FOR OUR WORLD

We need to stop.
Just stop.
Stop for a moment.
Before anybody
Says or does anything
That may hurt anyone else.
We need to be silent.
Just silent.
Silent for a moment.
Before we forever lose
The blessing of songs
That grow in our hearts.
We need to notice.
Just notice.
Notice for a moment.
Before the future slips away
Into ashes and dust of humility.
Stop, be silent, and notice.
In so many ways, we are the same.
Our differences are unique treasures.
We have, we are, a mosaic of gifts
To nurture, to offer, to accept.
We need to be.
Just be.
Be for a moment.
Kind and gentle, innocent and trusting,
Like children and lambs,
Never judging or vengeful
Like the judging and vengeful.
And now, let us pray,
Differently, yet together,
Before there is no earth, no life,
No chance for peace.

Mattie Stepanek, "Hope Through Heartsongs"
September 11, 2001

Abandoned blog

Poor abandoned blog - I'll be back when the Emmys saga is over (or maybe before). There may also be renovations - stay tuned (that's if I have any followers left).....

Lost L.A. Archives

The photo above is Hollenbeck Home for the Aged in Boyle Heights on Sept. 6, 1896: A Home for 'fortunate unfortunates'.

I've been reading this once-a-month column for some time now. Its truly fascinating and reiterates that Los Angeles does have history.

Click here for the link to: Lost L.A Archives

rainy Los Angeles

Happy Mothers Day

My amazing mother in Zanzibar -

That secret club

In front of me pinned to my cork board on a scrappy piece of paper is a quote..

"Don't waste your time on the obvious things. Write about what disturbs you, particularly if it bothers no one else".

Well what disturbs me is this firm grasp on the phrase....."well I'm a writer" as though it's a secret club that requires a membership card or perhaps a secret handshake and a nod of the head.

I believe everyone has talent. Some have had the time to hone it while others have disjointed ideas, written in journals or on yellow, lined legal pads stuffed into drawers or under the bed.

My lovely friend Tania of Backwards In High Heels fame wrote a lovely series about writing last year. She was teaching a 5 day writing course at the time as part of the Aboyne Arts Festival and was extremely kind to transcribe it onto her blog. This is Day One of the written version. There are five days in all and by the time you finish reading, if you have a yearning to write, you will be brimming with ideas and new found excitement.

This is the opening paragraph of her writing series....

"The Fear takes many forms. The most profound is the secret, crippling conviction that you are not allowed to be a writer unless you have certain qualifications. You must be born in the right place, to the right parents, with the right education. You must also have a specific God-given talent, a feeling for words, the equivalent of a musical ear. The other form of the Fear is an internalised memory, of teachers mostly, telling you that no, no, it is not done that way, and if you do not do it in the correctly prescribed way you will never amount to anything. There are rules, there are criteria, there are things that people expect. All of this is nonsense. I cannot stress this enough. I will say it again: all of this is nonsense. The point about writing is that if you are willing to work hard enough, to listen closely to your own voice, to push past the terror, you will be able to do it. I’m not saying it will be easy. All good writers know that writing is hard. Bad writing is a simple matter, you just have to put your fingers on the keyboard and go. Serious writing, and writing is serious, is difficult. But if you put in the time, it is not beyond your reach".

What struck me was the generous way in which she wants to lead anyone who's scared, to feel comfortable in revealing themselves as a writer and to come along for the ride. She demystifies the angst and terror of rejection, the "oh you're not a writer". I read and digested the entire series as I am secretly, that person. I don't have the time to hone my skills as the other side of my brain has a death grip on my focus running my company, reading other people's scripts, books, plays, TV pilots or 10 page "can-you-help-me" letters.

I'm a writer because I write just as trillions of others do - am I a good writer - I don't think so but I have the passion and the desire to learn how to be. I'm constantly surrounded by people who aren't shy to profess "well I'm a writer" - they are the ones in that "secret writers club" where they feel you do need to be born in the right place, on the right day when the light is just right. What defines a writer?

Being of service

One thing I've learned over the years is - its better to give than to receive. I have a very fortunate life filled with great family and friends and am truly thankful for that. I am involved in the Big Sunday weekend (May 1st and 2nd) - through an organization called Big Sunday which gives back to the community in which we live. Here's the link to the actual volunteer form - as you can see some of the programs are for a couple of hours - from painting schools, to organizing lunch at an Aids hospice - there is something for everyone. BIG SUNDAY.

"Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seemingly for a divine purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: That we are here for the sake of others…for the countless unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day, I realize how much my outer and inner life is built upon the labors of people, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received." Albert Einstein

I'll Be Back

To all my lovely readers, followers etc and in response to the overwhelming amount of emails I've received, I've popped in to explain where I've been and that I haven't abandoned y'all and stopped blogging.

The beginning of every year and through to the end of the "Awards" season is the busiest time in my profession. Then there's the high sigh of relief that last for about a week after that.

Until I surface (very soon) - here's a little space to breathe and thank you for all your continued support.

Coromandel 2009

Being soba

I have a passion for soba noodles right now. My dearest friend E arrived at my house last night for a drink - much needed by him as he's being edited a TV reality show. Drinks turned into dinner and as it was a rainy night we decided to stay warm and dry. I scoured the kitchen and put together what became a delightful dish - Soda Noodles with Chicken and Spinach.

Start by cooking the soda noodles. Make sure to use an enormous pot (I used my pasta pot) as they will try to boil over twice (which is the point). Instructions on the package are very straight forward.

While the noodles are cooking, chop 1 chicken breast into large cubes. In a large saute pan (frying pan) heat a small amount of olive oil and brown the chicken. As its nearing the end of cooking - add 1 large bag of pre-washed spinach - which is about 3 large grab-fuls of spinach and let it wilt into the chicken.

When the soba noodles have finished cooking, rinse in cold water. Add to the chicken and spinach - give it all minute as the soba noodles need to heat up again.

Salt and pepper to taste throughout although I tend to wait till the end to pepper as I don't want the heat from the cooked pepper overpowering the soba noodles.


I usually use tofu in this dish. Cube a block of firm or extra firm tofu and brown the same way as with the chicken.

I tend to cook the entire packet of soba noodles and then add them to soups, salads and stews. This recipe is so easy and can be put together with a glass of wine in hand - I chose a crisp Pinot Grigio from Italy.

Do hope you try it.

Zimbabwe 2010

Tomorrow's Toussaints by Kalamu ya Salaam

this is Haiti, a state
slaves snatched from surprised masters,
its high lands, home of this
world’s sole successful
slave revolt. Haiti, where
freedom has flowered and flown
fascinating like long necked
flamingoes gracefully feeding
on snails in small pinkish
sunset colored sequestered ponds.

despite the meanness
and meagerness of life
eked out of eroding soil
and from exploited urban toil, there
is still so much beauty here in this
land where the sea sings roaring a shore
and fecund fertile hills lull and roll
quasi human in form

there is beauty here
in the unyielding way
our people,
colored charcoal, and
banana beige, and
shifting subtle shades
of ripe mango, or strongly
brown-black, sweet
as the such from
sun scorched staffs
of sugar cane,
have decided
we shall survive
we will live on

a peasant pauses
clear black eyes
searching far out over the horizon
the hoe motionless, suspended
in the midst
of all this shit and suffering
forced to bend low
still we stop and stand
and dream and believe

we shall be released
we shall be released
for what slaves
have done
slaves can do

and that begets
the beauty
slaves can do

(from the collection Iron Flowers)

This is the poignant poem Morgan Freeman read last night on the Hope For Haiti Now telethon.

Haiti:I Wonder As I Wander

"Haiti, land of blue sea and green hills, white fishing boats on the sea, and the hidden huts of peasants in the tall mountains. People strong, midnight black. Proud women whose arms bear burdens, whose backs are very straight. Children naked as nature. Nights full of stars, throbbing with Congo drums. At the capital lovely ladies ambergold, mulatto politicians, warehouses full of champagne, banks full of money. A surge of black peasants who live on the land, and the foam of the cultured elite in Port-au-Prince who live on the peasants.

Port-au-Prince, city of squalid huts, unattractive sheds and shops near the water front, but charming villas on the slopes that rise behind the port. A presidential palace gleaming white among palm trees with the green hills for a backdrop. A park where bands play at night. An enormous open-air market.

"Ba moi cinq cob," children beg of tourists in the street. Cinq cob means a nickel. They speak a patois French. The upper classes, educated abroad, speak the language of Paris. But I met none of the upper-class Haitians," - Langston Hughes, from Autobiography: I Wonder as I Wander, 1956.

From Andrew Sullivan: The Atlantic

Coming clean

What gets you out of a funk? Do you try to ignore it and get through the day with a perma-grin on your face, repeating "I'm fine" to those who may ask you how you're doing or do you submit to it, stay in bed watching television and eating what you want; the unhealthy the better.

I have a hard time as one part of me wants to slap myself across the head and say "snap outta it, you have nothing to complain about - you have so much to be thankful of. Don't be a self centered ninny - get out there and soldier on". The problem with that is I feel like a phony, untruthful, playing a role that doesn't sit well.

I'm incredibly unsettled; one of the side effects of being a legal alien. Years ago I would have tried to avoid these feelings, gone back on some kind of antidepressants to calm the dull funk and uneasiness, but not this time.

One of my dilemmas is trying to find the importance in what I do and where I live. I want to be fulfilled, feel like I have made a difference somewhere. Its easy for me to post poems and photos of places that give me joy but honestly at times, I don't truly feel that way. My younger sister works for the Human Rights Commission; my older sister is now working in Zimbabwe as an aid worker, after having spent 1 year in the Sudan. There is importance in what they do.

I'm contemplating taking a hiatus from my blog as I don't want it to become a rant about how unsatisfied I am and bore you all. I will keep you all posted.

Coming into land

I am feeling slightly normal again after sleeping for more than 14 hours - jetlag can sometimes be the worst and hits me rather hard. My father gave me the best piece of advice years ago - don't make any decisions in the first 24 hours after flying - and he's right.

Firstly I'm always incredibly weepy and start to compare ridiculously. Yesterday was no exception - I landed at 7:00am and by 8:00am in my mind my entire life here was packed up, animals in quarantine and I was on my way. Its always so easy to blame the place rather than look at ourselves and I'm completely to blame for my mundane life here, I've become lazy and unadventurous. I have made a small list of the things that I would like to accomplish this year; its a reasonable list. Top priority: to dive into doing things by myself rather than waiting to find others to join me.

Here's to an adventurous, busy 2010!

Merry Christmas

(Christmas 2008)

I hope your holiday season is filled with love, laughter and joy. Thank you so much for visiting my sometimes neglected blog. I'm so grateful to each and every one of you.
I will post later from another Hemisphere.
xx

Tomato, pumpkin & spinach curry

I made this last night, it took less than 30 minutes and is perfect for winter dinner. I was in such a rush - I forgot to take photos of the end result. But I can assure you it was a very festive vision. It serves 6 perfectly.

1 large onion, halved and sliced
1 Tbsp vegetable oil
2 Tbsp Madras curry paste
1 small butternut pumpkin, a little over 1 lb (500g), cut into chunks
5 tomatoes, quartered - I prefer hothouse
About 1/2 cup of spinach roughly chopped or torn - I love spinach so tend to add more
Steamed basmati rice, to serve

Cook onion in the oil for 5 minutes until softened. Add the curry paste and cook for about 3 minutes. Add the pumpkin, tomatoes and 1 cup (200ml) of water and stir well. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes until the pumpkin is just cooked and the tomatoes have broken down. Stir through the spinach, salt and pepper to taste. Leave for a couple of minutes to wilt. Serve with basmati rice.

I served this with quinoa last night which was delicious. I dry roast the quinoa in a heavy bottomed pan before adding the water as it adds a slightly nutty flavour. This is an entirely vegetarian dish -

Musical Interlude

This just makes me kick up my heels!

A Day of Thanks

I wasn't raised celebrating Thanksgiving but live in a country where it is. I've been very fortunate to be invited every year to different people's houses for the day of celebration. I always accept the very 1st invitation I get and look forward to meeting new, interesting people and being involved in how they celebrate. For me, Thanksgiving isn't a time that I think about food but more what I'm thankful for, to think of the less fortunate who may not be spending the day with their loved ones, might be homeless, unwell or just don't have anywhere to go.

Its important to me that every year I give back in some way. This year I donated what I would have spent to cook for 50 people at my house. Its just my small way of being very thankful for what I have.

Happy Thanksgiving.....

Lest We Forget

Sadly for my grandfather, eldest of three brothers, his war time was to end tragically. He was an expert navigator and bomber fighter, attached to the RAF and took part in most of the major bombing raids in Germany and France. In the Battle Of Brest - the first major daylight bombing raid - he was recommended for a DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) but, because they were short one medal, circumstances on the day meant he was the one to miss out.

A letter he wrote home in 1941 was telling:

"I have been on quite a number of big bombing raids now and realise that the chances of survival are not as great as they might be. Nearly every trip we lose a percentage of our crews and already a great portion of my class have passed on to that happy hunting ground where we will all assemble at the sound of the great trumpet.

Personally I have no fear of these trips at all, and even much less fear death, particularly when I realise that should that be my fate, I will walk the same lanes and fields as the thousands of other young men who have so gladly and willingly died for this great cause.

Not only that, but we will be in the same realm as the great soldiers of England who have gone before us and blazed the way. I feel proud that I have been allowed to serve as an officer in the Royal Air Force and I want you to feel proud with me rather than sorry for me.

After all my sacrifice is very small. It is M (his wife, my grandmother) and JS (his son, my father) who are making the real sacrifice. Sometimes I feel very mean having left them like I have to fight the great battles of life....."

In 1942 his tour had ended and he wrote to his wife and son (my father) to prepare to shift to Canada as he had a position training air crews there and that is where they would live. Then experienced volunteers were called for a mission over Denmark - my grandfather volunteered for one last mission. Sixty aircraft took off on Sunday May 18th - the plane was hit twice by flak and crashed at 0210 at Galskling, 2km west of Middlefart.

My great grandmother received the "missing believed killed" telegram just hours before my great aunt was to be married. She kept that information to herself until after the wedding. Another great aunt remembers finding the telegram under the mattress as she made the bed for a guest, later that evening. It was to be months before there was finally confirmation of his death.

Of the 60 planes that set off on that final mission, six were lost and only one of the crew lived, was seriously injured and taken prisoner. There is a memorial to my grandfather and the crew of MacRobert's Reply at Middlefart, Denmark - the stone was taken from the crash site. My grandfather's grave is at Odense near a memorial to the fallen.

My father, who is an only child never had the chance to know his father.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Here are a few excerpts from my great uncle's log book - he was an RAF Flight-Lieutenant Beaufighter pilot and night flyer. He was attached to the 29th Squadron, stationed at Brize Norton.

July 23: (his first sortie) enemy aircraft approached from the North East, scrambled after them, pitch dark night. Got to within one mile of them and they scooted for home.

July 25: Daylight scramble in bad weather. Jerry driven off - one crew missing.

August 5: Weather very bad. Dark, raining and bumpy as hell. Intercepted a JU88. It took violent evasive action and got away in the dark. It is believed I damaged him canon fire.

August 13: Tonight Jerry raided Canterbury in strength. Three of us went up to intercept. The flak was terrible. Dunne and Hay were shot down. For Jerry shot down.

September 10: (crashed at Bradwell Bay). Flaps damaged by flak and had to make a blind landing in nil visibility. Lucky to get down.

September 13: A JU88 got on my tail and I just saw it in time to peel off. Tried to dog fight with it but it was too dark so I buggered off before there was one less in the family.

November 13: Over Flushing my starboard engine was hit and started to emit sparks. Got an emergency homeing. Over base, the cloud base was just clear of hills and while on circuit the engine ceased. Maintained height on one engine but hit four trees on approach. Managed to crash land and plane went up in flames; got out by the skin of my teeth. Knocked about and not allowed to do any heavy flying for 3 months.

This marked the end of his first tour.

I will never forget those who have either lost their lives or been gravely wounded in any war.

The Brilliance of Anime

From hair blowing in the wind to the sun hitting the lens of the camera and the rain falling. For the full effect click at the bottom of the frame to make it bigger and turn up the volume.

The added bonus is that its set to "Ce Matin Le" by AIR (one of my favourite bands). Their music is often referred to as electronica, influenced by the synthesizer sounds of the 1970's such as Jean Michel Jarre, Vangelis and Francis Lai.

Found via DailyMotion.