I never got what one does with rhubarb. They were strange celery-like stalks and I imaged them to taste horrible. Like celery, only with a red hue. Then as I got older maybe I was more inclined to test other ingredients in the kitchen, and thus I once bought a bunch of rhubarb in Fruit & Veg for R15. I think I made a strawberry-rhubarb pie, not quite trusting the stalks to taste like anything edible on their own.
Rhubarb syrup?
Rhubarb season has started here and I embraced it completely. I made rhubarb and grapefruit syrup, then rhubarb-strawberry jam, then a jar of rhubarb compote and lastly a wonderful rhubarb panna cotta tart that looked and tasted incredible. I had rhubarb coming out of my ears by the end of it, but it was worth it. Everyone complemented the panna cotta tart and I ended up using the left-over champagne from my birthday with the last bit of rhubarb syrup as a cocktail, which worked really well. And now when my mom and sister come in three weeks I am totally super prepared for breakfast :)
The geckos are back on the walls. (Which freaks me out.)
The garden smells like Jasmine. (Which I adore.)
The evenings are too hot for my blankets. (But I am too lazy to change them.)
And these beauties have resurfaced.
Now just the Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow needs to start blooming in front of my window and I'll be in smell-heaven.
View from the Human Sciences Building at the University of Pretoria
Dit voel as of ek hierdie jaar die Jakarandas vir die eerste keer sien. Ek weet ek swot nou al amper drie jaar hier en dat ek dit seker al voorheen moes raakgesien het, maar in ander jare was die pers bloeisels eer 'n irritasie omdat ek elke keer op hulle gly en amper my gat sien.
Maar hierdie jaar wil ek net van die hoogste verdiepeing moontlik afspring en op die enorme kussing van Jakarandabome land wat deur die stad versprei is. Kyk na die fotos: dit is werklik soos pers wolkies wat deur die stad se strate trek.
By die universiteit sê hulle as 'n bloeisel op jou val sal jy jou eksamens goed deurkom. Ek weet nie, die hitte wat met die lente deur die stad trek laat my aan drankies by die swembad en somervakansie by die see dink, en nie aan die stapel lees- en leerwerk wat langs my op die tafel lê nie. Die papierberg gluur vir my en laat my weet dat ek nooit alles sal gelees kry nie, so ek voel as of ek nie eers gaan probeer nie. Mens moet nie teen papier veg nie. Net 'n skêr kan hier wen en ek recycle maar eer.
So hier volg 'n paar kiekies van die stad wat ek in die afgelope paar weke geneem het.
Here is a translation for the non-Afrikaans speakers:
It feels as though I am seeing the Jakarandas for the first time this year. I know I've been studying here ( Pretoria is known as the Jakarandacity) for almost three years, but previously the blossoms were more of an irritation because I always slipped on them and almost fell.
But this year I just want to jump off of the highest building and land on the enormous pillow of Jakarandatrees that are spread throughout the city. Look at the photographs: they look like little purple clouds that line the streets of the city.
At university they say that if a blossom falls on you, you will get good results in your exams ( November is exam time here). I don't know, with the heat that has accompanied the start of spring I am thinking of drinks by the pool and long summer vacations by the sea, not about the huge pile of readings I have to get through. The mountain of paper is eyeing me and letting me know I will never make it, so I don't even want to try. One shouldn't fight paper, only scissors can win and I am more of a recycling kind of girl.
So here are a few images that I've taken over the past few weeks.
Spring has hit South Africa like a sudden tsunami, the youth has pulled out shorts and shorter skirts and colour from their cupboards. Older ladies stop wearing stockings because the heat and the touching thighs to not go well together. Flip flops are welcomed back. We come together more for braais in afternoons, meat and salad is abundant between conversations about the December holidays and plans for next year.
We are jumping the gun and heading sea-side earlier than expected. And with the beach comes that dreaded undressing and presenting of the body in clothes that you would never wear elsewhere in public because they hide no imperfection. Women have to go through torturous extractions and manipulations of natural hairlines. They feel the need to do Special K's "drop a dress size in 2 weeks" diet and eat cabbage soup and use de-cellulite creams and mould their bodies so that they will look ok in a bikini.
But I have noticed that all of this is rather mindless: sure you want to look good, in any case, and all the time. I am pretty certain no one prefers to look shabby and messy to being attractive to others. However, I have been using my great voyeuristic talents and observing people's bodies on campus and I tell you now: even the thinnest of girls have cellulite and stretchmarks. It seem to just be the skin's way of saying "screw you and your need for even perfection".
In the poetry anthology Difficult to explain, edited by Finuala Dowling, Heather Tibshraeny captures Stretchmarks:
The greatest joy of spring is smelling the yesterday, today, tomorrow bushes ( or trees?). There is one in front of my window and the scent fills my room slowly while I am at the university and then when I get back my room smells so great. I just want to wrap myself in this pillow of soft-blossomed-sweetness.
Spring must be everyone's favourite time of year. Summer is way too hot, winter way too cold, and autumn does not really do anything for us, except if you live somewhere where the leaves drop from the trees in amazing showers of colourful diversity. But here, well, autumn is nice with slightly milder weather, but you know winter is coming when the earth goes dry and all the previously lush front lawns suddenly become this light-yellowish place of drought and one can see the red-brown earth surfacing between dying blades of grass.
The one bad aspect of spring, for me, is shaving. During winter there is no need to shave one's legs, because they are always covered, and even if you wear stockings your hair growth will be covered. But oh no, come spring, everyone suddenly wears non-existent shorts and skirts that barely cover the behind when one is standing. Not that I conform to unnecessary showings of flesh, but a skirt of decent length sadly also requires that one shave. Ugh and I hate it. I almost cut half my leg of once and since then I am really not into the idea of scarring myself permanently again. Shaving is a risk. But on the other hand, the stubble that has formed over the winter hibernation does look slightly unsightly and it doesn't feel to great either if touched by someone who is not a guitar player and thus does not have really calloused fingertips.
My sister and I once jointly bought an epilator. I think that is what the torture machine is officially called. Heidi Klum advertises for it ( well, she really advertises for everything). The monster individually pulls out the hair and the sound it makes is just torturous. It makes this really fast squealing sound and I just think that that is enough to put me off. I tried the monster on my knee once, but I am against inflicting pain on myself if it is not necessary.
In any case, I had to bring out the shaver again, but I do not trust the little blade, and I am kind of inclined to forget about shaving only to realize in class that my legs look quite unevenly tanned and rather furry. But luckily my original hair colour shows itself on my legs and the little hairs are too light to see if one is not quite close. I understand women with darker hair cannot make the same mistake and have it not be noticeable.
I think we should all just let everything grow. Go back to our primal, hair-full selves. But then again, we all conform to photo-shopped smoothness of media depictions of what "normal" people look like and perhaps subconsciously we want to be only selectively hairy. Maybe the hair-loss is also a sign of evolution, a distinguishing mark of having moved beyond the ape. Its quite ironic that women go to extreme lengths to remove unsightly hairs and men go to extreme lengths to grow hair.
I don't really know. I was just thinking about how I will wear pants tomorrow because I am too lazy to shave.
This is Noah and the Whale with " I have nothing".
