Window on George

Bokswyn.    Dooswyn.    Bonteheuwel Briefcase. Papsak. Not quite. The Wine. 6 bottles in a box. 4  bottles bought here in Hong Kong. 2  bottles brought back from South Africa, bought at the source. The Box. The box came from the little town of Pauillac, in  Bordeaux, France,   with 6 vins de terroir, bien sur. I have close ties with Pauillac. Chinese Opera is the link. These are my students.   Our school has an exchange programme with St Jean's Ensemble school in the heart of Bordeaux.  Our students perform Cantonese Opera for them, and they take our students to the châteaux of Lynch Bages.   The French students are in awe of the costumes, the calligraphy and Hong Kong's skyscrapers.   I can't say unequivocally that the Hong Kongers share their French counterparts' enthusiasm. They don't drink wine, they don't eat butter. They get scared in open spaces. http://www.lynchbages.com/en/events/the-lan-chi-pat-association http://www.lynchb

The vehicle registration plate for George is CAW.    Cold and Wet, everybody says. But when it's Warm and Dry,  it's Goddamn Beautiful. Say hello to our Cormorant.  He lives there with his family. He has a branch. With a view. The Egyptian Goose is also a permanent inhabitant. One of Mandy's ducks flew away from her house and joined the cosmopolitan community on The Dam. The ranger told her that he had seen a newcomer.   We could swear Daffy came when we called her name. That day, however, she was nowhere to be seen. Elderflower trees line the path around the dam together with Proteas and an all-sorts of indigenous flora Amidst all this beauty, there is a  sombre tone to the gardens now. A simple wreath and a rock mark the spot where a father killed his 3-year old son and then himself. He lured the son away by telling him they were going to feed the ducks. We had been there the day before.

A nod of the head, or the tilt of a hat. A soft stroke over the gnarled bark. A quick glimpse or a loving look through the camera's lens. No matter how fleet or intense the meeting, we always look up our old friends when we take a walk through the neigbourhood. This tree graces the pavement in front of Stuart's grandmother's house.  Grandma is no longer there, but I hope the tree will remain.   With the lavender.   And the white roses. I don't recall ever seeing this tree at Christmas time.   It seems to spring to life during autumn.   It stands proud on the corner, just past Eleven Little Ears.  The landmark tree at the Botanical Gardens, just around the block from the other trees.    The Power Van roars past it. Every Christmas we wish we could decorate this magnificent one. The curly-wurly trees on the green. Some friends are no more.     We will never forget you. Die Rok Kiepersol.   Sounds much better than Cabbage Tree, don't

My grandmother loved flowers and she loved making clothes. My mother loves flowers and she loves needlework. I love flowers and I love making things, too.  These gifts have been handed down to my daughter as well. When I lived in Taiwan, my mother spent nearly a year there with me.   She was inspired by the colours and flowers and fruit and vegetables, the mountains, the sea, the buildings.    She painted.   She sewed.   She knitted.   She crocheted.  She taught my daughter to make bobbin lace. Her hands are never idle. Here are some of her muses, inspiration, design processes and creations. Persimmons, Figs and Cabbage for Autumn The Atayal tribal weavers and their multi-coloured textiles Turquoise and red, traditional Chinese colours. Traditional Puli huts Gods at Tong Shiao Blue Mountains in Taroko Gorge Dankie, ouma Mavis!