Friends

A Good Home, Friendship, South Africa

South Africa Comes to Visit

June 3, 2015June 4, 2015 Cynthia Reyes

South Africa. One of my most favourite countries in the world.

Having worked there, repeatedly, I’d planned to return as a tourist one day.

It hasn’t happened.

But every so often, South Africa comes to me.

Late April, 2015.

I come across a small book in our home library.

“South Africa Stories” is the simple title.

Memories fill my mind.

Early 1991.

My CBC boss, Les Lawrence, heeds the call from South African Bishop Tutu and Canadian Archbishop Ted Scott –– eminent persons in the fight against apartheid — and agrees to an important project: to help South African broadcast journalists prepare for the end of apartheid. He and I are the project leaders.

Eleven journalists are in the first group, carefully selected by our partner, the Southern Africa Education Trust Fund. They’re here in Toronto at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation to strengthen their skills in radio and television journalism.

Of various races, some are exiles.

Their intelligence, educational achievements and resourcefulness impress us. Their stories alternately shock and inspire us.

We cry when they leave.

But mostly, we rejoice, knowing they are going back stronger than they’d arrived, knowing they have also made us stronger. We have bound some of their written stories into a simple book. Something for them to take home, along with their new-found skills.

They write thank-you notes in my copy. I rediscover it in April 2015.

South Africa Stories.

Late April, 2015

Sylvia Vollenhoven, one of Nelson Mandela’s favourite journalists, arrives at our old farmhouse north of Toronto with our mutual friend Dale. It’s been years since Sylvia was here and we hug her warmly. A woman of stunning achievement and deep commitment to South Africa, journalism and freedom, she’s in Toronto for the Hot Docs festival.

She tells us about her current project, The Keeper of the Kumm, which will be produced as a play, a book and a documentary. We listen in fascinated silence. She’s one of the most eloquent people we know and Hamlin, Dale and I devour her words like manna from heaven.

And we laugh.

Sylvia is very witty, but her mistake appears to be an honest one.

“What are these things called again?” she asks in that beautiful accent of hers. She points to stalks of pussy willows in a container. “Willy’s Pussies, right?”

Willy’s pussies. Oh, dear.

I gasp for air between bouts of loud laughter.

We tell Sylvia we hope she will come back a year from now – with her book and her documentary. She tells us she hopes we can come to South Africa to see the play. We eagerly say Yes.

Of course, it’s most unlikely that I will be able to travel that far. But as I sit on the verandah with three dear friends who love South Africa, it is such a warm thought.

I remember.

And imagine.

And am happy.

Dedicated to Sylvia and the journalists of South Africa… especially “the first eleven”.

Photos by Hamlin Grange

A Good Home, Afternoon Tea, Friendship, Gardens, Joyful Moments, July Garden, Kindness, Nature, Ontario, Outdoor Living, Red currants, Relationships, Summer Garden, Vegetable Garden, Vegetables

Food, Friends, Verandah

August 24, 2014August 26, 2014 Cynthia Reyes

Everybody was complaining about summer.

Not me.

After a painful several months – much of it spent in bed – I welcomed the summer by taking to the verandah.

Colourful cushions, simple wood furniture and time-worn rugs created a homey feel.

A verandah is a place for serious summer reading….

Or some serious hanging out….

In the nearby garden, sometimes it rained and hailed and the wind was crazy.

But flowers bloomed everywhere.

Birds sang.

The air was fresh.

Family and friends came to visit.

Some invited themselves, which I loved.

“How are you coping these days?”

“I’ve taken to the verandah,” I replied.

“I’m coming to visit!”

It was the summer of the verandah. Of kindness and affection. Laughter and quiet moments.

My editor Tim, returning home to South Africa, spent most of his last week in Canada with our family. He held court on the verandah like an eminence grise, saying wise, cryptic and funny things to everyone.

Some people wondered how he’d handle returning to a country which he left decades ago. Tim’s enigmatic reply: “Did I mention I’ll have the use of a heated swimming pool?”

“Long way to go for a heated swimming pool,” we laughed.

Of course, one should always feed one’s visitors. Despite one’s lack of cooking talent.

“You are the best cook I’ve ever met,” Tim declared, straight-faced, to loud laughter.

I swatted him with my dinner napkin. He complained – theatrically – of “the abuses I suffer in your home”.

We alternated between joking, serious talk and companionable silence. If tears were hovering, we didn’t let them show. This man has been a stalwart friend to me through life’s challenging times and I shall miss him.

Marilyn visited next. Marilyn’s the doyenne of tea (See Simply Splendid Victorian Afternoon Teas.) She kindly admired my floral arrangement and I wisely served a cold lunch… no cooking required.

“I caught that salmon, smoked it and sliced it,” I lied.

“Well done,” she praised, playing along.

Seriously, though: the lettuce, tomatoes and red currants came from our garden.

Longtime friend Dale arrived late one night, on her way back home from visiting family out west. I made breakfast, the only thing I cook consistently well, and we caught up on family news.

Marie, who lives way up north, took an evening break from her role in an important cross-country hearing. My husband cooked supper that day, as he did for my childhood friend, Angela and her family. Wonderful occasions.

Jacqui dropped in and lucked into one of the nicest dishes I made this summer.

“But this is GOOD!” she declared.

“Don’t tell anyone!” I pleaded. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”

Anthony Trollope once asked: “What on earth could be more luxurious than a sofa, a book and a cup of coffee?”

My answer: “A verandah, a garden, and loved ones to share them with.”

Dedicated, with a grateful heart, to my caring family and friends… and everyone who appreciates a verandah.

A Good Home, Book lovers, Books, Friendship

September 4, 2013October 30, 2013 Cynthia Reyes

“A friend in need is a friend indeed.”

When I was a child, I thought this saying meant that if someone needs you, that person is a real friend. Later, I discovered what the writer really meant: One’s truest friends are those who are there for you when you need them.

Methinks it works both ways. Friends help each other, in times of trouble or just in anxious moments. Producing a book and waiting for it to hit the marketplace is one long, drawn out anxious moment. Sensing this, several friends kept in touch regularly.

Some, like Keith, had read every one of my feature stories in Arabella Magazine and the Globe and Mail newspaper. Sometimes, having read one of my funny stories, he’d telephone me, still laughing. Reading about the time I found myself spending time in a convent of silent nuns (nuns always scared me) was, to Keith, almost as hilarious as the time I found myself diligently tending a crop of marijuana, and seriously praying they wouldn’t die before their owners came home.

“I can hardly wait for your book,” Keith told me often.

Another good friend was my daughter Lauren. A gifted storyteller herself, she was the first person who read the stories that would become chapters in A Good Home.

“Oh, Mom,” she said often. “Don’t worry. It’ll be great!”

Dale, Jean and Kamala-Jean said much the same. How comforting it was to receive such words of optimism!

My Bhuddist friend Leonie sent me a mantra to chant: Nam Myoho Renge Kyo. Ever the skeptic, it took me a while to try it, but I did. Angela, Sheila, Lucia, Valerie, my siblings and church friends simply prayed for me as we counted down to the release date of the book. Both were comforting.

Eva, whom I’d first met back when we both worked the night shift as telephone operators at Bell Canada, called to announce that she and her friend Delores planned to host a “book party” for me in Eva’s charming home in east end Toronto.

“Wha-at?” I asked.

“Yes, a book party,” Eva repeated, as if this was the natural order of things.

Collecting my wits, I called her back later to say “thanks” and offered to bring some food and drinks to the party.

“You are to do nothing,” she ordered. “Just show up!”

And so Eva and Del hosted a group of their friends ( knowing Eva, she might even have ORDERED some of them to attend) with food, drinks, and readings from A Good Home.

Very few of their guests knew that I tremble inside when I have to do a reading. But then I remembered: these are Eva’s and Del’s friends. I’m in good hands. So I pretended to be brave.

Thank you, Eva and Del and friends, for welcoming me – and A Good Home – with such warmth and kindness.

Someone once said that a home’s best ornaments are the friends that visit. I think the same can be said about a life well-lived. Friends lift our spirits. Friends help you to believe in yourself at times of anxiety. They even help you to stand up straight, get the words out, and look half-intelligent.