44/67 Mandela 95 Posters at Open Design

really like the raw brushmarks here- it's remarkably difficult to make painterly marks look effortless, energetic and graphically "right" 

making type and image read simultaneously, and effortlessly - a challenge

Mandela - 95 . A Poster Exhibition at Cape Town City Hall, till tomorrow 31 August.  A small group of some of my favourites- which are very graphic and black and white- but there are some other more colourful and wonderful illustrational solutions, and from all over the world. I was drawn to the simple, typographic solutions. 
This exhibition of 95 posters is a small part of Open Design week, which is showcasing design in a fairly diverse way. Lots of product design, in the health , transport and furniture sectors, some communication design,   and service design, with an absence of fashion. Worth visiting. 

Marian Bantjies' Mandela Mandala - a meditation on the man

provocative statement teasing our assumptions about those who have served time 

understated, brilliant use of type, focal point, love how something so abstract can hold the emotion and promise of release, stepping out into freedom

visual movement, the eye follows the word perfectly logically, with a reversed twist in the final three letters

and the last one for designers talking to designers, who fetishise Pantone colors. We know how many possible Pantone colours there are, so suggesting a rainbow by inserting it into our memory- brilliant. Even though it's stormy in the Rainbow nation.

43/67 moving into heartspace

Sometimes I feel like I am a screaming banshee, an angry frustrated voice, more and more convinced of the logic of my own argument, moving closer and closer to storming out of the room, sending a reactive email, a furious text message or popping expletives out of my mouth. Why can others not see the clarity of my point of view? 
What plays a role in this? Is it menopausal hormonal swings? Is it the assertiveness of finally being over fifty and damned if I can't speak my mind? Is it another stage of growing up, of giving up being the compliant dutiful angel, and giving reign to what I really think? The more sure I am of my own rightness, the more unlikely I will be to care of others vulnerabilities or concerns, listen, or be quiet. But as sure as hell, thoughts and feelings are ripping out of my head and heart. Words are swarming in my head, as I walk. Trying to pay attention to breath and pace, I write poems of rage, assertion, counter-arguments. I pause on a crossing mid-walk, and try to imagine: what could it be like if I did not work in this environment, if I made the choice to leave and not have this turmoil of adrenalin in my body? If I could feel more peace and contentment, more stability and less uncertainty, more often?
A session with my coach leaves me with more insight: having had the space to assess what's happening, I have some options to try. A body-talk session, a hormonal test, and listening to a body talk presentation. The journey continues.

42/67 easy ride

And that is all it was... an easy cycle before bookclub and fetching Mike from the airport..
after an awful work meeting with major disappointment. I had good reason to do a massively challenging exercise session to get rid of some stress, but I was due for a lower intensity day. Tomorrow will be better. 

41/67 out of time

Thinking about time.

I woke in the early hours of this morning, praying that the previous night's story on social media that a 19 year old student had died in a fall on Table Mountain, was not true. I know his mom, as an acquaintance, and he was with my older son all through primary school, in the same grade. He was at Westerford, where Adam is, and at UCT this year. I resonate with his family's loss and feel so much for them. 

Adam on the way to school at 7.30am, pointing out the neon yellow green of new oak leaves, against the grey rainy sky. Simultaneous colour contrasts against the grey towers of the brewery buildings. Spring is not far away.

Mike, flying back from a weekend on Wasan Island in Canada, and how strange it is to fly backwards out of time and forwards into time again. How time is elastic. In his own, intact, discrete time-space, but stretched apart from each other, always six hours behind us there, always out of sync with what we were doing at home. 

And then this evening at gym, from 8 to 9pm, the latest I have ever been.  Conscious that I am among many young people. All the ones without families, who can go to gym when other people are busy with domestic routines of supper, TV, bed, preparing for the next day. I am outside that routine for a little, waiting to collect Adam from a play rehearsal. I quite like the feeling of not being a slave to routine, of being out of time. Perhaps I will try it more often. 

40/67 Yielding

In a meeting with three staff members today to try to mediate a faculty structural problem, one colleague spoke about a method she used when she found herself constantly knocking heads with another colleague, and living with huge strain as a result. Quite simply, she decided that she would yield. 

She found the space between the fixed position she and her colleague were occupying, and decided that she would focus on exploring the space, and work there. 

The interesting question : does this mean that she gave up her position, versakked, lost the battle? Not really. What she did required terrific listening and an understanding of her own and her colleague's position, not a judgement of it, in order to find the space in which she could work. Maybe this strategy isn't always going to give what each party would agree is the best solution, but it might enable movement. 

Yielding as a practice resonates with me as a coach in training, as it speaks to a way to work through stuckness. Recently when I have been feeling continually anxious, I have not termed it "yielding",  but I have accepted that I must learn sit with these uncomfortable feelings, to understand better where they come from. In doing so, in gaining insight, movement and progress happen. It is a really funny pheneomenon. It's like every time I get passionate and impatient with wanting something that is making me upset or angry to go away, or pass, if I practice just sitting with it, something eventually shifts. It seems you can't treat emotional, cognitive or somatic issues symptomatically, and wish them away. The yielding way seems to be a way forward, just not on the path you were so fixated on as the only solution. And in yielding it seems there is plenty of insight to be gained.

Spin class with Tarquin tonight was absolutely awesome. First time I manage a whole hour on the bike, and I will be back. Especially when the final five minutes play out to a soulful Papa was a rolling stone....

39/67 Spring, spring.

Officially spring begins on September 1, but late August is playing nicely. Weekend leisure, time for a walk and coffee with a good friend, cook slow food, soak up a little sun, visit family and chat a little bit about life. Wonderful.

Having already done an hour long walk today, I will do something I have long talked about, which is a yoga class. It's been on my long list of intentions, to which I suspect I may not be that committed. In taking this coaching course, I have realised that the possibilities of coaching through the body, through physical practices, is an area I must explore. This includes being open to trying alternative healing methodologies, such as body stress release, reflexology, meditation, yoga....

I did Pilates intensely,  though a few years ago, and found ONLY doing that too repetitive. My goal after the completion of my 67 days is to do a mix of cardio exercise, stretch, outdoor opportunities such as running and walking in beautiful environments, and yoga /pilates, to find the best balance and well-being, and to maintain a daily practice. Sound like bliss?

38/67 rite of passage

Tonight is a special night in my fifteen year old's life: grade dance, before party, after party, bus transport, bow tie, new shirt, favourite stripy socks and a date. 

While mothers can be involved in the before-the-before-party stuff like paying for The Shirt, shopping for the right pants, and checking that the stain is gone from the front of his brother's black jacket last worn at a matric dance, when the action happens, the real socializing, it's time to let go. I realise it is two and a bit years before he, too, will be signing off at school. And that increasingly the freedom I have been missing, and sometimes really wanting, will become mine.

Yet it is an equivocal space I am in. It is a shock to see one's boys as men, to see them grow into themselves, to hear others speak of their pleasant demeanour, and as much as one is delighted that one's children seem to be functioning well "out there",  I am grateful for the fact of teenage-hood, for the gradualness of letting go, the push and pull of this time. The rite of passage is as much mine as it is theirs. 

Okay, no more champagne for now. Thanks Lil for the sushi, and Nike for the stroll around the hood. Big walk tomorrow.

37/67 Walking because I can

Thanks for the words of love and care after yesterday's post. It feels good to be held by friends and also by people who knew Ammie. I thought afterwards how she would have gone out for dinner and drunk a bottle of good champagne, or Pongracz if she was a little skint. She might have indulged herself in a beautiful piece of lingerie, but equally she might have bought a bunch of pretty things from Mr Price, or Monsieur Prix, as we liked to joke. 

Today's 60 minutes was partially a walk in a place I love after the rains, and Rondebosch Common is gumboot land now. I haven't seen it so wet, and as it gently drops in gradient from Red Cross Hospital side towards Sawkins road, you see quite large masses of water accumulate on the mountain side. Not long now, and the spring bulbs will flower. Today, it was labrador heaven, and worth a few photos. In summer, I like to walk barefoot on the soft and sandy paths. The Friends of the Common are careful about removing rubbish, so, for a suburban wetland, it's very clean. 

And the second part of exercise today was putting on my rucksack and trainers and walking to Woolies for a few supper things. We are considering selling the gas-guzzling car, so it is something I may do more often. Suburban South Africans, as we know, love their cars. We use them for trips under a kilometer, and clog up parking lots, and pay car guards to watch our vehicles which we have already insured against the dangers of driving and crime,  so we can continue not to walk anywhere if we can avoid it. We are an odd unthinking lot. 

36/67 Down Voortrekker Road

Ammie with daughter Georgie, me with Adam, Churchaven

It's a day of tears. For both of my coachees, it was bring on the tissues. Fortunately my office is well prepared, as I never know when the moment will come, and I like people to know tears are okay.

For me, tears were close after a memorial for a colleague's father, which took place in the crematorium down Voortrekker road, in Maitland. It's a long straight road, that connects the northern suburbs with the city, and along one side for miles stretches Cape Town's graveyards. Gate One, Gate Two, on and on , next to a lowish wall of dressed stone,which I find a rather beautiful, humanizing detail, considering what lies on the other side. The memorial was for a social intellectual, part-time philosopher and scientist who expressed hope that there would be an afterlife. Maybe that was a tongue in cheek thought. I never met him, but I see some him in my colleague. 

The real reason why the trip down Voortreker road is poignant is that the last time I drove there was for my sister Ammie's cremation, almost eight years ago. It still rocks my gut. In that space, which seemed far warmer and furnished today than eight years ago, her immediate family gathered to say goodbye, read a poem, and then, numbly, take the long drive on Voortrekker road back into town, to eat lunch together. All of us would rather have been anywhere else. 



Neighbourhood Walk.

35/67 why today was good

Today was special because

I began the day with a grounded meditation exercise

just standing in the bathroom in my socks

breathing in for five and out for five

relaxing my neck and jaw

and turning my attention to the space all around me

front side back

and feeling my energy travel downwards into the earth

and then consciously thought a good thought, a wish about someone else

It was a good way to start the day because it made me calmer, and more able to choose to be calm, more able to decide when to react and when to respond. Or not. 

And then by the afternoon, when it was time to do the rat run of school lifts and supper and firewood and shopping, I was still okay. And feeling strong still when it was time to go to gym. 

34/67 tipping point

Balance. Tipping points. Psychostasia ("weighing the soul"), refers to this concept in a comparative context.I think of  moments in art history where something was measured in scales- the soul of the departed in Egyptian mythology, where the better the life lived, the lighter the soul, weighed against a feather. The weighing of souls is present in Christian, Jewish and Islamic tradition also. The scales wielded by Lady Justice. Why is so important to evaluate and judge, to assess worth against some other element, or scale?

I have done more hours than I haven't, and that does feel great. Against whom or what am I measuring myself? Why can I not simply exist in a state of acceptance of what I am? That is the bigger life goal, in which case, am I going about things in the right way, to set myself against my previous self, the one who would rather not exercise? The one who is reluctant to act? Just curious. 

Chilly evening walk with my beloved dogs, as legs still tender from yesterday's spinning.

33/67 Halfway and spinning

That was some of the most fun in 33 days- Tarquin's spin class with trainer Nic on bike 46 next to me, casting sideways glances to check I wasn't forgetting to turn up the resistance...
Old hands at spinning know how lekker it is to not think, pump your legs in time to music, and just pretend you are climbing a hill up to somewhere...to find there is a little more hill and then a little more. And then knowing the music will drop...waiting for it to drop. And then coming down, when you know there are only two more minutes. I think I will definitely be back again.

I've been reading two really interesting food blogs. Or rather, blogs that explore the politics of food. One is local, Tangerine and Cinnamon, written by an historian, which has some links which take you to various global and local food, food security and environmental links. In the context of the threat to expand the Cape Town urban edge and sell off some of the Phillipi farmland for middle class housing development, there are arguments that the soil is so polluted that farming is failing on parts of the farmland anyway. So there are those who justify the expansion of the urban edge as " you can't farm there anymore anyway". Isn't the  issue also precisely that the soil has become so polluted due to the polluting of the aquifer? Why aren't we also talking about that degradation? This blog has a sub-blog, the very funny Foodie Pseudery- that is a collection of pretentious food writing. Critics, recipe writers, cookbooks, packaging all gets taken to task. Some of Woolworths' copy on its packaging deserves a special mention.

Then there is the wonderful  A Girl called Jack . Apart from the background of her story of real struggle, bringing up a child as a single parent and no job in the English recession, I particularly like the recipes section- feeding a family (in Jack's case, her young son) on almost nothing, with a very tight budget. Costed down to the last British p. A friend on Facebook recently lamented that what she really wants from the web is somewhere you can enter the food you have in your fridge, and up pop recipes that you can make with very little, before it goes off. As one who frequently consults the web for recipes, and struggles with the idea of throwing food away, and with the temptation of convenience while knowing it is not ethical eating, I could learn to love this idea. 

32/67 Green stuff

We took advantage of the gorgeous sun today and walked from Bantry Bay to Glen Beach, which took just over 70 minutes. 

It is a spectacular stretch of coast; the apartments overlooking the beaches are those belonging to the local mega-affluent, or the international swallows. I was intrigued to see that on the stretch before Clifton First Beach, close to the concrete, steel and glass apartments and funiculars, is a community of contemporary strand lopers, living under an overhang, who had stretched out their wet bedding and laundry on the rocks in the sun, just out of view of passing cars. Mike pointed out the free parking afforded to their shopping trolleys, which were never coming back up the steep rocky slope, in a suburb where a parking bay sells for 2 million. Richly ironic.

The walk next to the sea was the alternative to the other Sunday option, the afternoon sleep. And it has similarly restorative properties. Following yesterday's lunch, which was with an environmental lawyer and a coach, I did a little reading into what ecopsychology is about, and it is an area that really makes sense to me as a way of integrating personal wellbeing with the environment: as the website http://www.ecopsychology.org states,  

"At its core, ecopsychology suggests that there is a synergistic relation between planetary and personal well being; that the needs of the one are relevant to the other."

On one level, ecopsychology suggests that when the relationship between nature and humanity is damaged, as it currently is, it manifests also in sickness in the human psyche. In another way, it suggests that rebuilding that relationship of connection to the earth, or having experiences of and in nature, provide profound healing opportunities for people with all manner of illness, including psychological ones. 

So as an integral coach in training , this modality offers multiple, interesting possibilities of rebuilding health. And looking at their website led me to another document, the Earth Charter- kind of a global declaration of earth and human rights which cuts across the interests of individuals and nations, to foreground global responsibility, sustainability and tolerance. 
Take a look at http://www.earthcharterinaction.org/content/pages/Read-the-Charter.html, as this quote is taken from the online document. 

"..we must decide to live with a sense of universal responsibility, identifying ourselves with the whole Earth community as well as our local communities. We are at once citizens of different nations and of one world in which the local and global are linked. Everyone shares responsibility for the present and future well-being of the human family and the larger living world. The spirit of human solidarity and kinship with all life is strengthened when we live with reverence for the mystery of being, gratitude for the gift of life, and humility regarding the human place in nature.

Let ours be a time remembered for the awakening of a new reverence for life, the firm resolve to achieve sustainability, the quickening of the struggle for justice and peace, and the joyful celebration of life."

31/67 Friends

We woke up this morning to the strangest sound: silence. No rain falling as it has all week. Patches of blue sky visible above the mountain. Within half an hour, the wind and rain set in again, and staying in bed to watch the last episode of the BBC series Public Enemies seemed much more fun. I love family breakfasts, and the local croissants from down the road aren't bad at all. 

One of my favourite spots is Starlings in Belvedere Road. As our boys are increasingly independent, lunches with other adults, with real conversation, are really fun. Ethics, politics, how we as 50-somethings who grew up during the struggle are ethical dinosaurs in a time in which individuals seem driven by self interest, corruption, the need for the growth of civil society organizations, design and service design, how cultural industries serve first world interests, why we need local cultural products, coaching, how quickly one can learn a  new habit, eco-psychology, the possibility of creating an online legal advice site.....so stimulating to sit at a small enough table, eat good food next to a warm fire, and really talk to others. 

I am still playing catch-up with gym. I am close to halfway through my challenge. I've caught up 25 minutes of my lost hour. I'm trying out some cushion shoe inserts for the ball of my left foot, which is too sore to run on still, so hope for relief soon. On the cycle and the stepper, I am feeling strong. I have lovely zen moments when I forget to watch the time or the resistance levels and just move, mostly on the rowing ergo or cycle. The thought of a walking meditation starts to make sense then. I look forward to spring when outside exercise is a real option :)

I am loving the fact that our younger son Adam is listening to music I loved- David Bowie's Heroes still grabs my heart. Who says there is only one second childhood? 

30/67 Bulldogs

Today was one catch-up day of three, and my goal was to make up 20/60 minutes. That meant 80 minutes today. Bloody bloody hard. But I found that I do have the willpower and did the longest gym session I have done so far. When you have to and you believe you can, you do. Even when your legs are trembling and the sweat is dripping down your back. 

Mike has often teased me for being a bulldog,  albeit in other situations where it's not my best characteristic, but then admits it's one of the things he likes about me. I go at things, and don't easily give up. And if I say I will do something, I will. Nature or nurture? I am not sure, except that it is a value that was important in my upbringing. We've had arguments when we disagree over when it is okay to change your mind, like when it impacts on someone else. In some cases I have softened on this one, learned a little more flexibility. I don't like letting other people down. But, it is often a tough one for me. 

29/67 Work, willpower, and weather

Yesterday I hit the wall of work, weather and willpower. 

It poured with rain from the small hours till the night. Cape Town's heavy winter rain, which floods lowlands, informal settlements, drains and roads. And I could find no space for an outside walk or the hour of gym between morning meetings, lunchtime meetings, afternoon coaching and the evening coaching pod group meeting. My trainers came to work with me, and even though I had them on at 4pm, the rain poured down in the space between 4 and my next meeting at 5pm. I got home at 8, hungry, too tired and too late to do an hour of gym. So, I am not superwoman, I wryly acknowledge. I could have got up at 5 to do gym at 5.30, but honestly thought the shape of the day would be more accommodating. 

What to do? Can I break my own rules, and beg myself to let myself make up the time, over the weekend? Just this one time?

On the up side, Ronelle from St Josephs emailed to say 

I am happy to report that for the month of July we have received R2755.

How nice is that? Thank you everyone. 

28/67 Small things to be grateful for

One big laugh with Adam, 15, in the car on the way to school
One successful lecture to a group of beginner design students about image simplification and logo design 
One stimulating coaching session with a colleague
One invigorating walk with my dog-who -is-a -work -in- progress
One stimulating conversation over lunch with a new colleague

And 
One coup and 
One month long state of emergency in Egypt
Hundreds of demonstrators across the country dead

We spent a week there twenty years ago, on our honeymoon. The images on TV, on Aljazeera, so shocking, of the injured and dead in mosques, angry at the attacks on their liberty and the deposition of the democratically elected leader. And now with the slide into violent confrontation, even those who deposed Morsi are themselves conflicted by this terrible action by the army and police on behalf of the state. So so sad.

27/67 Listening in

I have been busy the past ten days with a coaching exercise, which requires observation of conversations in all areas of life- work, home, shops, car, supper, staffroom- where ever they happen to be. Call it license to eavesdrop. It is meant to improve listening and observation skills, and has been a difficult exercise.

As usual, there have been some interesting learnings- not least, that passageways at work are not good venues for any kind of conversation, as something about the transience and dinginess of poorly lit spaces affects mood and level of commitment. People like to complain in passageways. Commiseration alleys. 

I have discovered that I have many conversations with women that often do not lead to any action, they are relationship conversations as ends in themselves. And, not surprisingly  that I engage men more readily in action conversations, more quickly. I am not sure to what extent I am the gender stereotype or am enabling it to happen. What is also evident is that without openness, little conversation happens ,and that with trust, many unexpected things can . Watch this space. 

Gym again tonight. No possibility of outside exercise. It is miserable weather and big storms are looming. In my mind's eye is the container ship stuck on the rocks off the coast close to where my parents live, those beautiful beaches and my dad's beloved Oystercatchers,  blackened with oil. 

26/67 and forty one days to go

I have been having a hard time at work recently, and have decided to enroll with one of my peer learner coaches as a coachee , so I can work some issues out- it has reached a point where I can't see very clearly how to move forward. In coaching speak, what  I need to do is just live in this issue for a while, see what it is all about. It isn't going to go away, just like that, as the issues confronting me are structural, personal and in relationships at work.

On other fronts, I am delighted with how things are opening up: a chat with a new friend, a hug from a friend at gym who is super-motivated to continue losing weight and enjoy his new body, the opportunity to do a series of lectures at another design school- all good things.
And a whisky after a hard gym session is a great help! 

25/67 Old Dogs

One of my favourite spots for a walk in beautiful nature is the stretch of Constantia Green Belt close to the Alphen Hotel. The Disa River flows all along next to the pathways, which wind behind and between the back of suburbia. Whoever has been working on maintaining the area is doing a great job- lots of the invasive bamboo and lantana have gone, and while there is lots that's not indigenous, the waterway is clear and not choked up anymore. At this time of year, the jasmine is flowering and the deciduous trees are leafless, banks of trees are pale and bare stemmed against the pines. (Someone please scatter my ashes in a forest of naked pale tree trunks when the time comes.)

I was walking with my two favourite girls, Gemma (13)  and Chloe (5). And as I walked, I realized to my sadness that my old girl was struggling to keep up, and that at the age of 13 x 7 she is actually 91. In dog years. She doesn't stop, shambling along, but on the return leg, looks as if every step is uncomfortable. She did make a few trips to the river, where it was easily accessible, and dipped in true labrador style. I know she is very deaf, sometimes gets anxious, forgets she's eating while she's eating and takes a little walk away from her bowl, so all the signs of odd behavious and great age are there. But she is and has always been my dog, who looks at me and just gets my mood,  so it is hard to think of her as less than she has always been. 

Now, after her supper and our supper, as I am writing, she has come to lie at my feet, and seems to be herself again. Well enough to give us the beady greedy eye and beg for table scraps. 

24/67 Hollywood does activism

I squeezed my 60 minutes of gym in between two movies with similar themes, about activism and its consequences in the late 1960's/early 1970's.

"If not us, who" is a German film, and tells part of the story of the Baader-Meinhof group, active in the 1960's and 70's across Europe. This story is about Gudrun Ennslin, and her lover Bernward Vesper, who were part of a group of idealistic young students, but their paths diverged around levels of activism. Gudrun took the steps into violent political action, sacrificing personal  life and their baby to the "greater cause". Bernward remained consistent in limiting his activism to writing and publishing, but his internal struggle and guilt ultimately drove him to suicide. Gudrun took Andreas Baader as her lover, ended up in jail for violence and murder, and the two commited suicide on the same day in the mid 1970s. I guess if I were German I might have known some of the actors, but I found this an authentic and moving story, plausible in how it approached the political growth of the characters, although a tale in two halves. Slightly documentary in style, with credit notes at the end about what happened  to who later. 

"The company we keep", in contrast, is full of Hollywood's aging royalty. And I found it very difficult to see past the celebrity of the stars, to the seriousness of the story, given the implausible plot. The Weather Underground were a real activist group, intent on overthrowing the US government. The film examines, very slowly and not a little turgidly, changing perceptions of value and sacrifice in activism. A group of activists, who killed a guard while robbing a bank, have been on the run for 30 years, and when one Susan Sarandon is finally caught by the FBI, the secrecy and identity of the rest is quickly unraveled by an unlikely young journalist on his own ambitious path. The plot for one thing- there is no reason for the FBI to allow a small town journalist to interview a nationally wanted fugitive, and then kick him out after 30 minutes. 

While Robert Redford, Julie Christie and Nick Nolte are more or less well preserved for 75, they are very old for the 60 year olds they should historically be in the movie-present. The sight of Redford jogging, looking as if he wanted to pass out, the should-be climactic conversation between former lovers, Mimi/Julie Christie and Nick/Robert Redford, in a cabin on the Canadian border, is without tension, romance or emotion. Just beautiful actors giving a little nod to the activism of the now, as Mimi's mention of the 99% campaign. The ideas that drove them as activists are presented as background to their beautiful selves. It's just too difficult to get past the notion that we are looking at celebrity American actors trying hard to look at serious socio-political issues  and then absurdly tying themselves up in a far too neat plot- not doing a very good job of it

And of course, like the German movie, Redford and Christie also had a baby daughter, and they gave her away for adoption.....to the police chief originally investigating the crime that sparked the 30 year secrecy. Really. Such a mushy Hollywood ending. Really.

23/67 Pistachio ice cream

This is the closest I can find in colour to the icecream Mike and I ate after our walk from the corner of the Seapoint promenade near CPUT Hotel School almost to the end of the paved walk and back. Glorious afternoon out, with so many people making use of the space. A cluster of kids were shouting into the backsides of Kevin Brand's White Horses public sculpture. I look with nostalgia at the the new wonderland play park, complete with a mini-road with lanes for learner toddler cyclists. About fifteen years too late for our boys. 

Now if only the City could get going on improving the public open spaces in places that really need it, not just flagship venues. 

At a recent workshop in Mitchell's Plain, organized by the Cape Craft and Design Institute and WDC 2014, we met in teams of designers and local residents to develop proposals for the improvement of five parks in Mitchell's Plain. It's dry, windy, vandalized gangland- and it needs some clever solutions to get community participation in the ongoing care of these spaces- but first it needs investment into hardware- swings, roundabouts, sports facilities, trees, hard no-grassy surfaces, so gangsters cannot bury drugs there, and planning so it is constantly used by a variety of user groups, making it safer at all times. 

Some participants had intriguing ideas, such as finding ways to harness gangster pride into the care of the parks, or making parks venues for recycling which become employment or entrepreneurship opportunities. 

22/67 new moon

Today marks the end of Ramadan. Driving back from the airport last night, after picking up a rather cold Mike, we saw the new sliver of moon, gently lit from underneath. We came home via Zaika in Kromboom avenue, run by the charming Yusuf, or as he puts it, " people phone Zaika and ask if I am the man with the beard". It has just re-opened three months after a terrible fire, and although they were actually closing, when he saw our sad puppy faces, he offered to make anything as long as it was not with naan. Two butter chicken with rotis later, we were gratefully content. 

He told us about the famous people who frequent his restaurant - Sean Thompson the surfer, and he was sure the tall athletic man who had just wished him Eid Mubarak plays for Santos football club. It  was on the tip of my tongue to introduce him to homeboy Mike, who grew up down the road in Gleemore. My guess is Yusuf is a sports lover rather than a theater lover :)

Step 20, cycle 20, row 10, good girl/bad girl 10

21/67 Speaking out

Day 21 is done! Such a pleasure on the bike, the ergo, the stepper and the treadmill today.  Seems I have to alternate days of more weights/ less cardio with days of more cardio. Else I will end up with a really injured foot, which is feeling pretty normal after four days of more gentle impact exercise. I had no iPod today, and having less to worry about felt good. No wires, music choices, earphones falling out , none of that. I could indulge in good old people watching, and concentrate on the workout.

Today was the concluding day of the Quality review process at work. I think the panel did a credible job, considering that they were assessing a department that is really just being birthed. One colleague commented on fact that one of the positives is that we have seen so much of the common external frustrations that we cannot help feeling more integrated as a department. 

The low point of my day was being confronted with an accusation of racism by a colleague at work. I believe that not to speak up about wrong practices and unprofessional behavior, because the person doing these things is black, is racist. I have been racist for not speaking up. Now I am  speaking. Am I still racist? 

20/67 The wood for the trees

Yesterday's rant about Design education gained a response from an old friend far away in Hong Kong, which apart from making me really want to have a glass of wine and a decent conversation with her, reminded me of the extent to which we "can only see what we know'. and is a reminder of how culture-bound we are (her words). 

Her thought that it was key to Graphic Design to know the basic elements of visual consumption is so simple and self-evident, and yet in the process of teaching in a program for a long time, with many of the same people, we tend to have the same conversations over and over again, to the point where we start thinking there are only these limited viewpoints, they become our world, what we know.

I think I could use a little self-coaching to examine what it is I am assuming, particularly about the extent to which we are prioritizing technology in design, and that in doing so we are losing what is consistently part of visual communication. Time to gan some new viewpoints, see new possibilities, maybe spend some time observing in industry. 

Then something else happened with a colleague later in the day where there was  case of mistaken identity in a text message, which had the colleague making assumptions about the sender, which it turns out were incorrect, but  again, was a case of only being able to see the message in a certain way, and hence get really affronted by it. 

My left foot has been painful, so on the advice of Trainer Nic, today was a weight's training day- just as sweaty, and more specifically painful, but a learning curve .... that makes me start to wonder and be curious about what else I could do? 

19/67 Three things about Design education

This morning's presentation to the review panel went really well, and I think it said broadly what the Graphic Design program is all about, although I am well aware of the cracks that lie beneath.
It is an excellent process to have to do deep reflection, to really think about what it is that we do as a team, as a program and as individuals. Sometimes we don't like what we find, but there is potential growth in actually knowing, in taking the temperature, seeing where the flaws are and where we should be doing what, better.

One of the learnings for me was that as design educators, we need to take a very "far" or 'distant" view of what we are doing, to see how what we do feeds the economy, supports cultures, habits and practices, and sustains old ideologies. We routinely keep on doing things the same way, unquestioningly, because we were taught those things, or that way. The challenges lie in three areas, as I see it.

One, technological developments and the speed of these, mean that we are teaching students to use things we don't know terribly well, and the output (print or web/digital) may also be subject to rapid change. We simply cannot adapt fast enough, so we need to equip students to see beyond these variable outputs  to understanding HOW we humans see, how we read messages, how humans like to interact with media as a core part of the curriculum, and then have adaptable technology components of the curriculum, that teach rapid skill with technology, but keep humans and reception of information at the core, more.

Two, we can't hold on to everything we teach, because we don't have ten years to educate a student: we have three or four.
We need to recognise that no-one can master everything anymore, so we need subtler tools to diagnose a student's strengths. We need to allow for greater, deeper, longer, specialization, as the superficiality of a curriculum without this means exactly that. Superficially broad.

Three, the interdisciplinarity of design doesn't mean that everyone can or must do or be able to do everything. Interdisciplinary means that students need to be knowledgeable about their own skills to function as a valuable part of a team of DIFFERENTLY SKILLED experts. Interdisciplinarity can refer to a process of working together, by which I  mean collaboration, NOT we can all do everything.

Okay that's it. I'm off my pony. Neighborhood exercise this evening, accompanied by a daring skateboarder. Thanks Nic.

Day 18/67 The roaring forties

My legs hurt. My calves hurt. My feet hurt underneath. Enough whining. The splendour and soul-feeding of the Orangekloof hike hasn't quite worn off , and we are planning the next walk in the Helderberg mountains in a few weeks time. 

Nonetheless, day 18 needed to be gentle, so after spending all morning in pajamas finishing Monday's presentation, it was off to the Waterfront in my trainers. Mike dropped me near the Cape Grace and slunk off to Melissa's for a little downtime with his PC. 

I walked round the Waterfront, past the Clocktower, Moyo's restaurant growing salad vegetables  in vertical walls, past beautiful Somerset Hospital, the hat that is also Cape Town stadium,  past Hotel School to  the Mouille Point lighthouse, where there were lots of other walkers, skates, surfers and rollerbladers in the pale afternoon sun. I wanted to weep when I saw a homeless man and a little girl in pink, opening dustbins as I passed. He wasn't the only person eyeing the bins, either. But the little girl in pink touched me, and if I'd had any food or drink or money on me , I would have shared it. 

P.S. For film noir lovers, go and see "Killing them softly". A marvellous slow opening sequence that brings together Obama-speak, and run-down America that looks like it could be Detroit in recession. And an Australian who steals pedigree dogs to sell in L.A, so he can get the cash to deal in smack. Rough. 

17/67 Tahr and pork sausage

Day 17: I have a special relationship with 17. It's my birthday date, and a prime number, and I love the peculiar indivisibility of primes.

My oldest friend, Lala, organised a special hike today, for the so-called Work Widows' club. You get the joining criteria. Other old friend Phillip joined us as an honorary member. The hike started at Constantia Neck, up into the Orangekloof valley, up Disa Gorge, to Woodhead Dam, and down Cecelia Buttress,  good 5 hour walk. The special part is that Orangekloof is closed to the public, except with a permit and a guide, and has close to pristine fynbos and forests which have not seen fire since the 1930's. 

Our superb chatty guide, Mark, shared amazing history of the botany, ecosystem and history of the mountain. He worked for Cape Nature Conservation for over 30 years, and is a passionate educator and environmentalist. Anyone looking for a mountain guide or a tour operator would be lucky to have him lead. 

After climbing up the valley, we reached  the base of Disa Gorge, where we dumped our backpacks and walked ten minutes downstream to see one of the openings of the Woodhead tunnel. Now disused, it runs 700 metres through the mountain to Slangolie ravine, piping water to the Cape Town of long ago. The stonework dates from the late 1800s, and was built by hand, using technology of chisels, hots coals and water to shatter the stone prior to dressing by Cornish, Irish and Scottish craftsmen. It took 5 years to build- and if I were a spy it would be a marvelous place to sneak into. Cold, with a strong draft, nothing would persuade me to stick any part of my anatomy in there. 

Disa Gorge is densely forested, full of huge Rooiels and Yellowwoods, draped in lichens and old man's beard. Australian Blackwood trees, ringbarked 30 years ago, have fallen into the river gorge, but young Blackwoods still grow in the river bed. 

The gorge ends with the incredible view of the masonry of the Woodhead Dam, and 100 stone steps (I counted) leading up to the left. At the base of the wall is what may be a pumphouse, with  architectural detail beyond its function, I thought it a fairytale house. 

We ate our lunch on the rocks next to Woodhead Dam on the lower table, and it was there that Mark mentioned the Tahr and pig sausage, made from Tahrs shot by rangers like himself. We didn't see any of the remaining elusive Tahrs. He spoke into being a visual picture of the landscape at the time of construction of the dams- some of which is evident in the former doctor and butchers houses, and the museum that houses the steam engine built in Scotland, which was carried up the mountain in pieces and reassembled on the top of the mountain so the dams could be built. Eating my lunch, I imagined a little village up there, sheep in a kraal to feed the men, and the landscape at the start of the gorge, full of disas, before it was flooded by water. 

Special to walk with all of you- Lala, Andy, Phil, Theresa before she jets off to life in Pakistan for a while, and Mark, our brilliant guide. Just a few twinges in sore feet, otherwise all good. 

16/67 Softly Softly

Friday's hour was very low key in the gym. I am feeling tired after  these 15 days and work is very stressful, with a University qualification review coming up from 5-7 August. It is enough to make me vow to improve my filing systems. The problem comes where data is both digital and paper, that finding the missing items and keeping track of the whole is difficult. And to make things even more complex, we have the same course replicated on two campuses, evaluated as if they were one, in every way. But, when Monday's presentation is over, it will be WONDERFUL.

Day 15/67 Men in unitards

Lying in bed after the alarm went off at 6am today, I was thinking about the funny things people do in the gym, the different styles we use on the machines- on the step machine there is the slow stepping bunch , and the mincers, who dance on hot coals, and those who almost run.  On the rowing ergos, there are those who do twisty moves, and those who row short strokes, and some who look like they have actually been on water. And on the treadmill, there are some who walk or run up massive inclines, some who run really fast, and others who walk-run. 

I was standing behind the spinning cycles, wondering at the gender politics of spinning, where the avatar cycling- just like you on your bike-on the screen is always a man in a unitard. Are you watching yourself, or watching a nicely muscled guy? The amazing thing is that we can all be in that space and feel quite unselfconscious. We can do just as much as we can, however we can.

I can feel my fitness improving- it is getting harder to get the heart rate up, even to the point where the machine says in rude upper case ATTENTION THE HEART RATE IS HIGH.

Clearly the gym machines haven't been groomed in appropriate social media manners.

Day 14/67 Summer run

A gorgeous evening for a run in the neighborhood- and the mountain silhouetted and sleeping behind the trees. Roll on summer. 

Day 13/67 Typo Cafeteria

Image from Beaded Quotes, published by The Nelson Mandela Bay Development Agency

" Boxing is egalitarian. In the ring, rank, age, color and wealth are irrelevant. When you are circling your opponent, probing his strengths and weaknesses, you are not thinking about his colour or social status."
Long Walk to Freedom, 1994

So, while sweating on the bicycle and dashing off an email that was long overdue, I realise that tomorrow(today) is the final day for submissions to submit projects to the World Design Capital 2014 curators, in order to get "project approval" and be able to hook in and become part of the official events.

My idea is still something of an adolescent- it is hanging out all alone, with no friends and doesn't have any money. 

I've been wanting to combine student creative exploration of first principles of typography (type weight, counters, leading, kerning, spacing, baseline, baseline shift, x-height variance, legibility etc) with the work of South African and African poets. I love the poetry I saw in the London Underground- that even in that public space where people are mundanely going to work, there is beauty and soul food, which each person can internally enjoy. 

So my proposal is to design and place poetry around our university campus and its edges, with playful typographic exploration, with some intended dialogue between site, poem and users of that location.  It would be temporary, and apart from celebrating the work of African poets, might just make our diverse student group more aware of our collective poetic heritage.

Comments, please?

Run 20, Cycle 20, Step 20. Sweat.

Day 12/67 Blue Monday turns pink

Not the greatest start to the day when a student came into my office at 8am, and asked...is that your silver Toyota parked outside the Design building.... you can guess where this is going..... a taxi reversing carelessly had dinged my bumper in front of so many students that there was no escape for him. Short story- an immigrant man with no insurance leasing the car from the taxi company, and him promising to pay me back when he had the money. I found myself feeling sorry for him, he was so apologetic. After I had unleashed a little colourful language.

Breakdowns. That one got me over the insignificance of my colleagues' piggy tendency to leave the staffroom full of their dirty dishes.

My institution is hosting a two day Catalytic Design Summit, and I picked up a few anecdotal morsels from the two first speakers. While I don't agree that just because Twitter uses 140 characters we should redesign our curriculum to consist of 30 second learning experiences, Prof Cronje does know how to stir things up. I think people need to be seen as more than just brains, and multitasking is myth. I'm all for teaching students the skills to calm down, focus and relax, through meditation or other means, and engage with the problems of the world in a humane, integrated, ethical way. I shudder when I hear word like "innovation" used as stand-alone concepts. Of what? For whom? To what ends? Why? 

Prof Pitika Ntuli, my former HOD from University of Durban-Westville, was the keynote speaker. I loved his anecdote of his Grandmother, who was asked by a European visitor when painting walls in Ndebele patterns, why she was using natural oxides, and why she didn't rather use enamel, as it would last forever. She responded by saying 

" you want to create little forevers, whereas in Africa, we want to forever create". 

Wouldn't it be nice if that value was embedded in how we approach other things we do, whether it concerns contesting the assumed permanence of public art, or affirming the value of the process, the act of doing, making, responding and creating?

And to wrap up the day, I pushed very hard on the stepper, the bike, the cross trainer and the treadmill. Fabulous day, feeling stronger, and see? Blue Monday went pink.

11/67 Seapoint run

Lovely Seapoint was blowing and puffing up foam, making my morning run more fun, as you must dodge the wave surges, or get wet. When the sun came out, it was gorgeous, and with the wind at my back on the home run back to the promise of coffee and bagels at Newport Deli, it didn't seem too difficult at all. 

Mike bailed, choosing coffee and newspapers. Nic and Adam test-drove skateboards along the widened pavements, which are allowing temporary public access to roller-bladers, cyclists and skateboarders. The experiment seems to be working, as people become sensitised to shared and sharing public spaces.

Day 10/67 Mandela Rhodes Foundation opskop

The City Hall in Cape Town was transformed last night  by the the 10 year anniversary gala celebrations of the Mandela Rhodes Foundation, with a balcony DJ, trendy bar, and the live sounds of Sipho Hotstix. Okay- that was after the serious proceedings of acknowledgements and speeches,  by Prof Njabulo Ndebele, and Patricia de Lille, Mayor of Cape town, among others.

Over 200 young scholars and leaders from across Africa have been been supported by the Foundation, over the past ten years, to study at Honours and Master's level, in a wide range of disciplines. These extraordinary young people, in their own words, are already leaders, but these awards serve to affirm those qualities  and launch them into future possibilities. 

A student from each cohort, from 2003 to 2013, reflected on the experience, and while it may be to soon to assess the wider impact of the Foundation  the personal impact is profound. Some of their comments:

We have been given the gift of intimate experience 

 The MRF has taught us that every voice counts, to treasure diversity, never to take yourself too seriously, and not to confuse privilege with right.

This has been a platform to express ideas, where no-one is going to tell us our ideas are unachievable. 

We feel authenticated- we were leaders before we became scholars. 

We are part of a community, able in turn to support a network of people.

What was also remarkable was the incredible financial support by global philanthropists, where 100 million was pledged in one night.

Here's hoping these scholars continue to make an impact, and to borrow the closing words, make every day a Mandela Day, where we improve the lives of some people.

Row 13 Cycle 17 Run 10 Step 20