire to read more, then I guess I will have made the difference in both ways that I want. Someone's education will have been enhanced simply by increasing a desire to read for pleasure, and I will have made a difference in one person's life.