Theology in the morning

It’s a damp overcast morning. Without the bright spokes of sunshine tickling their eyelids my children have slept in for once. Youngest is the first to wake as I go in to their room after my shower. Sleepily she lies against me.

“God isn’t a person, he’s a spirit” are her first words of the morning.
“Mmm” I say, my brain not in gear for any more thought out response.
“He was here before houses. Before there were people. Before dinosaurs.”
“Mmm”
“He’s just ONE spirit, not one..two..three”as she points around the room.
I’m keeping quiet now, what could I possibly add..
“He’s everywhere but he lives up there.”

My brain now reeling as I try to take in this most concise summing up of complex theological issues, I allow myself to wonder if my child is a genius. But then having got to the bottom of this subject to her satisfaction she moves on to complaining that her new pink sandals have already got dirty and in fact are too tight after all, so I know that she is actually a very normal four year old exploring the relevant issues in her life.

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Invitation to a Straw Bale House

Come and have tea at our house today. If you drive along the dirt road you’ll recognise it at once. It’s the one that looks like a Chinese pagoda, gently sloping, wide tin roof, sheltering thick uneven walls, plastered with a warm red clay. A friendly house with walls of straw bales.

We get visitors quite often ringing up out of the blue to come and look at our straw bale house. Sometimes, as we start the conducted tour one more time, we wonder silently to ourselves whether we should be charging an entrance fee, or selling souvenirs and home-made fudge at the door. Here in South Africa using straw bales to build with is a new innovation, greeted with amazement and polite enquiries about fire-risk, planning permission and the like. Gradually more people are getting interested and drag their architects along to our house to see how it works in practice.

“Yes” we say, “it is amazingly cool in summer and warm in winter, as long as you keep doors and windows closed, there can be as much as 10 degrees C difference between outside and in.”

One of the best things for me though is that our new house immediately had the atmosphere of an old house, that solid sense of having sheltered the family for years and absorbed its history into its walls. Its thick walls give you a feeling of being protected from the outside world and a quality of stillness. The house has its own persona. It keeps us cosy and warm and also firmly tied to its apron strings. It is hard to leave and always welcoming to come back to.

Its generous rooms expect us to offer hospitality to all comers. Our seasonal festivals are ever growing and our house seems to expand to accommodate all our friends, family and acquaintances, over forty people at our last one including the children. The house likes children too, they feel safe here, free to charge around on bikes and scooters, spread toys all around the playroom in the centre of the house, climb through the windows, even deal out knocks to the walls.

If a chunk of the clay plaster comes off to reveal straw underneath, when someone charges against it with their sword, we can just mix it up again with some water and slap it back on. When this occasionally happens the straw shows itself to be still golden and sweet smelling, after four years as a wall.

The whole experience of building and living in a straw house has been a positive one, I can't imagine ever moving away from it, we'd have to take it with us somehow! One thing we did have to do though was add a line into the tale of the three little pigs: "the first little pig built a house of straw, but he didn't make proper foundations, tie down the bales or plaster it, so it wasn't strong enough..."

So do come and visit, I’ve been baking mulberry muffins, with the berries from my new young tree just outside, which has been prolific, though it was only planted just over a year ago. I won’t charge an entrance fee really, just bring your stories to share.

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NaBloPoMo

In a moment of madness, in the blurry recesses of a Sunday night, not under the influence of alcohol, I decided to join in the National Blog Posting Month. So I am committing myself to posting every day through the month of November...in the few days left of October I shall be stockpiling any random flashes of wit or enlightenment and hoarding them jealously till November, in case inspiration dries up once I am face to face with a genuine hard deadline.

If anyone else wants to join in, check out http://www.fussy.org/nablopomo.html for the list of participants, details and what it's all about.

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October Summer

Summer has crept up on us unawares, swept spring away with a dry broom and sent us searching for the sprinkler attachments. Overnight it seems the grass has burnt to a dull brown and young trees, yesterday so full of new green leaf, have become dry and stressed. Every year it takes us by surprise and we quickly have to get back into our summer routine of watering every evening. Sensible people have automated watering systems. We move the sprinkler around the house at irregular intervals and hope for the best.

Children outfitted by Granny who is visiting us

Afternoons are now for swimming and the children, after an uncertain first few days, have remembered the skills acquired last summer. The older ones are swimming underwater, as long as they have goggles, and youngest is now confident in the deep end with her arm bands. So now I am wrested away from my computer for the complicated expedition down to the pool. The collection of all the necessary accoutrements: hats, flip flops, towels, swimming costumes, cellphone, book, drinks, snacks, the thorough application of suncream to all four of us seems to take at least half an hour, the impatience of the older ones as finally we are ready and then youngest needs to go to the loo. She then walks extremely slowly, firmly holding onto my hand. down to the pool, as the others jump up and down screeching with frustration at the gate, forbidden to enter without an adult. Eventually we are all there. The water is still fresh this early in the season 74F/23C, but later in the summer it will be bath like, over 80F/30C as the charcoal colour absorbs the sun’s heat.

The pool is our essential luxury. The only way of surviving a summer here in the Swartland. Several degrees hotter than Cape Town (which has ocean breezes to cool it), and dry, dry, dry with a hot wind sucking the moisture from everything it meets. We close all the doors and windows at nine in the morning to retain the cool of the night in our straw bale house, then throw them open again once evening brings a slight cooling down to entice a breeze and the odd mosquito into the house. The mosquito nets envelop our beds like grand palaquin tents and the children sleep under sarongs. We’ll have two or three months of this once mid-summer hits us. Now we know that spring will make a come back soon and bring a little more rain and cool fronts, fighting off full summer for a bit. This is just a taster to remind us of the heat in store, get us in survivor mode and wake us from our winter slumber.

I need to make the mental switch over on the food front too: stop planning Sunday Roasts and stock up for Saturday evening braais instead – spicy chicken wings and lemon sausage cooked by my master braai chef husband over wood embers, with the sprinkler going nearby to prevent sparks setting off a bush fire. Butternut squash foil-wrapped on the coals and baby potatoes boiled with mint. Stir fries, pastas and salad take over from stews and casseroles – no more cottage pie comfort food till next winter. I still have to bake bread though, trying to time it so the oven is on in the evenings, not in the heat of the day.

The sprinklers have plenty of alternative uses too!

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Negotiations

Two major triumphs in the diplomacy and negotiations field have taken place in our house this week. I'm surprised that we haven't made international headlines - "Peace Talks Succeed" - that would be a novel one. Most importantly of all, these delicate negotiations have been conducted entirely between the children, with no, or almost no, adult intervention.

The first episode was triggered by the unfortunate discovery by Dad, on arriving home, of his magnetic telescopic wotzit, in two pieces (it is supposed to be just one entire piece!) behind the front door. A summons to the children produced no-one owning up to the crime, they being naturally inclined to blame it on the child who was not there to defend himself, our farm employee's son. Stalemate was reached with the edict "no pocket money until I hear what happened" pronounced in a stern voice.

A couple of days later this had faded into the background of their memories. Pocket money was mentioned at lunch. I thought this a good time for a reminder.
"Maybe you had better all talk to each other, while R is here and find out what happened to that wotzit of Dad's, then when he comes home you can tell him what happened and say sorry...I don't want to be there, you guys just sort it out yourselves. "
I started clearing the lunch table and overheard my six year old saying,
" OK, let's have a meeting."

They get a small table and four chairs out and solemnly sit around it. I try to keep out of the way and leave them to it, though keeping my ears peeled out of pure curiosity and motherly nosiness. Various hypotheses are put forward as to how this accident could have happened, though with no-one admitting responsibility. Eventually, while I was on the loo, youngest comes galloping through:
"Mum, we think someone might have poked it under the door, then someone else could have opened the door and it broke.."
Impressed with the results of the meeting so far, I sent them back to the table to work out who might be the person that needs to say sorry to Dad. No-one ever actually owned up to the crime - but my six year old did go of her own accord to Dad the next morning, to tell him their conclusions and say sorry. Pocket money was thenceforth restored.

The second feat of negotiations was brought on by flower fairies - these cute felt finger puppets were presents from the German students we've been hosting for our school. The children were given the one with the long yellow hair when our guests arrived. One finger puppet, three children...! That sharing hurdle was successfully crossed, then came the water ditch - all the children at my son's school were given their own flower fairy puppet, my son choosing the strawberry one. Now we had two puppets between three children - aaaagh far worse than one between three! WIth a burst of quick thinking on my part I found that there had been one left over, after they all had been given out, and I begged it for the last child.

Silly of me. Now the problem was increased a hundredfold. We now have one two-day-old fairy and two brand new, never been played with fairies. Youngest, who had really wanted the golden haired angel/fairy for her own, now could see that the new one was far more desirable and ditto six-year old daughter. Major impasse and breakdown of the happy home ensued.

I came over the heavy Mum.
"No-one will have those fairies until you have sorted it out in a way that you are both happy with."
Refusal to give up new fairy.
"Or I will take that fairy back to the school and say that my children don't deserve it, please give it to another child."

For the rest of the afternoon the two fairies sat side by side on the kitchen counter. Every now and then one of the girls would sidle up to them and gaze. Eventually my six-year-old negotiator opens the talks:
"You want the yellow haired one really don't you"
"No"

I leave the room as this repeats ad infinitum. I am itching to intervene with my proposal that they both share both of them. A quarter of an hour later, they come dancing through all smiles. Youngest with the golden haired fairy, my six year old with the one they both wanted. They had agreed on this with the proviso that they would each let the other one play with their fairy, as long as they give it back when asked.

Miracle of miracles, I hear you murmur, but lest I sound too smug, let me reassure you that on other fronts, major strong arm tactics have been reported, so though the troops are making progress, I still can't retire from the field just yet.

A further incident has marred our transitory perfect peace. Tonight Dad's computer headset was found broken in two places......again no-one knew a thing about it, so tomorrow could be another heavy day at the negotiation table, with pocket money at stake again, this time they get to pay for the replacement!

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The Amnesiac Tooth Fairy

The Tooth Fairy responsible for our area has her work cut out at the moment. My son has lost six teeth so far over more than two years, but his younger sister, my six year old, is challenging him on the growing up front. She has already lost four teeth in under a year, is nearly the same size as him and has that strangely appealing gappy smile at the moment. The tooth fairy can’t quite keep up though. With all the best intentions in the world, leaving coins beside our bed as a memory aid, I tumble into bed to sleep and only on waking remember, panicking, that the tooth fairy has neglected her duties.

It’s a weekend, the children have gone through to watch a DVD, leaving us to doze. Has she remembered to check yet? I sneak into the bedroom on the pretext of opening the curtains and putting back the covers. Last time the tooth was still there and I managed to effect the swap in time. Today though no tooth under the pillow. Foiled! I slip the R2 coin down the side of the mattress, where the tooth fairy might conceivably have left it if she was in a hurry and hope for the best. A few minutes later Jungle Book 2 ends and they troop back through. My daughter silent, her hand clutching something. Without saying a word she uncurls her fingers enough for me to glimpse the tooth still wrapped in silver foil. She has been nursing this disappointment all the time she was watching.

Guilt strikes me – the magic of finding a bright silver coin under your pillow in the morning when you wake is such a big thing and now one chance is gone. We hurriedly search the bed. My son is now an expert, his coins have mysteriously turned up inside the pillow slips, sometimes two days later. He inspects the pillows closely, then we discover the coin lurking down the side of the bed. But what about the tooth? Will the tooth fairy come back for it tonight? We put it carefully back under her pillow in case. What should the tooth fairy leave on her second visit for the same tooth, do you think? The coin has already been handed over, maybe she should just tuck a flower under the pillow as she carries off her bounty....if she remembers!

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A Lentil Recipe

Further forays into Madhur Jaffrey’s Cookbook have yielded some more useful vegetarian recipes. We’re hosting some students from our sister school in Germany this week and I was all geared up for ravenous teenagers, planning sustaining meals for after they had been working hard at the school all day. Visions of loaves of bread vanishing in an instant and double quantities of everything faded before the reality of the individuals themselves. Unassuming eaters, they sampled everything in small quantities but hardly made inroads into the mountain of food I’d assembled. One is vegetarian, so I hurriedly consulted Madhur Jaffrey for an alternative to the cottage pie I’d made and found a simple recipe for lentils and tomatoes that works hot or cold.

Lentils with Garlic and Tomatoes

4 tablespoons olive oil
5 cloves garlic finely chopped
½ lb/225g tomatoes (1 large or 2 small) peeled and finely chopped
6 ½ oz/185g dried whole green lentils washed
¾ - 1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon lemon juice

Heat the oil in a heavy pot over a medium flame. When hot put in the garlic. Stir and fry till the garlic browns lightly. Add the tomatoes. Stir and cook for about 5 minutes or until the tomatoes turn to a paste. Put in the lentils and 1pint/ ½ liter of water. Bring to the boil then cover, lower heat and simmer gently for one hour. Add the salt and lemon juice. Stir to mix.

I will try this with some fresh herbs added too, maybe some fresh coriander or just chopped parsley - with a dollop of greek yoghurt on top and a hunk of bread it could be a meal in itself. We had baked potatoes with it and salad, as well as the cottage pie for the meat eaters.

I’m now looking up recipes with chick-peas for another meal. I like them, but naturally the children aren’t keen, so this is another chance to experiment with new recipes. The students are off to Hermanus to see the whales for the weekend now, so I’ll have to restrain my hospitable ardour till their return. Then I’ll be planning meals for my parents’ imminent visit...what do you fancy for supper on Wednesday, Mummy?!

One thing about having visitors here in South Africa is that almost all the flights from Europe are overnight and from the States or Australia day and night, so everyone arrives at early morning rush hour, exhausted from sitting up all night with little sleep. We have learned to be gentle on new arrivals, providing light refreshments, no sight-seeing and then plenty of time to sleep for half the day. Unfortunately the children's excitement over seeing Granny and Grandpa and anticipation over rifling their suitcases for certain riches of new clothes and maybe other presents, means that they usually have to hold out till the afternoon for a nap. Our visiting students crashed out at ten o'clock for the rest of the day, so that goes to prove that the oldies have more stamina than fresh faced youth!

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