Beautiful sound: fashion statement

The fairy-like tinkling of silver bells woven into a young woman's boots as she walks down the street.

I am... a podcaster

One of the many remarkable things about the last company (EO) I worked for is their retirement present. They gave me a voyage anywhere in the world for any amount of time, with airfares and hotel accommodations to and from the vessel included.

I'm going to explore all sorts of new ideas and technology along the way. I've decided to do an oral travel log, from beginning to end. Since the vessels have only restricted access to internet, I can't use AI to help edit the interviews and personal reflections.

Still, I've decided to approach the project as if I'm a professional podcaster. Let's see what happens.

Explore: My inner warrior

Years ago, I had a long conversation with eWa about the challenges of balancing work and motherhood. She introduced me to the Buddhist concept of the "inner warrior."
 
I remember us laughing as we imagined what our inner warriors might look like and what would happen if they ever surfaced. That laughter, filled with warmth and camaraderie, was invigorating—especially at a time when I was battling insomnia, dealing with a terrible colleague who made work miserable for everyone, and struggling with the relentless chatter of my inner critic.
 
Now, having come out of retirement last month, I find myself immersed in a slew of new projects. Thankfully, each one is a collaboration with one or two other creative spirits, making the work a true delight.
 
What has surprised me most, though, is the unexpected emergence of my inner warrior. It’s as if they had been lurking at the periphery of my soul like a barracuda waiting to strike. All it took was granting myself permission—to fully show up in artistic collaborations and step into situations I had previously avoided.
 
To be brave. To be audacious. 
 
The feeling of liberation that comes with shedding old social restraints is exhilarating. And perhaps the biggest surprise? My inner warrior is not the young, (very handsome) Japanese samurai I had once imagined. Instead, she is an elder—an old woman with infinite power, wisdom, and an unshakable presence.
 
What a joy and revelation it is to finally meet this invincible being, living so close to my heart. 

Beautiful sounds: squirrel

The high-speed stamping of a squirrel’s foot, a burst of energy before it darts off to its mate.

TR update: first talks and a new detour

This month passed by so quickly.

 
I spoke with Frank, the lawyer who gave me legal counsel all those years ago when I pitched the game to SCEE. SCEE is still going. He assured me that the legal aspects are still essentially the same: NDA, formalized submission agreement, and commercialized contract.

Then I talked with Charlotte's second cousin, Jono. He's a senior business development manager at a game company in SA. He basically crossed out my hope of finding a mid-sized developer company to buy and take over the project. Instead, he suggested trying to find a way to enter into a partnership with an indie group.

He was super helpful. I have to look into Steins;Gate, Dorian, DevCon, and Discord.

Feeling a bit one step forward and now two steps back. Julien advises against becoming too fixated on abandoning the original intent of finding a mid-sized company. 

Backpack to heaven

There is something different in my mom's voice these days. She almost seems... it's hard to describe, but she almost seems... happy. This is such a drastic change in her manner that "happy" doesn't seem to capture the immensity of this transformation.
 
Life with my mother since Covid, lockdowns, illnesses, and uncertainties has been far from easy. She met every challenge with bitter contempt at a world that was out to kill her. She barred her door and her heart against the world at large, as well as her family.
We all lived so far away, and she found our worrying an unacceptable, ineffective means of support.
 
She didn't need consolation; she needed us there with her. Knowing the truth made her brittle: that we could not be with her, that our other families seemed more important than she was, that none of us had enough money or time to drop everything and visit. Seemingly overnight, all her characteristic positivity vanished.
 
I began to dread her phone calls. They became weary laments about life in the senior citizen home. We had all been careful to choose a good place, one where we thought she could be happy. But life there never lived up to the promise.
 
There's no sense in finding fault with the staff or residents. My mom has never been one to make friends easily. It was as if she was mad at us for her getting old. Her laments and tirades directed at us were hard to bear. The underlying message of all those calls was clear: "You've failed me."
 
That's why these last weeks of her chatting happily on the phone seem like a miracle. I was telling a good friend who works in hospice about this change. She listened to my story with a calm smile and occasional nods.
 
When I finished talking, she reached over to hold my hands. "It looks like your mom has packed her backpack to heaven and is ready to leave."
 
What a strange comfort, if this is so.

Beautiful sounds: children playing

The cacophony of the elementary school grounds during the morning break on the first warm sunny spring day.

#booksIlove: The Solitary Summer

Title: The Solitary Summer, by Elizabeth von Arnim
First time I read the book: 1993 when it was published again by Virago

I read numerous books by Elizabeth von Armin, and till today, I thought she was  German. She was born in Australia!
This book (1899) and her first, Elizabeth and her German Garden (1898), were my constant read when I was in my early 30s. They offered me great comfort. 

I was figuring out why they resonated, and I could only come up with the idea that she and Jane Austin were the type of authors who were also my friends.

When asked what are some interesting facts about Elizabeth von Armin, ChatGTP listed the below amongst others:

Independent Spirit – Elizabeth was known for her sharp wit, feminist leanings, and love for solitude. Her works often featured themes of independence, personal freedom, and a critique of societal expectations of women.

Now, I know for sure why I know her as a friend.

Explore: timeboxing (part 2)

Previously, I wrote about wanting to explore timeboxing again. What I've come to realize is that I do not want to spend time timeboxing.

Initially, I would differentiate between the following categories of working:

• Writing (non-specific)

• Ghostwriting

• Project stuff

• Content development

Now, after doing this for a few months, I sort of put it all under the "writing" category. Also, I tend to extend my writing sessions on the go, so I'm not really time-boxing at all.

The one thing that works is that I keep a record of the amount of time I spend daily and weekly. It is a form of self-regulation. I promised myself that I would try to work only 25-30 hours a week. Generally, I am sticking to this, though more in the direction of 30 hours per week.

Secondly, I schedule writing time a week or two in advance. That is working.

The timeboxing routine exposes how often I work without taking a weekend break. Not good.

So, I've decided to switch the timeboxing around. (Okay, admittedly, my therapist did give me a nudge.) What I want to do is time-box "zone-out" times. Now that spring has come, and I will be travelling more in the next months, I want to schedule at least 5-10 hours a week to zone out.

Let's see if that works.

Beautiful sounds: Giui snoring

The sonic sawing through your early morning dreams, trying to navigate a path around the persisting "It's time to get up" chorus in your brain.

If only AI were further along… (2/2)

I wish AI could act as a prism for my wordy, muddled mind—something I could hold up to the swirling kaleidoscope of fragmented images, half-formed words, and metaphors lurking in the shadowed corners of my consciousness.

And then—voilà! Pristine, precise, and meaningful poems would blossom forth. A tweak here, a nudge there, and all those unspoken songs would finally find their voice.

If only AI were further along… (1/2)

I would love it if AI could fill our family photo albums with all those precious, everyday moments of intimacy. Moments like Giui playing World of Warcraft in the living room, with Sara sitting on one side of him and Julien on the other, watching. Or, Julien and Sara perched on the windowsill, observing the construction site below. Or, the morning sun dancing through the steam of my tea as I write in my diary on a summer day.
 
Writing the letter for Sara’s 30th birthday made me realize how few photos we have of our everyday family life. Why did the camera only appear on vacations or at big family gatherings? I suppose it was because I was too shy to bob around with a camera.

This was long before smartphones, Instagram, or selfies—back when the idea of capturing seemingly insignificant moments felt almost preposterous.
 
The phrase “making a mountain out of a molehill” comes to mind. And, admittedly, nothing dispels the quiet magic of play or solitude faster than the intrusive click of a camera lens.
 
That’s why I wish AI could be a silent observer—an invisible lens in my mind—capturing those past moments, shaping memories into form, painting them with light and colour.
 
So, where is that memories.ai app?

Beautiful sounds: pine tree

The phuuing gust of wind shaking the pine tree, sending up a burst of pollen that vanishes before there’s even time to sneeze. 

TR update: break through

It's been a good month. The Proof of Concept is nearly finished, and I am waiting for the last of the feedback from the beta testers. So far, the feedback has been overwhelmingly positive. 

Elsa is working on the layout of the Artistic Concept. I've worked through the text about 10 times and hope that I've managed to find the right balance. 

The difficulty is that though the documents obviously have two separate purposes, the language and look must be aligned. I cannot imagine how professional advertising and marketing specialists manage this tightrope.

Beautiful sounds: zen mind

The clicking and clacking of the heater to the right of my meditation mat and cushion during the retreat at the Wennigsen monastery. 

Such a blue sky

Buds, buds, buds, and buds
Hallelujah, it's spring
Face turned to the sun.

#booksIlove: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

Title: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer, Annie Barrows
When I first read it: when it first came out in 2008

This is a light and endearing book of letters. I've always loved books of letters (e.g. Dear Daddylonglegs, Dear Enemy, or 84 Charing Cross Road) and books about Guernsey (e.g. my absolute favourite book of all time). 

Beautiful sounds: monastery

The floorboards creaking through the stillness of the monastery as I sneak my tea from the kitchen to my room in the early morning, while all the others sleep.

I am… rather spectacular.

This is not something I would normally say. It takes a wrinkle in time for such a thought to travel from the heart of an exuberant child to the spoken words of an older woman. Is it audacious? Fearless? Or simply delusional?

Yet, in reflecting on past deeds and misdeeds, moments of tribulation, flights on the wings of dreams, and, above all, the unwavering belief that my life is blessed—I raise a glass to my younger self.

Thank you for getting me here, alight with wonder and curiosity.

How very spectacular is that?

Space Weather (2/2)

Photo by Chinh Le Duc on Unsplash

When my daughter and I were discussing the marvels of space weather, we were sitting in one of her favourite cafés. Across from our table hung a striking picture of a whale suspended in the dark ocean depths.

As we talked, I couldn’t help but draw parallels between the mysteries of space and the vast, shadowy depths of the ocean. If you’ve ever seen whales in their natural habitat, you might understand the sense of awe they inspire. Their sheer size, intelligence, and grace make them seem almost otherworldly. It’s easy to imagine them as aliens—beings entirely unique, unlike anything else on Earth. 

A whimsical thought crossed my mind: what if whales possess an innate ability to detect space storms? Perhaps their minds act as transceivers for infinite cosmic information. I toyed with the idea of writing a poem about a whale speaking to the sun, but the words wouldn’t come. In the end, the thought itself was beautiful enough to linger on.

Disclaimer: I don’t actually believe whales are extraterrestrial—it was simply a fanciful flight of imagination.