SketchCrawl #44 at Hillfox

For the 44th World Wide SketchCrawl I wracked my brains to think of a warm place for our Joburg Sketchers to go and crawl around. Though our winter skies are generally clear blue and cloudless, dry iciness creeps and whistles into every corner. After a small poll, we decided to go to the Hillfox Value Centre, a rather ugly and sprawling shopping complex, but which houses a huge Food Lover's Market and the B&B markets.

 After starting with coffee at the F.L.M. to warm up and to welcome a couple of newcomers, we moved over to the B&B which was looking a little empty and forlorn of crowds - cleverer people had stayed at home under a duvet or near a fireplace. At least we had good views of the stalls that we chose to sketch, without too many bodies blocking our way. A couple of our group were told they weren't allowed to sketch by officious officials, I suppose they had little else to do without customers to harass.

  I went for the more colourful options I could spot in the gloom - first the hookah stand and then onto Clive, with his incredible array of beaded creatures and plants. I only fitted about half of his wares into my sketch, and those (surely frozen) fingers just kept working away at more.

  This warehouse-like basement was no warmer than a Joburg back street in the shade so we headed back to F.L.M. for lunch, where once again I forgot to do the photos of sketchers and their morning's work, you can see them here on our Facebook page. After lunch some of us hung around the bakery section, a place that always calls to me, sketching the wares a better option than eating them, if only I'd remember that. I then crawled, shivering, back to my car which, having been standing for a few hours in the sun was deliciously warm so I did a quick last sketch - cars, shopper, car guard -  before heading home.

Goodbye Sweet Gucci

The eucalyptus tree was not all we lost in June - two days before that we had to say goodbye to our beloved dog, "the oldest weimeraner known to man" as a vet friend of my daughter's said. I haven't been able to bring myself to post this up till now, but I want to commemorate a beautiful, brave, naughty and irrepressible part of our home for the past 16 and a half years. 

Our son, now 23 was 7 when he came into our lives - a silky blue-eyed pup who immediately recognised me as 'mom' and curled up on my lap to sleep after exhausting himself playing with the kids. Anyone on the floor was fair game to be chewed, rolled-over onto (head over heels, not sideways) and determinedly edged away from the heater, while he was a willing pillow for weary or TV watching heads once he had worn himself out. 

He was wild - crazy - we could have done with the Dog Whisperer's help throughout his uncontrollable life. I have scars from where he yanked me down steps to launch himself at the meter-man, or the postman or the sandwich men ringing at the gate. So much for 'Foods you Must Never give your Dog' - he helped himself to avocados that dropped off the tree next door, unripe plums within his reach, entire chocolate Easter egg stashes, fillet roasts, anything whatsoever edible (except peppers and chilli) that he could reach when standing on his bandy back legs. Doors were no obstacle unless they were locked - he opened them in- or outwards and preferred them all open, come rain, shine or freezing wind.

When our daughter brought a kitten home, we were quite sure that she would be swallowed whole in an exuberant gulp and kept watch to make sure she didn't wander into 'Orc' territory - till one day our vigilance slipped and we rushed, panicking, to find the kitten contentedly tucked under a bemused Gucci's chin - where she more or less stayed, in innumerable yin-and-yang poses for the rest of his days (she shows remarkable, cat-like unconcern about his sudden absence, though perhaps slightly more affectionate towards her humans lately). While rats, strange cats and hadedas were in great danger if spotted, and he refused to ever give back a ball thrown for him - when my son's pet rat's many babies all escaped into the garden, he gently retrieved every single one without so much as a bruise and brought them to us to put back into the cage.

He was my constant companion unless his adored 'dad' was home when he was the preferred target for underfoot and in-your-face attention. As I do the most mundane things now his image rises before me - sweeping, nobody trudging doggedly through the dust pile - vacuuming the floors, no one lying hopefully in my path wanting a vacuum-massage - eating an apple, no one behind to toss the core to (the Best Catcher in the World) - the ways to miss him are many and painful, but we are so grateful that he was ours. RIP dearest Gooch.