A Bookish Child

Someone recently commented on me not being that into reading as a kid. This statement baffled me as I think back and remember the countless books I got lost in. But I suppose it wasn’t always as obvious to everyone around me, simply because I was lost in the real world too.

Being raised by a bonafide Biblio-holic who stacked books in our childhood home pathologically, I grew up with a deep appreciation for the written word. (And possibly the reason behind my hoarder mentality.) Even though I was by no means a church-mouse who locked herself away with her nose in a book 24/7, I developed a reverence for the thousands of novels that lined our passageways, bedrooms, bookcases and even bathroom floor on occasion.

I am the kind of person who loves the world ‘out there’ with an adventurous spirit, chasing dreams and experiencing every waking moment I can. People and their stories fascinated me from a young age and I collected them like shelves of hardbacks. I was always keenly aware of my own story growing inside me too, one that I wanted to read and write everyday to see what happens next.

My grandmother, a fellow bookish creature, once told me that I would have to live a thousand lives to be a part of all the stories I chased, or I would simply have to become a writer, and the first step to writing is reading. I was constantly busy with these stories - chasing them both inside and outside of the printed page. Books didn’t always fit into my gregarious nature, but they did hold a special place right from the beginning, and were ever present.

Throughout the years, I was at any given time in the middle of reading a book. (Not to mention the pile of ‘to-read’s that grows on my bedside table like the leaning tower of pizza till Husband forces me to take them all back to the bookcase, and I’m left with just the one…)

It started before I can even remember, with my mother reading to me every night. As I got older and gathered more tangible memories of these special evenings, I was lost in a sea of my mothers words as she read steadily from The Hobbit, The Just William books, Jenny, Missee Lee, The Scarlet Pimpernel and many other great stories. Nothing like sharing the adventures of a female pirate or of a little boy trapped by magic in a cat’s body or a World War 2 child’s mischievous playground to make for a rich and full adolescence.

I spent rainy Saturday afternoons and sick days in bed listening to the Story Teller tapes, following along in the printouts that came with them and colouring in the pictures. Thousands of hours must have been dedicated to Gobbolino the Witch’s Cat, Thumbelina, The Marrog and Timbertwig. Stories endeared to me in vivid worlds of words, even though I wasn’t the one reading them.

The first real book I remember reading to myself was Naughty Amelia Jane. I loved the scrappy rag doll character and laughed at all the ridiculous situations she got herself into. After the formative Enid Blyton years, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and the full C.S. Lewis series, I read every Nancy Drew ever written. I had a reading spot up a tree where I would climb with a book and settle down in my nest for the afternoon. My world was lit up by Charley and the Chocolate Factory, and then brought back down again by James and the Giant Peach (never did like that one).

After a trip to the library where my then 4 siblings and I had the understanding that we would each take out a different one, the Asterix comic book series would be passed around our home as fast and furious as a contagious bout of gastro before the next library visit and we would exchange them for a whole new batch to share.

Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass made a regular appearance in many forms; picture books, abbreviated versions, the Disney adaptation and the full Lewis Caroll classic. I ventured, at some point, to write a 3^rd novel to the series – my first (failed) attempt at fan fiction.

What child who doesn’t love books spends a summer vacation with her best friend, taking turns in reading chapters of the Anastasia Krupnik series to each other for weeks on end? That same best friend and I would swap copies of Scrambled Legs and even tried our hand at writing our own combined book as young teens. She was also the one who introduced me to my first (and last) Mills and Boon somewhere around puberty.

I grew up some more and started reading books behind my parents’ backs for fear of their disapproval. Some game books where you could choose your own ending, a few Judy Blumes and The Sweet Valley Twins books, much to my youngest brothers dismay. He started giving me different books to help balance out my appetites, and I tried. From Shogun (which took me about a year to read and I am not even convinced I ever did finish it - SO not my genre!) to The Terminator. I read the movie-based book with guilty hunger because I knew the film was banned in our home. My mother of course found it in my room, took it away from me, read it herself, and then gave it back with all the blasphemy and swear words blocked out in black ink. I was mortified!

English Lit was my favorite subject, and thanks to being home schooled, I got to read a few of my older siblings set work books and assigned poetry as well as my own grade, sitting in on their lessons when my mother dissected the words throughout my high school career. I loved the language, the story telling – Far From the Madding Crowd, Shakespeare, Charles Dickens and e e cummings quenched what every lettered thirst I had. Amongst them, one Afrikaans pearl shining in my purse of all time literary loves – Kringe In Die Bos.

At some point in my late teens I started to read only religious books. Even amongst those, my belletristic needs found a pick of beloveds. Christy, the original Catherine Marshal novel that was later made into a TV series, story of the young missionary girl in the great Smoky Mountains was and still is one of the most enchanting tales of love, friendship, combined worlds and death I have ever encountered. The story of Jim Eliot, as written by the wife who survived him, who was murdered by the Auca tribe he was going to preach to. Then more of her books, including Passion and Purity, giving advice to young ladies to become good, wholesome wives. Yes, I had drunk the coolaid back then.

(I feel it is only fair to mention here that my siblings and I were also all made to read the Bible every morning of our lives, and over the years, I have probably read the Bible in its entirety 5 or 6 times...possibly more.)

The only break from Christian literature that I can remember at that time was music lyrics. The words of Britney Spears, Madonna, Bon Jovi and Roxette twirled in my teenage head. Of course this can’t be claimed as reading any more than posting status updates on Facebook and tweeting can be claimed as writing… But the hours and hours spent pouring over Tori Amos lyrics, reading CD cover sleeves late into the night with esteemed devotion, and a sense of something wonderful happening inside me, can. To this day a good Tori Amos lyric can send me into the zone better than a bottle of wine!

After Bible College and a working trip to America, my steady husk-diet of religious reading felt stale and forced to me. One shining beacon of hope sparked up my innards again in the most significant series of books to break a reading drought - Harry Potter. This, of course, lasted for a few years and I eagerly awaited the releasing of the latest one with the rest of the Potterheads. In the interim, my little sister became my dealer and I started reading Terry Pratchett, her favorite author, finding the comedic prose refreshing and delightful. I began to borrow books from friends and boyfriends, thereby consuming a wider range of genre’s to find out what I really did like.

Early adult years were slow on the reading front while I worked, studied, dated and grew into myself, but I still managed to accumulate some front-running greats. Perfume. The Poisonwood Bible. The Devil Wears Prada. Memoirs of a Geisha. White Oleander. All the Marian Keyes books. The Bell Jar. Geek Love (which isn’t what you would think it is and therefore is brilliant.) Twenties Girl and the Sophie Kinsella Shopaholic series. A Vintage Affair.

Some less than stellar ones also cluttered my scattered reading hours; The Da Vinci Code (a religious cross-over which, at the time, read like a hangover.) Eat, Pray, Love (ugh.) 50 Shades of Grey (DOUBLE ugh.) And The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (which was a good book but was so brutal in some scenes that it made me cry and put me off the series for good.)

Now that I am a little older, have left the feverish 20’s behind me and acquired a Kindle e-reader, my world has been full to the brim with books again. Even though I get trapped by the occasional trending best-seller (Gone Girl anyone? Sigh. I want my money and time back for that one!) mostly I love every moment I get to read, and devour Indie publishers’ offerings and female fiction perpetually. Every sentence. Every word. I am so thankful that my mother showed me the way to become a bibliophile and fed my addiction till I was able to take over and start feeding myself.

If I didn’t read, how else would I now know that the perfect way to describe a hangover is to say I am feeling ‘rough as a badgers arse’? How else would I be able to run away from arguments and Facebook feuds to a lovely place where the characters don’t argue with me, don’t judge me and don’t doubt my true intentions. How else would I have ever experienced the tragedy of a missionary wife doubting her husbands work and having a heart wrenching love affair, tucked away in the gorgeous Vale of Kashmir, India, in 1939.  Or the despicable actions of the Capitol that Katniss Everdeen has to sacrifice herself to bring down. Or that Ender was a bit of a crybaby before he perfected the Game. How else would I know that there are a million and one ways to illuminate the sheer exhilaration that is buying a new pair of beautiful shoes?

I can say without a doubt that I have always been, and will continue to be, a Bookish Child till the day I die. I will disappear, book in hand, to the Great BookClub in the Sky for a nice long eternity of reading and drinking tea with my grandmother.

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust,

Cherry Blossom

Magic and a Brooch

Family heirlooms are more of a book theme than a reality to me. Little trinket jewels and symbolic emblems – the dragonfly necklace in Twenties Girl, or a nifty mocking-jay pin in The Hunger Games or One Ring to Rule them all. But in a world that is not on the best selling list, what is the point of these things? Where does the magic lie? I think about curios that people have passed down from generation to generation and wonder what it is about a material thing that could be so important?

Surely a plate of food, or a family vacation, or having a car is more relevant than some silly little nugget with monetary worth locked up in it? I have never faulted anyone for selling off those old keepsakes for the sake of their current situations. After all, a precious timepiece doesn’t pay the doctors bills.

Maybe my lack of appreciation for symbolic histories has a bit to do with how I was raised. 'Value' was never something we attested to earthly man-made possessions. And magic doesn't exist. Even if there was something left to sell, my most recent ancestors didn’t really have the option to pass things of value down the family line as world wars, death taxes, continental relocations and too many offspring watered out any possible inheritance we had before I was even born.

But that was OK with me. I have never felt the need for a fancy clock, or a vintage chair, or even an ancient jewel. Though I often thought it would be nice to have a beautiful old ring or some equivalent that I can treasure, it would only have been gimmicky - pretty cool - like something from a novel. But I have never seen the deeper value in those possessions. I never believed in magic. That is until now.

I had a surgery last week that I was very worried about. I struggled to sleep thanks to anxiety, but when I did, my nights were filled with nightmares leading up to it. Nothing could help me because all the pre-suffering was in my head, and I am about as stubborn as I am tall. Not an easy thing to deal with before going under the knife. I didn't need pills, I didn't need stern talking to's. I didn't need prayers or meditations or distractions. I needed magic.

That is why I put on my grandmother’s brooch. It’s the only thing I have of hers, besides her British, almost see-through skin, fair hair and love of words. She meant so much to me growing up and still fills my life now that she has passed on.

When she died, there wasn’t much for me to remember her by. I got a selection of her books – mostly poetry – and her dictionaries. I have a cherished doll she gave me when I was 5, a blanket she bought for me in my early adulthood, and I have lot's of photo's. But none of these things could go with me about my daily business. Not like the brooch could.

I hung the brooch from a necklace round my neck. It is actually a gift I gave her some time before she died, and so the family felt it right to let me have it when she passed. It is not valuable - I bought it on a budget years ago. It is a cheap, pretty thing that probably won’t last my lifetime. But it is all I have.

I am sad I don't have a ring, or something easy to wear that will last. But I am glad I have what I do. 

Just wearing that brooch made me feel better. Protected. Almost as though having it with me could make me stronger and more able to face what was coming. It gave me the little bit of magic I needed, wrapped up in the mindfulness of wearing a thing that belonged to my dear Granny.

So maybe it has nothing to do with the amulet itself, but is more about the person who it represents to me. Perhaps J K Rowling's explanation of horcruxes (loosely) is the closest to the mystery behind it (though, of course, taking Harry Potter out of the equation, and using magic for good - not evil)

I plan on keeping some special things, a few trinkets and little heirlooms to pass on when it is my time, so that my future granddaughter can have a piece of me when she needs it most. And I plan on being the grandmother to her like mine was to me, to give that trinket the magic Granny gave me last week.

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom

Dream Catcher

*Please note that none of what I talk about in this blog post would be possible if Husband was not in a position to support both of us, and willing to give me the freedom and space to chase my dreams for now. I am fully aware that someone has to still take care of the responsibilities and bills of real life, and Husband has taken over that role for both of us for this chapter whilst I follow my bliss. I love you Hubby! And one day, some how, some way, I will return the favour. Thank you for believing in me and putting your money where your mouth is!*

Three years ago I embarked on a sabbatical of sorts. I left a very corporate world and replaced my office days with something that most would describe as being a full-time house-wife, or even lady-of-leisure. I embraced this title for a time, but only because 'Full-time Dream-Catcher' is not exactly something you can claim at dinner parties when strangers inevitably ask you: 'So? What do you do?' without looking a bit like a freak. And that is the sad state of our society.

It has been quite an adventure, with highs and lows, victories and disappointments. I found that even though I was no longer 'working' that I still didn't have enough hours in the day to do all the things I wanted to do. I discovered that all those things we always say we want to do but never have the time, don't magically happen when time is allocated - but rather take a whole lot of hard work and dedication. But the thing that I was most surprised (and hurt) to find, was the firing-squad of judgment, resentment and down-right nastiness I encountered from many peers, friends and even some family.

'What do you do all day?' 'I would be so bored if I was to stay at home all day!' 'Don't you think it's time to go back to work?' are the kind of comments I have had to bat on a regular basis. For the most part I have ignored, joked about or argued my way through these unpleasant encounters, but a recent, more frank version of these comments (from a well-meaning source) got me thinking - why is it that some people have such a hard time dealing with my current life choices?

Lets say that you started dating a new guy. He makes you happy - happier than you have ever been. He is sweet, kind, generous, funny, smart, and adores you. He is completely dedicated to you. He listens, lets you choose the movie (most of the time) and even finds your strange obsession with purple spandex endearing. Now lets say I am your friend, your confidant, someone who has been around in your single years. But from the day you met Mr. Perfect, all I can ever say to you is 'Oh my gosh, you have to get out of this relationship immediately! He is poor. He isn't going anywhere in his career. He lives in a rented apartment on the cheap side of town and can't even afford a decent cup of coffee. He lives with his mommy! He drives a beat-up old second hand rust bucket and he doesn't have an iota of dress-sense. He uses 'literally' incorrectly and makes spelling errors on his Facebook status updates. He listens to Nickleback, for goodness sake, dump him!'

Would you say that I am a good friend? Would you say that my interests lie in wanting what is actually best for you, or what some of society perceives as being best for you? If I were to suggest that you should date the rich maverick over the poor guy any day of the week, that would make me shallow, right? Shouldn’t he be valued for more than just his monetary status? Would you consider me a b**** if I only thought of your boyfriend as someone you could get a five carat diamond out of?

That's right. I would be a bad friend, at the very least.

Well, this is what I am encountering in my life right now. I have chosen the 'poor guy', if you will. An artistic, non-money-making sabbatical over a previously thriving career. To 'stay at home'. But I believe there is more to life than salaries. There is more to life than 9 to 5. And yet my dream-chasing has been seen as everything from lazy to lost, and I have come to the conclusion that those people in my life who perceive it that way are not wanting the best for me. Perception is a funny thing - because it can be just as easily based on blind ignorance as on personal experience. I suppose that is the difference between perception and misconception.

I have decided to map out a few answers to the top 10 general misconceptions I face:

1. "You don't 'work'."

Define 'work'. Are you saying that the only work worth doing is one where you get a monthly salary? Where you drive your car or take public transport to a building somewhere away from your home and spend an average of 8 hours 5 days a week doing things that make profits for a company that gives you a pat on the back and a pension when all's said and done? Don't get me wrong - growing up through this work force was an important, crucial part of my own personal development, and there may very well come a time where I have to return to the ranks. I do also find the work that so many do to be admirable. The street sweeper who provides for his family by beautifying our city, picking up the trash discarded by strangers; the lawyer who fights her battles and pays for her own Prada; the nail technician who puts her baby brother through school with her earnings; the husband who sees his wife yearning to create a new path for herself, and takes over all monetary responsibilities for a time so that she can do so; the high-school teacher and the sales person and the doctor and the domestic and the accountant and the entertainer and the researcher alike. But they are not the only ones working for a living. The Oxford Dictionary defines 'work' as being an 'activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a result'. So yes, I work.

2. "What do you do all day? I would be bored if I had to stay at home all day long."

Being 'bored' is probably the saddest, most revealing aspect any human can portray. The world is an enchanting place. Perhaps not everyone sees it, but I wake up each morning and embrace my universe like a child prancing through vast fields with a butterfly net (after my cup of coffee, that is). My husband jokes that I have been going through a second childhood, and in a way that is true. Any parent will know that children need to be fed not only with physical food, but in mind, body and spirit.

-The first thing I did after quitting my job was to enroll myself at a piano studio - I was adamant that I wanted to be classically trained in music, something I didn't have the opportunity to do as a child, and wanted to be able to one day teach piano too. I hadn’t yet worked out the specifics, I didn’t have a piano-teaching 'business model' mapped and ready to show any doubting onlooker - I just knew I had to start getting my brain and fingers moving. The learning curve was intense, but I have completed 5 grades of music training thus far, complete with taking the exams and playing mini-performances, and am continuing in my training. I was taken on by my piano teacher as a 'student teacher' a year ago, continue to sub for her when she can't take a class, and have built up my own profile of pre-grade students, under her guidance, that I teach on a weekly basis. (a highly rewarding job, might I add - much more so than anything I ever did in the corporate world!)

-I enrolled in a creative writing course at UCT and started to work towards the goal of becoming an author. I wrote a book, which, like piano, was something I have always wanted to do, getting my first novel down on paper, and am a third of the way through writing my second novel (with one abandoned literary project in-between). Writing is not something that just happens when inspiration strikes (though those 3am - 7am inspiration sessions do occur and I have to just get up and write till it’s out) - it is a skill one must work on and develop over time and thousands upon thousands of words. Being aware that successful writers don't just lie on the beach waiting for heaven to open up and deliver them a product (read Malcolm Gladwell’s book 'Outliers' to understand the 10 000 hour concept of success) I allocate 'writing' days where I start first thing in the morning and work for 8 or more solid hours with just coffee and a lunch break in between. Nothing glamorous or easy about it.

-I dusted off my old sewing machine, only ever used for hemming or fixing store-bought-garments in the past, and started learning to make my own clothing from scratch. The growing ensemble of 'pami products' now includes an array of trousers (stretchy jeans, leather leggings, silky sleep bottoms, his and hers fishing fleecies) children’s pajama’s for my nieces and nephews, baby's touch quilt, vintage feel lace napkins, various tank tops and long sleeved shirts, and the latest, a leather Catwoman suit, and a white pom-pomed fluffy waistcoat.

-I started a veggie patch, quite a feat for someone who used to have a talent in killing everything green - including cacti - quite dramatically. (My 'Peace-in-the-Home' is the only survivor of this past opposite-of-green-fingered me, having miraculously made it through patches of darkness and drought, and an oops where I once spilled a pot of boiling pig stock I was making over it...) My garden is now producing herbs and veggies for the third year in a row, with its first-of-the-season tomato revealing its round little un-ripe self today. Bless.

-I joined an adult ballet class for a year (never having danced ballet past age 5), learning to pirouette and plié, in hopes of finding a fun way to get my 30's body into shape. That was ultimately replaced with CrossFit (10 months and counting) and I am stronger and fitter than I have ever been. (Please note, I didn’t say 'skinnier' than I have ever been - after all, Strong is the new Skinny!)

There has been so much more keeping me butterfly-catching, or staying at home, depending on your perception, but in an attempt to avoid eye-rolling proclamations of 'first world problems', I'll leave the overseeing of house renovations, writing of blogs, wifeing of high profile husband, running of household, throwing of life-event parties, baby-sitting and making of red wine reduction sauces, stuffing my own olives, and whipping up home made mayonnaise’s out for now...

In short, what do I do all day? I chase dreams, I experience life, I do. I don't believe in 'boredom'. Boredom is for people who bore people.

3. "But you don't WORK"

Let me elaborate. Playing a musical instrument requires an extreme amount of mental and physical effort in order to achieve a result. If you don't believe me, try. Learning to play the piano as an adult is even harder - not because the work is harder, but because we are so conditioned into not using our fingers that way, that we first have to break the years and years of 'hand' behavior and then build new abilities. Cramp-hand is no joke! Just ask the teens who suffer from bbm-'thumb' carpal tunnel (I mock, but apparently it is a real thing and has resulted in the need for surgery) and learning to read music is just like learning a new language - in fact, a few new languages, as you must memorize a whole bunch of Italian, French and even German terms, along with 'reading' all the semebreve's, dotted minim's, demi-semi-quavers and imperfect cadences. (The good thing about learning as an adult, is there is wine at the end of it...) 

Making clothes also involves mental and physical effort in order to achieve a result. It is hard, until it becomes easy. Practice generally makes perfect, and trust me, many a throw-away resulted from my sewing machine before the white pom-pomed fluffy waistcoat. Writing a book...don't even get me started! The initial 150 000 words were 'easy' to get out relative to the editing, re-editing and multi-editing processes (they say that 7 is the lucky number). And jumping into the publishing-pool has been nothing short of an amateur swimmer thrown into the Cape of Storms in high season. But I continue to paddle, grasping for signs of land, and continue to write.

4. "You are lost - no direction in your life! Remember when you used to be in marketing...you were always so concerned with the next project, the new launch, the sales figures etc... You had purpose. Direction. Now you are lost."

Erm, no. Nope. Not true. My past is in my past. I gave it my all when I was there, but that's just me. When I do something, I do it to the fullest. And I was in a very different stage in my life. I had to ‘work’ to pay the bills. I had to build up my own skill set to know that I could take care of myself for the rest of my life if need be. I needed to prove to myself that I was worthy of the corporate title I eventually did attain, and made darn sure I studied and put in the hours to do so.  But my past success is not who I am. I am following a very clear map - the map of Living a Happy and Meaningful Existence - Whilst Wearing Fabulous Shoes. And speaking of shoes, the 'Dreams' I have been chasing for the past three years are 'Futures' I have been trying on, investing in, (convincing my investor to invest in), ones that I have been walking around the shop floor in, testing to see which ones will leave the Store of Life with me to carry me through the next phase of my time here on this planet. (OK, enough with the Capitol Analogies...)

5. "You probably spend all day tanning on Camps Bay beach, reading books, and getting treatments in beauty salons."

Aw, thanx man! You think I look that good?

And yes, yes I read. Your point?

For the record, I went to the beach on a week (aka work) day a grand total of ONCE in the past three years. I go to lunches on an average of once a month (most of my working friends do 'lunch' more often that that, where absolutely nothing work-related happens) I have had my nails done...oh wait...that’s right, never. Nails are things I take care of myself, after hours, every second week or so, while watching a movie or series with Husband. I am about to go for my first pedicure next week as a birthday treat, taking my two teenage nieces with me to enjoy the experience too. The appointment is at 4pm. Sue me.

6. "It must be so nice being at home. You can kuier all day, drinking tea." (usually said with so much back-handed venom that it would take a machine-powered syphon to suck all that sarcastic poison out!)

It's coffee most of the time, not tea, and it's mostly by myself with my manuscript-in-progress or piano books, and not often with friends. Having coffee is something I did just as much of when in an office environment (possibly more).

7. "You are on Facebook, like, 24-7! Clearly you have too much time on your hands!"

Facebook is my 'water-cooler', and I am a sharer. I admit, I am partial to social media. I check FB/Twitter/Pintrest/Instagram on my phone in traffic on the way to CrossFit, on my iPad between teaching piano classes, on my laptop with my morning coffee and on the couch at night when watching a series I am not as enthralled in as Husband is (when I don't have some hand-sewing to finish or nails to do, that is) I have a friend who is on Facebook just as often as I am - she sees all, reads all, browses every photo album. But she is not a natural sharer. She never hits 'like' or 'share' or comments on statuses like I do, and thus appears to have no FB activity what so ever. (Very sneaky, my friend)(you know who you are!) Fun fact: Being an avid social media user (and this is years of previous marketeering speaking) makes me more of a modern-ling than a stay-at-home-with-nothing-to-do-ling. Think about it.

8. "You don't wake up to go to work, your life is a breeze.”

There are more things in the world to wake up for than 'a job'. Have you ever been on holiday, with some exciting event planned for the next day, and had to set the alarm clock for a work-worthy-hour? Welcome to my world. I wake up with Husband every day. Granted, not to go to an office like him. But to go to work on my life. (PS Husband and I sleep in on weekends AND WE WILL NOT APOLOGISE FOR THAT TO ANYONE!)(PPS I am aware that babies will change all of this in one foul swoop, but I will embrace that bridge when I get there)

9. "I am worried you are going to turn into one of 'those' women."

Who exactly are 'those' women? And who gets to judge who 'those' women are? And even once identifying 'those' women, who are you to decide what 'those' woman do or who 'those' women are in their deeper core beings? Who are you to define them? The kept? The princesses? The desperate housewives? I don’t know about you, but I haven't found myself trapped outdoors in nothing but a bath towel any time recently, and certainly don't have a pool boy (I clean that out-door Jacuzzi all by myself, yo!) The only people who should be concerned with my current usage of my time, are me, and Husband. No one else. If he doesn't see me as one of 'those' women, or if I don't feel that I am one of 'those' women, then what exactly are we talking about here? Moving on.

10. "Well, you don't have a job, and you don't as yet have a child. So what are you doing with your life?"

What are you doing with your life?

Having said all that, being 'unemployed' definitely has its freedoms - mostly in that my time is mine to do with as I choose. So there are days where I choose to spend quality time with my siblings children, or help a friend in doing the school run for her, or take a friend shopping to find the perfect dress for an exciting event in her life. There are days where I choose to show a traveling visitor around my city, or leave early for a long weekend away with Husband, or attend an NGO meeting, or meet with editors and writers to 'talk books', or simply have coffee with my folks. I'm not claiming that it's ALL work and no play - after all, pami is not a dull girl. But what I don’t understand is why what I choose to do with my time is such a personal offence to some?

To those who still don't understand why I am on a Dream Catching sabbatical, can you possibly be happy knowing that I am happy and fulfilled in my life right now and that my 'cost' of living is taken care of by someone who I have a very open and honest understanding with whilst I catch those dreams?

To the rest of the naysayers and haters out there, let me leave you with one final thought. I have taken a leap of faith, trusting that I can grow my wings in time before I hit the bottom. Why do you feel the need to stand on your chunk of the precipice and take cheap shots at me, hoping to knock holes in my dream catching? I can only come to one conclusion. But Taylor Swift says it better than me - she has a wonderful little song, which perhaps applies to you. Have a listen to it here.

(P.S. Hello Kitty called, and she says 'Live and let Live')

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom

In Love with Love

"Bianca: There's a difference between like and love. Because, I like my Skechers, but I love my Prada backpack.
Chastity: But I love my Skechers.
Bianca: That's because you don't have a Prada backpack!"

...10 Things I Hate About You

Love is a word I use a lot. Not because I can’t distinguish between like and love. I just love to love. I love to fall in love. It's something I do very often, and on many different platforms. 

There is, of course, my ultimate Love, Husband, and I am a lucky girl because he's one of those men you can fall in love with over and over again. 

Then there's the obvious shoe Love I have - this one is easily quenched with a bit of scouting, shopping or even just gathering pictures off the internet of beautiful creations that I couldn’t actually wear (or buy). 

Some of my Loves need no explanation. Some of my Loves should never be explained. (Don’t even attempt to understand them because even I don’t get it...ahem...like this song)

But then some Loves come into my world in a whirlwind of romance! Complete with wining, dining, butterflies, bubbles and all things intoxicating! I Love Jennifer Lawrence – serious girl crush. I'm crazy in Love with my giant cat and his purr-filled snoring! I Love CrossFit. I Love watching Husband cast out a fly line with expert ease, uncurling it onto the water with delicate precision. Or even better, when I make the perfect cast myself! (or as close as I am going to get at this point, that is) A new Love came to me in the form of a pink ‘Sage’ fly fishing rod he bought me, and I know this one is going to stand the test of time because I just keep thinking about it. I have even been mulling over the name Sage in my brain so much so that it has become the first name of one of the characters in my latest manuscript in progress.

Another Love arrived as a book. It was Love at First Read, and I wrote a blog post dedicated to the fiery fling we had, even though the reading was over too quickly. Isn’t that just the way it goes? The thing with books, however, is that they are never jealous when you find the next one, the new one, the one that keeps your bed warm as you lie in it reading on your kindle. (I Love my kindle!) And so, in the very happy after glow A Girls Guide To Fairy Tales left me, I found another Love of a book. This one involves vintage teacups! I'm hooked :)

And this week, my newest Love was a moment, sitting in a coffee shop with a dear friend. I fell, not only for the honey and cinnamon banana French toast, but while we were talking about loves (a pink scarf, an unpublished book, an upcoming wedding) I spotted a ceramic bowl amongst the shop decor that was filled with little matching ceramic ducklings, and fell instantly head over heels in love with that moment, right there and then.

The Loves that I love the most are the ones that are worth it. Don’t you just love that kind of Love?

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom

BOOK NOOK: A Girls Guide To Fairy Tales

A Girls Guide to Fairy Tales

 What a pleasure to be able to kick off the newest feature on my blog, Book Nook, with this wonderful little gem! And it is even MORE of a pleasure, and an honour, that I get to interview the author herself right here on Cherry Blossom Boutique!

I found AGGTFT via a twitter/facebook page dedicated to chicklit. Having been burned before when purchasing books based on on-line recommendations, I swore I would never do it again. But when I saw this sparkling temptation (at a great price), I thought, oh why not.

What a great find! Not only is A Girls Guide To Fairy Tales fun and charming, but it is so enjoyably constructed I couldn’t put it down! (even though I was meant to be practicing for a piano exam…)

The book is about 4 girl friends, the English variety (not Manhattanites), who are each going though their own daily issues – love, work, self esteem, wardrobe dilemma’s, kick-starting a career as a Broadway star…you know, the usual. I loved that even though Laurey captured each of the different women’s unique personalities, I could find something in all of them to relate to. OK, maybe not taking the stage – naked – for a very important role in a very important play…but I definitely felt akin to every one of the women in the story at some point or another in their own personal journeys.

I loved that each chapter is written from a different viewpoint, of one of the friends, and that each chapter ends with you wanting to know what happens next! The beauty of the flow of this book, is that you then have to read 3 more chapters to get to the next part of ‘insert-protagonista’s-name-here’s story. Oh, Laurey, you crafty scribbler you ;)

When the girls get together, it’s as though I am there. I have BEEN there, only the group of girls is my own little cluster here in South Africa. How rare that a fun and heartwarming book captures elements of reality in a way that transcends continents!

I found myself laughing out loud at both Issie’s and Clare’s blind dates, having been in similar situations myself, ranging from the socially awkward to a particularly cave-manish face-palm specimen who had a very special way of charming the ladies. I felt deeply for poor Sophie who felt immediately less than worthy when she found out about her boyfriends newest employee, the drop dead gorgeous and can’t-blame-her friendly potential other woman; All the while, Sophie’s teenage language filled with OMG’s and WTF’s endeared her to me even more, and the scene where she hides eating a chocolate from her boyfriend is SO me - I couldn’t stop laughing! Maddie’s desire to open her own cake shop is one I would never have the guts to do myself, but one I would always encourage. Go Maddie! And of course, any book that has a ‘glittery shoe’ incident is right up my alley – fairy tale style!

Without further ado, I would like to introduce the lovely lady who made this gorgeous novel happen - Laurey Buckland. Take it away, Laurey!

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Thank you so much Pami (aka Cherry Blossom) for hosting me on what I can only describe as a powerful-punch-of-pink blog which I love.  What I don’t want to do is bog your dear readers down with reams of rambling statements of what ‘inspired me’ or ‘why I decided to write the novel’. That will bore them senseless. What I will simply say is that I thoroughly enjoy being creative and was inspired by my own life and those of my girlfriends.

However, what I feel I should explain (briefly) is why I chose a fairy tale theme…..

I felt that the stories from our childhood related to those lives we live and the problems in them. How many of us are always looking for faults in ourselves before someone else can point them out? How many of us pretend to be something we’re not and adopt a false persona just to get by from day-to-day? How many of us would rather believe the worst than hope for the best? And how many of us believe our worlds are topsy turvy and should be something more? If you’re not one of these women, I envy you. A lot of us are shaped by society to want the mythical perfect man and to want to be perfect ourselves. Believe it or not, our fairy tale heroes and heroines have all been there before us: The Ugly Duckling; Pinocchio; Snow White; Alice...

There’s no need to go into too much detail about each of my character’s problems right now. For $1.16/£0.76 I’m hoping you will not feel it an expensive burden to discover them for yourself. However, I do hope you will relate to one of their experiences. I wanted them to be the Every Women of chicklit. I want their stories to resonate somewhere in each of your perfectly formed, feminine physiques. And if you’re wondering about happily-ever-afters, let’s just say I’m a huge romantic.

Pami has set a few questions for me to answer, so here goes:

Tea or Coffee?

Despite being British, it's coffee all the way for me. I would never wake up otherwise, although I've heard that half an apple is just as likely to help wake you up in the mornings. Think I'll stick with my cuppas though.

Sparkly heels or ballet flats?

Depends on the occasion. However, if we're talking about what I feel super special and sexy in, then it's sparkly heels every time. In fact, the sparkly heels I mention in A Girl's Guide to Fairy Tales were based on ones I'd bought the day I wrote the chapter they feature in. Oh, I felt like Dorothy herself wearing those beauties but instead of "there's no place like home", it was a case of "there's no place like a dance floor".

Diamonds or pearls?

Diamonds. Diamonds. Diamonds. After all, they are a girl's best friend.

Red or White? (wine of course)

Neither actually. I'm a rosé girl! And if there are bubbles on offer I'll take them, even though they do strange things to my brain. 

Audrey or Marilyn?

Hardest question of the lot! But after careful deliberation I've decided it has to be Audrilyn!!

If money wasn't an issue, where in the world would you live and why?

Wherever my family was....but seeing as money isn't an issue in this scenario, I'm guessing they could come with me. Therefore, I think I'd go back to Italy. I lived there when I was very young and have extremely fond memories of my life there. It is rich with history, which I would appreciate now I'm older (and wiser I hasten to add) and finally, with it being the most romantic country in the world (stereotypically or not) it would be the perfect setting for another chicklit venture.

What is your favorite book of all time? (or top 3 if you cant choose) (or, if you are like me, top 5)

I very rarely read a book more than once but if the story has gripped me, then I don't need to; it's embedded in the brain. I'm a hopeless romantic but love a bit of fantasy fiction too. Therefore, my top 3 are:

1)Jane Austen's Persuasion. I love P&P too, but the love between Anne Elliot and Wentworth is (dare I say it) more romantic than Darcy and Elizabeth. Controversial! 

2)Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. This is where Rowling's world starts to turn truly dark and interesting. What an imagination that woman has.

3) Roget's Thesaurus - gotta love a book that can turn dark into tenebrous and light into resplendent.

Who should make the first move? Man or woman?

Another cracking conundrum here. But I'm going to go with *insert drum roll here*....the man. I believe men bounce back from rejection better than women and let's face it, when would a guy refuse anything with breasts and a pulse?

For those of you who do want to learn a little bit more about me (you just might) then you can visit my blog http://laureybuckland.blogspot.co.uk/p/about-me.html

However, my answers to Pami’s questions should have told you everything you need to know.

And finally, for those of you who are still reading this far, here’s my novel’s synopsis in a bit more detail.

For daydreamer Maddie, obsessive compulsive Clare, over dramatic Isobel and happy-go-lucky Sophie, life is more a world of tragic than magic.

For Maddie it’s a constant battle against the monotony of a job she hates while her heart aches to follow her dreams of setting up her own cake-making business and turn her talent into a career. But will she escape to the world where she feels she truly belongs?

Clare's inability to banish the image of the ugly duckling she remembers hampers her ability to believe she is good for anyone or anything. After being coerced by well-meaning friends to sign up to an online dating site, she soon starts to realize that looks aren’t perhaps everything and that she is just as quick to judge a book by its cover.

Isobel has the looks, the figure and the confidence – or so it appears. After landing the lead role in a new play written and directed by the beastly Guy Edmundson, she follows her mother’s advice to find a gorgeous hunk in time to escort her to the after-show party. But it’s only when she cuts herself free from the ties of a fake persona and stops living up to other people’s expectations that the unexpected happens.

Sophie has the perfect job and the devoted boyfriend who worships the ground she walks on. But when she chooses to doubt her own worth and believes in a poisonous rumour, it tears her fairy tale world apart. Can she find the magic to piece it back together?

Links:

Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/Girls-Guide-Fairy-Tales-ebook/dp/B008E315NG/ref=cm_cr_pr_pb_t

Amazon.co.uk

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Girls-Guide-Fairy-Tales-ebook/dp/B008E315NG

It is also available on iTunes.

Feel free to get in touch and tweet me @LaureyBuckland

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How gorgeous is Laurey's cat!? And the sparkly shoe that inspired some of the fairy tale...I love that it exists in real life :)

That's it from me for now. I hope you are inspired to buy and read the book - and let me know what you think! 

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom