Comfort hesitates to settle in

Visiting friends after a long time away is a time of rediscovery. It is not only about figuring out what to talk about once we have travelled along the path from back then to now. There are also the small hiccups of when to go to bed and how to find a few moments of stillness early in the morning before the day begins.
 
There is this “please feel at home” sentiment that does not fit quite as easily as it once did. Perhaps when we were younger and weaving in and out of each other’s lives almost daily, we could take it for granted that we needed our own space. Now, there is almost a gentle formality to visiting a friend I have only texted or called in recent years. I am careful not to tread on the rhythms of their daily life. Maybe I am simply a little more thoughtful than I used to be. There is no longer the easy assumption that this is just one of many visits still to come.

I lost that sense of endless opportunities during the corona years. Being able to hop on a train or plane is now something I approach with more consideration. I book flex price because I am not always sure that I or the universe will be ready to travel when the date arrives. Perhaps it is this uncertainty that has worn thin the old habit of dropping in on family and friends without much thought. I still love the idea of seeing them, yet I no longer have quite the same knack for instantly feeling at home. 

Outside my train window

Stork in field of hay
Wagon 3, seat 131
I'm roaring back home.

Beautiful sounds: leaves

The foosh of bending branches as the leaves dance in rhythm with the wind.

Beautiful sounds: suburbia

The steady drone of a lawn mower on a Friday afternoon—that one neighbour getting a head start on the weekend to-do list.

Quiet morning

 Another post in my visual journal.

Chores, commands, and the art of doing it right

Photo by Jim DiGritz on Unsplash

In Life’s Like That Sometimes, Khaya Dlanga shares a memory of his childhood Saturdays, when his mother ran the household like a finely tuned machine. Everything had to be spotless. And if something wasn’t done right? You did it again. And again. Until it was right. “No one was going to do it for you,” he writes.
 
I couldn’t help but smile reading that. To Pat, chores were a fact of life. You didn’t ask why—you asked what's next.
 
She had time. She had patience. She had standards.
 
And she believed that children should learn how to care for themselves and contribute meaningfully to the household. Not as a punishment (or at least not always). Not even necessarily as a lesson. Just because that’s what being part of a family meant.
 
Boy, did things change in the generation of my children and those of my friends' children. 

So very hungry

Yumyum Zaziki,
Lentil soup with fresh baked bread
Regal feast for lunch.

Sea bath museum

 

By popular demand... a museum in Travemünde, Germany, a port on the Baltic Sea, dedicated to those of you who want to know the 200-year-old history of sea bathing. It includes bathing fashions over the years.

Doesn't it tickle your toes?

Pitstop trip to Berlin

 

Ode to Kim's life in Gibbson

Early morning. The bunk at the bow of the boat is warm and cozy, as long as she doesn’t touch the inner wall of the hull. Her sleepy eyes refuse to open. Her tired brain tries to stay in the land of dreams. Unwillingly, she sighs, admitting the loud stranger of awakeness.

It tangles her legs in the sleeping bag and fills her bladder to bursting point. Groaning, she scissors-kicks her legs out of the bag and over the side of the bunk. She stumbles her way to the head (toilet), jars her knee on the handle of the pump, and plomps down on the wiggling toilet seat. What she wouldn’t give for a proper self-flushing toilet.

She hears her sister stomping about on deck, lowering the kayak and pushing off for her morning paddle.

After putting on some water to boil, she returns to the forward cabin and slips on numerous layers of clothes. The inner layer is newly laundered; the outer is from yesterday and does not smell so fresh. She heads back to the galley and makes herself a cup of tea. It’s a large cup, purchased at a local artisan fair from a potter who obviously embodies the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi.

Teetering up the steep ladder into the cockpit, the full teacup miraculously doesn’t spill. She looks out at the water, its mist blurring the details of the shoreline but not the sounds of birdlife and birdsong all around. This is the perfect moment of the day: alone, except for her sister in the kayak farther away, the water, and some still unclear ideas about how they might fill the day.

Plön (train station)

 

Explore: curiousity

 

Anne-Laure Le Cnuff says an amazing thing: "In a sense, being committed to curiosity is ensuring you are going to live a life that is intentional. You are going to live your life. Not the life others are expecting you to live."

We are all put on this planet with an innate sense of curiosity. Unfortunately, our society and education system make it hard for us to keep being curious. That sounds weird since these forces should help us learn how to live out our curiosity. 

Many people I know are not interested in learning new things or being experimental in their approach to life. They wonder why I am always trying out new things and improving my skills. Creativity is a muscle, and curiosity fuels it.

So, here is to exploring more, celebrating trial and error, laughing at one's mistakes, pushing boundaries, and combing the information chaos with a fine-toothed comb for strands of insightfulness.

True love

I am in the waiting room of my ob-gyn. Nervous and feeling strangely out of place. There are three other couples in the waiting room. Each woman shows late stages of pregnancy.

My pregnancy is young. So young, I cannot wrap my head around the fact that, if all goes well, I am going to be a mom. A single mom. My child's father is not going to be my partner. At that point, I am not even sure he will acknowledge he is the father.

So, I turn my eyes away from the seemingly happy couples and glance down at the coffee table covered in gossip magazines. Beneath the pile, I see the corner of one of those beautiful photography books and inspiring quotes.

The photos are all in black and white, beautiful images of people in motion and stillness. Beneath every picture is an inspiring quote. I look at the images, read the quotes, and grow quiet at a quote I will paraphrase: "You can only find true love if you first have a love of truth." 

Truth – I am going to be a mom. Truth – I am so happy someone has chosen me to be their mom. Truth – I'm really scared and alone, but not really.

TR update: another rework of the script and new ideas

This month has been crazy. I am working on so many different parts of getting the trip on an Oldendorff bulk carrier to happen. It is still not greenlighted, but I am hoping by mid-June I will know one way or another if I can go on the voyage. 

Here is the website I made to collect all the writing and podcasting about this and other journeys I took at sea. 

That doesn't mean I have forgotten about Talkshow Rivals. I did another rework of the script because a beta reader came up with some really smart ways to make the character of the player, Kay, more alive.

Now, I have to finish putting in all the corrections and new sections into the text.

Julien has convinced me that I should use AI to help me create an interactive graphic novel of one of the scenes, so that I can show game developer companies, what the game could look like. Doing a interactive comic version would be too much at this point in time.

I am also researching and looking at what interactive graphic novels are out there.

What all of this means is, for the next few months I am putting the project on the back burner. If all goes well, I will take it up again after the voyage is over. Since I have been working on it for the last 25 years, another few months won't matter.

Beautiful sound: fashion statement

The fairy-like tinkling of silver bells woven into a young woman's boots as she walks down the street.

I am... a podcaster

One of the many remarkable things about the last company (EO) I worked for is their retirement present. They gave me a voyage anywhere in the world for any amount of time, with airfares and hotel accommodations to and from the vessel included.

I'm going to explore all sorts of new ideas and technology along the way. I've decided to do an oral travel log, from beginning to end. Since the vessels have only restricted access to internet, I can't use AI to help edit the interviews and personal reflections.

Still, I've decided to approach the project as if I'm a professional podcaster. Let's see what happens.

Explore: My inner warrior

Years ago, I had a long conversation with eWa about the challenges of balancing work and motherhood. She introduced me to the Buddhist concept of the "inner warrior."
 
I remember us laughing as we imagined what our inner warriors might look like and what would happen if they ever surfaced. That laughter, filled with warmth and camaraderie, was invigorating—especially at a time when I was battling insomnia, dealing with a terrible colleague who made work miserable for everyone, and struggling with the relentless chatter of my inner critic.
 
Now, having come out of retirement a few months ago, I find myself immersed in a slew of new projects. Thankfully, each one is a collaboration with one or two other creative spirits, making the work a true delight.
 
What has surprised me most, though, is the unexpected emergence of my inner warrior. It’s as if they had been lurking at the periphery of my soul like a barracuda waiting to strike. All it took was granting myself permission to fully show up in artistic collaborations and step into situations I had previously avoided.
 
To be brave. To be audacious. 
 
The feeling of liberation that comes with shedding old social restraints is exhilarating. And perhaps the biggest surprise? My inner warrior is not the young, (very handsome) Japanese samurai I had once imagined. Instead, she is an elder—an old woman with infinite power, wisdom, and an unshakable presence.
 
What a joy and revelation it is to finally meet this invincible being, living so close to my heart. 

Beautiful sounds: squirrel

The high-speed stamping of a squirrel’s foot, a burst of energy before it darts off to its mate.

TR update: first talks and a new detour

This month passed by so quickly.

 
I spoke with Frank, the lawyer who gave me legal counsel all those years ago when I pitched the game to SCEE. SCEE is still going. He assured me that the legal aspects are still essentially the same: NDA, formalized submission agreement, and commercialized contract.

Then I talked with Charlotte's second cousin, Jono. He's a senior business development manager at a game company in SA. He basically crossed out my hope of finding a mid-sized developer company to buy and take over the project. Instead, he suggested trying to find a way to enter into a partnership with an indie group.

He was super helpful. I have to look into Steins;Gate, Dorian, DevCon, and Discord.

Feeling a bit one step forward and now two steps back. Julien advises against becoming too fixated on abandoning the original intent of finding a mid-sized company. 

Backpack to heaven

There is something different in my mom's voice these days. She almost seems... it's hard to describe, but she almost seems... happy. This is such a drastic change in her manner that "happy" doesn't seem to capture the immensity of this transformation.
 
Life with my mother since Covid, lockdowns, illnesses, and uncertainties has been far from easy. She met every challenge with bitter contempt at a world that was out to kill her. She barred her door and her heart against the world at large, as well as her family.
We all lived so far away, and she found our worrying an unacceptable, ineffective means of support.
 
She didn't need consolation; she needed us there with her. Knowing the truth made her brittle: that we could not be with her, that our other families seemed more important than she was, that none of us had enough money or time to drop everything and visit. Seemingly overnight, all her characteristic positivity vanished.
 
I began to dread her phone calls. They became weary laments about life in the senior citizen home. We had all been careful to choose a good place, one where we thought she could be happy. But life there never lived up to the promise.
 
There's no sense in finding fault with the staff or residents. My mom has never been one to make friends easily. It was as if she was mad at us for her getting old. Her laments and tirades directed at us were hard to bear. The underlying message of all those calls was clear: "You've failed me."
 
That's why these last weeks of her chatting happily on the phone seem like a miracle. I was telling a good friend who works in hospice about this change. She listened to my story with a calm smile and occasional nods.
 
When I finished talking, she reached over to hold my hands. "It looks like your mom has packed her backpack to heaven and is ready to leave."
 
What a strange comfort, if this is so.