Fleeting mementos, definitive answers to who we are.

 My grandfather Bert on his horse in 1941. He died when my mom was pregnant with me.

 Bert with rickshaw- circa 1940.

 Bert, Kathleen and Debbie circa 1956

 Debbie and Diana circa 1956/1957

 Hillbrow circa 1957. Diana, Kathleen, Debbie and domestic worker.

 Eileen Long nee Shaw. Our paternal grandmother.

 Graham Ebden Long and young cousin Eunan Long. Paternal grandfather.

 Kathleen Brown and Grandfather Brown on Wedding day to Bert Lee.

 Hagarth Holroyd Long and Stirling Swanton Long- TOO CUTE. Circa 1957/1958 Approx 5 years old.

 Browns of London Town.

 Kathleen Mary Lee, Bert Lee and Grandmother Brown.

 Stylish Kathleen Mary Lee.

 Kathleen Mary Lee.

 Kathleen Mary Lee.

Bert Lee (second camel from the left in the front  row) Christmas the pyramids 1944.

Perspective gained, disillusionment lost.

How bright and beautiful this meandering pathway of life is. In the morning where the blue sky touches the earth, the grass has exploded into tall blonde fronds, lengthy from the rains this summer. The trees are thinning out, their leaves turning red and orange, brown splashes of past life collecting on the ground in sparse piles. New found light sneaks through the thinning vegetation, illuminating shadows in a secret forest. And the cosmos.... The cosmos turn up their single eyed faces, and point their pink, purple and white crowns to the heavens.

One small aspect where life is complete and all that we are can be summed up by the beauty around us.

American etiquette?

I was at a childrens' birthday party today when I heard the most hysterical paradox (besides American cheese and oh... my favourite... American cuisine!)... I heard a woman advertising what she does for a living... and shes an Etiquette Coach.

Now THAT, in this place... unless you're not a part of the hoi palloi,  is like trying to stop titanic sinking by using magic tape on the cracks in the bow.

There is something wonderful to be said of the Colonial British upbringing that would render such classes redundant.

We ate dinner every night at a table, on a china plate, with proper cutlery. We said please and thank you. No one would dare to burp at the table. And obnoxious chewing and spluttering was put to a lightning fast stop the second it began by glares from ones mother (or father) whilst they chewed their manna from heaven.

Even so, the people who chose not to eat with a knife and fork, like our African brothers and sisters, ate in a respectful reverence for the food that nourishes their body, all be it perhaps with a bit more lively talking. African people are known for speaking loudly. They mean no disrespect (to the slightly too British people who may be shocked) with the loud decibels encroaching on their ear drums.


Our young (both British, French, Dutch or African descent) addressed the elders with respect, or a severe clout around the ears was the agreed punishment. Talking back to ones elders was reserved for when one really wanted to make a point. And when it did, often the elder agreed with you once you raised your voice, because it was done so few and far between.

Yet we are in general well balanced, not overly timid or demure, not overly cocky as adults. I would say we are well rounded as adults. We have earned, as a generation, any respect or reward, from the fruits of our labour.

 Schooling taught us the importance of a uniform, of tying a tie, of shining out shoes, of washing up well and being sparkly and presentable. We would line up in rows en masse for fingernail inspections, hair inspections, uniform inspections, and the scoundrels and scalliwags would be weeded from the group like a pack of mangy wolves, rounded up to do community service on the school property, to feel the depth of their transgressions. As a result, looking back at the photos, we were all BEAUTIFULLY dressed, even those of us who wore threadbare second hand uniforms that had been ironed and pressed to the wharf and the weft.

America on the other hand is full of the instant everything. It is the home of the polystyrene plate. Why grocery stores even sell polystyrene is beyond me given that one polystyrene plate takes in excess of 1 million years to decompose and a paper plate takes only two months... Yet most Americans have plates in their cupboard... theyre just to lazy to wash them... and that being said Americans use THE MOST water per capita than any other country.... So how all the water is used I dont know. Having baths? Or washing super sized SUV's?


We would use paper plates if we were at a picnic venue. Or as additional plates if we had invited more people over than we had plates. Our paper plates were often supported in a wicker basket. They could handle being over laden with home made potato salad and coleslaw and a T bone steak.

Coinciding with the paper plate is often the plastic fork. I know the plastic fork has its place in this world. I am not saying DONT EVER. But I am just saying WHEN it should be used versus when it could be used. Plastic forks come in one standard size... Plastic and flexible.

So its just interesting to tabulate the changes that I have systematically made in my almost 6 years on this great continent... and the little things that I insist on (I very rarely use disposable serve ware)... And the little things that I have made concessions on.

I still like to wrap my presents in paper by hand. I think its more personal than the 'gift bag'... and we always send out cards. I don't shy away from making my children thank the hosts of parties, and threaten them with the cancellation of any further invitations if my request is met with non compliance.

But mostly, like my husband said, in these colloquial present times, unless you have horrific parents, is etiquette really relevant? Or have I just become totally boorish and cannot see the error of my ways?