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Memories of a rose

The jeweller, fortune-teller

Memories of a rose By February 9, 2016 Tags: , , , 2 Comments

The fortune teller in india

I don’t have a particular belief in the ability of others to foresee the future however this was, on one specific occasion in my life, put into question. It happened on one of my absolute favourite holidays of all time and one I shared with my mother and brother.

It was a holiday idea on a whim. In late 2007 I received a call from my mother and she simply said:

“Laura, we are going to India this December, I’m booking!”

I’d never before heard her mention India, not once.

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The blond, brunette and the perm

Memories of a rose By February 4, 2016 No Comments

How we feel about our hair

My mother had an endless array of hairstyles throughout her life. She seemed to have had no fear in changing,cutting and colouring her hair. Based on my observations I wouldn’t have described her as someone particularly attached to her hair. It was however a very different situation when she lost her hair.

When reading cancer forums it is clear that this feeling is shared by many woman going through chemotherapy treatment.

It makes sense. I’m very precious about my own hair, it is I think an extension of my identity and makes a real impact on how people view me.

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What’s in a pancake?

Memories of a rose By February 4, 2016 No Comments

Cinnamon pancakes

In my case, a winning combination that undoubtedly helped me through many exams and projects in school and university.

My mother had a habit of making late night pancakes. She would suddenly appear in my room with two perfectly laid out cinnamon and sugar pancakes. I should clarify that South African pancakes are the equivalent of French crepes and the favourite way to eat them is with cinnamon and sugar.

These beauties would appear at just the right time in the hands of my mother. Until this day, pancakes are my go-to late night pick me up, although I have to admit, hers were better.

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The rituals of music

Memories of a rose By January 28, 2016 No Comments

Photo of Rose-Mari

I’ve always loved this picture of my mother. I like to imagine that she was sitting at a Cat Stevens concert or something alike which seems fitting given the musical background to my childhood. The reality is that she must have been about 23 here which would have made it 1983, the height of the Apartheid and political unrest in South Africa. This would mean that the chances of her having the opportunity to watch an international act on local soil would have been little to none. Also with the international ban on travel, I can rightly assume that she was not sitting at Woodstock in the US taking in the culture. I never asked my mother about this picture, so truth is I can only rely on assumptions.

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