I always enjoy De Jackson’s quadrille challenges. This week, the challenge is to write a poem of exactly 44 words using the word bird.
My mom fell in the early hours of Saturday morning and fractured a rib. It is a ‘blunt instrument’ injury as she tripped over a small step going into the bathroom and fell forward into the wash basin. It’s been a tough week but she seems to be on the mend. A am in the ‘dog box’ for making her do the breathing exercises every hour. They hurt but they are vital.
Dora’s challenge is to write a poem embodying a landscape. I’m not sure if I followed the instructions properly (I’m very bad at following instructions) but I have written about how my waterfall painting has led me to a place of perfect peace as I have endured Mom’s fall and a difficult leaving period from my job. This painting has been a significant art undertaking from me. I started it in early December and I’m nearly finished. I’m hoping to be done next weekend. It is my best piece so far and I look forward to sharing the finished piece with you all in due course. In the meantime, I’m sharing a photograph of the waterfall.
Picture caption: My photograph of a waterfall I saw during a hike in the Drakensberg.
Thursday Doors
In early January 2025, my family stayed at a family hotel in the Drakensberg. I specifically wanted to do a short day hike to see the waterfalls and the ‘Grotto”.
These are a few photographs of doors at the hotel, Champagne Sports Resort.
When I was a young girl, I loved to read Enid Blyton’s book series. She wrote approximately 720 books during her writing life and had several popular series like The Famous Five, The Secret Seven, and The Adventure Series. Enid Blyton also wrote a few series about young girls attending private boarding schools in England. I enjoyed all of her books but the boarding school books, Mallory Towers and St Clare’s, fascinated me. I attended a dual medium (English and Afrikaans), co-ed (boys and girls) primary school so the idea of all girls at school together and spending nights in a dormitory with lots of other girls of the same age captured my imagination. One of the concepts Enid Blyton wrote about was sending someone to Coventry. Being sent to Coventry is a British idiom meaning to deliberately ostracize someone. It involves ignoring the person, refusing to speak to them, and acting as if they do not exist. It is a form of social punishment or a way of expressing disapproval of someone’s actions.
Over the past two weeks since I resigned from my job, I feel as if I’ve been sent to Coventry by my senior work colleagues. I went into the office twice the first week following my resignation the previous Friday. The second office visit, on a Thursday, was awful. There is no other word to describe it. I felt like I had walked into a wall of resentment and anger. I could almost feel and taste the disapproval. Of course, I may have read too much into the situation as I am an empath and overly sensitive to other people’s emotions and behaviours, but I don’t think I did. I take responsibility for my work and commitments, so I originally offered to stay on a contract basis to see through the projects I’m currently working on. This offer was thrown back in my face, and I ended up having words with two of my senior colleagues. It was upsetting for me because I am sensitive but also because I think it was an illogical and ill-conceived reaction. I am an easy target for guilt because I am a soft touch and generally willing to help others. These are the personal characteristics that caused the overwhelm that resulted in my decision to leave in the first place. The more you give, the more people take and the resultant stress was becoming a health problem for me as I wasn’t getting enough down time to destress and unwind. My back went into severe spasm in mid-January and the doctors say it had probably been in spasm for months. It is now out of spasm due to a stringent programme of exercise, physiotherapy, and painkillers. I am glad I don’t need strong painkillers any more. I don’t like taking medications for long periods. I am doing very well on a physiotherapy and exercise programme. I was extremely busy at work at the time when the spasm escalated so I only took one day’s leave to get the x-rays and bone density tests done.
I have always been an unusually fast worker. I grasp outcomes quickly and come up with solutions almost immediately. I am a backwards thinker, and I simply work the solution or outcome backwards to give everyone else involved a series of steps to get to the desired outcome. Many of my on-line friends remark on how much I get done and it’s because I am able to work so fast (probably up to 4 x faster than most people) and I also have a retentive memory. I never take notes or write anything down because I don’t need to. I always remember. It was only about a decade ago that I realised this is not a common attribute to all people. If your mind works a certain way, you just assume it is the same for everyone else. I have come to realise that working faster does not mean you don’t use up the same, or perhaps more, mental energy. Getting more done quicker requires compensatory down time to recuperate as your battery depletes in line with your output.
It has been disappointing to receive such an unexpected reaction. It took a lot out of me to recover my mental balance last week and it ruined my birthday on 22 February. I had a miserable day. This being said, I stayed away from the office completely this past week and didn’t engage with any of my direct seniors. It is a busy time of year, and they did not try to engage with me either. It was as if I’d already left from a communication perspective. I focused on my client work and getting as much wrapped up as possible before I leave. I am feeling much better now and have decided to spare myself unnecessary anxiety by staying away from the office. I will go in on my last week to wrap up my administration and hand in my computer. It seems a sad way to end a 14-year work period of my life.
resentment
tasting of lemon
curls tongue
aftertaste bitter
lasting a lifetime
Note: This piece is not intended to solicit sympathy or throw stones at other people. I am responsible in many ways for this reaction as I have taken on too much, helped to much, made others too reliant on me and it has worn me down and I’m unable to continue along the same path of philanthropy I’ve always walked. It is not possible to implement boundaries and reset expectations after 14 years; it requires a clean break and a fresh start. Work environments are designed to be capitalistic and so whatever you offer will be taken and used. I’ve shared this information as part of my journey to understanding and acceptance and also because I think it may help others in a similar situation. I also think I handled my resignation badly by reacting from a place of overwhelm. That is me though, I am an impulsive person.
Dora’s prompt is as follows: “For your first poetics challenge of the year, I’d like you to dip your word-brush into Bishop’s poetic inkpot, as it were, consciously incorporating accuracy (detail), spontaneity (immediacy), and mystery (revelation) to write your own original poem.“
When I was three-months old my biological father died of a massive heart attack in front of my mother. She was left on her own to raise me as best she could. According to my mother, I was a very easy baby and never fussed or cried unless I was hungry or wet. Mom believes I could sense her sadness and distress and behaved accordingly, making her life easier.
Mom also said that after my father, William Cecil Weatherburn-Baker, died, she promised me that we would always stay together. She travelled with me all the way to South Africa when I was nine-months old and when I was two years old, she married my stepdad who I refer to as Dad. Mom and I have always been together, just as she promised. When I got married, TC and I bought a house in the same road as my Mom and Dad. When Mom could no longer manage the stairs in their house, we sold it and TC and I bought a house with a cottage for my parents. They have lived there for over 21 years now. Mom turned 87 on 21 October this year (2025).
When I was in prep school and junior high, all the girls were obliged to take domestic science as a subject. The syllabus was split into six months of dressmaking and six months of cooking. During my first year of junior high, I was obliged to do an applique project for school. Each girl was required to draw a design on paper and then cut it out of pretty fabric. The process then involved ironing a piece of white backing onto the fabric pieces so that the fabric didn’t fray around the edges. Each piece was then sewn onto the two pillowcases and duvet cover that comprised the project deliverable. Our parents had to purchase the fabric, backing, and bed linen. I decided to create a Holly Hobbie design and took great delight in drawing each piece including a flowery pink dress, patchwork apron, and flowery bonnet. Mom kindly bought me a plain pink duvet cover and pillowcases. I meticulously cut out my shapes and ironed on the backing, ensuring the sticky side was downwards onto the fabric. I used blanket stich to sew my pieces onto the pillowcases and duvet cover. My sewing was neat and tidy and my teacher was pleased with the end result. I was delighted with my new Holly Hobbie bed linen.
I continued to use my applique knowledge to decorate bed linen for my sisters. I entertained myself this way for an entire school holiday. One day, I placed the backing back-to-front and ironed onto the sticky side. That was a disaster as the glue burned onto the iron. I managed to clean most of it off but, after this, Mom wasn’t keen on me using the iron for applique.
I kept my bed linen all through my teenage years until I was seventeen. Cath, however, decided one afternoon soon after her bed linen was finished, to cut out the Holly Hobbie with a pair of scissors. Obviously, that didn’t do the duvet cover much good and it was the end of her Holly Hobbie bedlinen set. She never got another as between the destruction of her duvet cover and Mom’s reluctance to let me use the iron, I gave up applique as a hobby.
I’m a bit late with this post but it’s been a tough week. My big transaction went live at 5.08pm tonight after four days of manic rushing about tying up loose ends and getting all the deliverables ready. This is the end of 10 weeks of hard work and I’m glad it’s done. I have another three on the go but those are smaller and more manageable.
Anyhow, on to the writing challenge. Esther’s prompt was angel. I had an idea last week which I didn’t manage to write up. Then I read Freya’s final post in her Dragon Scales poetry style series, and the following poem came all at once. So, this poem is for Esther’s challenge and is my first Dragon Scales poem. I’m not sure I got it quite right per Freya’s directions, but I’m pleased with the result. You can read Freya’s poem here: https://freyanrites.wordpress.com/2025/12/02/hollowness-verse-7/
When I was five, we moved into a house in Blairgowrie in Johannesburg. At the time, it was a typical suburban house with a low wall separating the front garden from the grassed pavement. Mom was very busy with my sister, Cath, you was only one and I spent a lot of time playing by myself.
That Christmas, Mom gifted me some old tinsel which was bald in patches. I could play with it and even cut it up into smaller pieces to use for my creative projects. I made one piece into an angel halo.
I was a good singer and was already singing in the school choir by the end of my first school year. I took it into my head to dress up as an angel and sing Christmas carols on the pavement outside my house.
I remember wearing a long white nightdress and borrowing one of my mom’s glittery evening shawls for wings. I put the halo on my head and took up a position on the pavement on my knees. Mom found me there several songs later, entertaining a gathering of pedestrians who had stopped to watch my show.
Mom was not pleased with me making an exhibition of myself.
These pictures are of the reception main door at Champagne Sports Resort Hotel where my family spent three days in early January this year. The Christmas lights and decorations were still up at that time.
The picture below is of the hotel rooms where we stayed. Ours were the bottom units.
This week’s challenge by Melissa, is to write a Double Ennead poem on the theme of gratitude. The syllabic count for a Double Ennead poem is 3 x 3 verses of 6/5/11/6/5.
I am late with last week’s CFFC and Thursday Doors post so I’m including it here with this week’s CFFC post.
The four photographs below are of the wharf at Westminster Bridge in London. This is where tourists leave for tours of the River Thames. You can see the London Eye in the background. These are for Dan’s Travel Hubs challenge which you can join in here: https://nofacilities.com/2025/12/01/travel-hubs-cffc/
Last week’s CFFC challenge was Places where people work. I have a selection of doors from my trip to London.
The slideshow below is of the entrance and door of a bank in Westminster, London. I thought the door was beautiful.
Picture caption: Entrance to The Institute of Civil Engineers in LondonPicture caption: Entrance to The Royal Courts of Justice, London
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