The Bumper Halloween, Angelina Jolie, and Bushveld Rubbish Days

I have been prancing about the street (and elsewhere) like a loon as per usual but I have been distracted by a few work deadlines so I only posted the pics to my Facebook page for my nearest and dearest. Never fear though, we now have the bumper Rubbish Day for the blog.

It starts with our trip to the bush, where they encourage recycling by making you use see-through bin bags. If I look a little jumpy in the photos, it is because we had just seen a rather beautiful, rather large male leopard about 500 metres from the riverbed in which I stand. The francolins (or spur fowl as we are now to call them according to the ever-ready-for-change nomenclurists) were making a terrible racket in the grass and much of my energy was focused on not dying with a bin bag full of tins in my hand in the middle of nowhere.

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Upon our return from the bush, Mrs Young suggested an Angelina Jolie shoot was in order. My brood was at school, so the dolls stood in for them while I pouted up a storm as Mrs Smith.

Warning: severe duck face shots and the worst background-removal photo edit in the history of Rubbish Day follow

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From Mrs Smith last week to Mrs Frankenstein this one. 23Thorns and I celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary this month, so I hauled out my wedding dress and got 23 to wrap my arms in bandages before trying to move in the street like a reanimated corpse. I’m not sure I was entirely convincing as Bride of Frankenstein but it was great fun to wear a train on tar at 8 in the morning.

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Happy Halloween to all.

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‘I promised you a rose garden’ Rubbish Day

It has been a bit of a week. A work deadline came and went. There was much celebration with much wine. The small people are on school holidays again. There was much wine.

I feel these days that the time between holidays is so fast. The small people are becoming big people too fast. Winter turns to spring turns to summer too fast. Perhaps spending all day looking at huge periods of time, looking at people coming and going over periods of hundreds of years, makes a month seem like a whoosh! and a ‘where did that go?’. And I could spend some time musing over the flowers that my charming husband bought me now having withered and died. Fleeting beauty and all that.

Or, I could put on a pair of floral trews, a floral jacket, floral shoes, and even the floral knickers; I could recruit myself a little flower fairy and cause a ruckus in the street on the Sunday prior to Rubbish Day Monday. Today was especially raucous. One neighbour came to visit en route to another neighbour’s house with another neighbour’s dog. Our Charlie dog was fairly interested, as was Beatrice Bloodhound. We made a scene but if ever you make a scene, do it as a rose garden I always say.

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Dancing to the Belle Epoque Rubbish Day

I adore the early modern dancers of the Belle Epoque, Loie Fuller twirling with so many yards of fabric. I love looking at any photographs of the thoroughly beautiful Isadora Duncan. Swirly twirly Rodin sketches made flesh.

“Let them come forth with great strides, leaps and bounds, with lifted forehead and far-spread arms, to dance.”

~ Isadora Duncan

In looking through old images of dancers on Friday, I came across this photograph and immediately thought it just the sort of a dance I could do with the bin.

DANCERS

The neighbours working in their gardens braced for more dancing impact. My arms were spread wide. There was leaping. There was a little bounding.

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Mary Poppins Rubbish Day

Thank you to the completely delightful 23Thorns for nominating me for the blog hop. I will attend to an appropriate response soon. Today though, I have a kite to fly. I’m going to send it soaring, up to the atmosphere, up where the air is clear etc.

The beautiful girl-child was a suffragette in her nursery school’s end of year production of Mary Poppins last night. “Votes for woman! We will not be held down by men! We deserve our freedom!”, she shouted while marching across the stage militantly. My heart could have popped with the pride of it.

I have ever been fond of a musical, much to 23’s horror – he has still not seen The Sound of Music! – and I am especially fond of wonderfully peculiar Mary Poppins. Since last night I have been belting out my favourite numbers at full volume while strutting about the place. There was no choice really in terms of who to be for Rubbish Day.

Oh, it’s a jolly holiday with Mary
Mary makes your heart so light
You haven’t changed a bit, have you?

When the day is gray and ordinary
Mary makes the sun shine bright
Oh, honestly

Oh, happiness is bloomin’ all around her
The daffodils are smilin’ at the dove
When Mary holds your hand you feel so grand
Your heart starts beatin’ like a big brass band
You are lightheaded

It’s a jolly holiday with Mary
No wonder that it’s Mary that we love

Have a wonderful week everybody. I am going to try to be here more regularly again. Since the change of rubbish day from Wednesday to Monday and sometimes Tuesday it has been difficult to keep up. As 23 pointed out in his blog too, I have been obsessing about wars again. I have decided today though that a-lot-of-war-writing time is the perfect time for a spoonful of sugar or two. It does help the medicine go down.

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Little Sparrow Rubbish Day

Edith Piaf was 1.47m tall. That’s 4ft9-ish. She was really exceptionally tiny. When she died of liver cancer at the age of 47, her last words – “Every damn fool thing you do in this life, you pay for.” – were probably not very much in the spirit of ‘Non, je ne regrette rien’.

But today is Little Sparrow day. It is indomitable tiny person with huge voice day. It is don’t regret the bad things day, or the good. It is all of these things because I bought caged bird earrings, and then I needed bird shoes to match, and then in walking around the shops for the first time in a week because I was without wheels pending an expensive clutch replacement, I noticed quite how dreary winter is. Black shoes. Brown shoes. Beige coats. Grey scarves. In defiance of beige, I have taken to the skies. I am a bird. With goosebumps and shivers and vertigo. I’m more of a carnival bird than a little sparrow and I’m 17ft tall on the dustbin. But what is lacking in accuracy and grace is made up for in enthusiasm and colour-clashing of epic proportion.

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Deeliteful Rubbish Day

After a rather lengthy absence due in part to the fact that the council moved our rubbish collection day to Monday (who has time to be a lunatic on a Monday morning?), I am back with another special request Rubbish Day production.

The absolutely delightful Carrie Sanders from CSSM Consulting suggested that as I had always reminded her of Lady Miss Kier from Deelite it would be delightful (see what I’m doing here?) if I would go out into the road on a chilly Monday morning looking like this:

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Never one to turn up my nose at an opportunity to wander the streets of Johannesburg in fishnet tights, I roped the kids in.

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I am rather fond of this “Mom, a car is coming shot”. The girl child’s refusal to step out of character bodes well for a career on stage.

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Have a groovy week, everybody. I’m going inside now to put some pants on.

Groove is in the Heart 🙂

And then, just because and with thanks to Louis Greenberg…

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Toulouse the integrity of one’s hamstring Rubbish Day

I woke up feeling a bit dancey this morning despite the fact that the rubbish collectors didn’t arrive on Wednesday and the fact that I can now actually smell the bins from a good 20 metres away. A week’s worth of cat litter in a bin is a terrifying thing! (Yes, we still have both the cat and allergies)

In honour of my grandma who nearly danced for the Folie Bergeres, I went a little (lot) Moulin Rouge. A car actually pulled over AND turned off the Oscar Pistorius news to investigate the going on!

Of course I have neither the grace of a gazelle nor its hamstrings. I am in fits of giggles and am quite beyond being able to edit the many photos my long-suffering husband took (I’m sure to prolong the agony of my public can-can performance) so there are rather a lot of shots this morning.

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My “audience” and, yes, there was some performance anxiety. Thank heavens for the absinthe (green food colouring in water)

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I am rather fond of my hastily cobbled together fascinator.

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Let the dancing begin

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More Impi, more toyi toyi than can can 🙂 And then the Karate Kid move. Keeeeya!

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Empress of Entropy Rubbish Day

We have a cat. A ginger cat from parts unknown has come to live with us. He is terribly sweet but alas the dogs don’t think so. Ginger Cassidy has now been living with us for almost two weeks and every single day of the almost fourteen has been a lesson in how difficult it is to suppress basic instinct. Each time Mr Cassidy is sighted by the dogs, he runs. Each time he runs the dogs give chase. It’s a greyhound race all day every day. With consequences. So far I am the only one to suffer these – blood, regret and tetanus shots.

In order to keep everybody safe, we have evolved an elaborate system of closing and opening doors. This was stressful and annoying enough on its own but then on Friday my darling daughter tipped the scales by bringing home the class hamsters for the holidays. More closed doors. More greyhound racing. More basic instinct. We are all prey here.

Thankfully I have the distraction of rubbish day and my online war game (I’m still playing. O woe is me) in which, this week, I earned the title ‘Empress’. So despite the fact that I am a ball of nerves, blood and allergies, I get to put on a shiny hat and look regal (not really) on the bins.

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Happy Wednesday good people of wordpress!
L.

Lego Rubbish Day

It has been a day from the seventh circle. The shining light in a day of sibling death matches, tears, shouting, running out of coffee, and dog food, (Never fear, the dogs had crepes for supper. I had a headache from caffeine deprivation) soccer practice, and mad washerwoman antics (it’s still raining) was The Lego Movie. My son is on his half-term break and we dashed out of the house early this morning in order to make the first showing. This means, however, that he took one hasty photograph just before we laid some rubber in our quiet suburban street. I shoved sponges into my cardie to square myself up – forgive that they are flower-shaped. (They were a stroke of genius as they also served as black lipstick removers in the car en route to the movie theatre). I was given strict 9 3/4 year-old instructions on how to stand, and ta da…I’m Lego. I’m also exhausted. See you next week.

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Singing in the Rain but not Rubbish Day

oh dear! I published this on the wrong blog. Apologies.

It has been raining. A lot. It has rained consistently for 10 days or more. Our house is starting to smell like a cave, the dogs are always wet, to say nothing of the children, and I am developing concerns about the black mould that Dr House so often looks for as the cause of near-certain death growing in secret damp corners.

I woke up this morning to another grey day and thought, “Gene Kelly! I can rock a song and dance”. 23 Thorns has gone back to work in a 9-5 job, so I was short a photographer. I took the rubbish out with my snazzy hat but there was nobody to record it. Most fortunately, on contacting a friend, I discovered that it was plastics day in Fourways Gardens. Into my mom car I hopped and off I dashed, for another travelling rubbish day. Most unfortunately, by the time I arrived, the sun had come out for the first time in weeks, so I present to you Singing in the No Rain. Thank heavens for puddles!

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Happy Wednesday everybody! If the rain never stops, Puddle jump more. It’s wicked cool 🙂