“Am I the same girl?”

One of the very interesting things about this year has been reconnecting with a few people from my past. Regardless of whether it was five or twenty-five years that had passed, I found myself thinking about how much had happened since our last meeting, and, inevitably, how much we’d changed, as a result of our life experiences, as well as the ageing process. 

When these encounters happen, sometimes there’s a relaunching of the friendship. In the initial stages, there tends to be a lot of nostalgia, as each party tries to remind the other about things that happened all those years ago. What I find myself dealing with is the awkwardness of having forgotten something the other person has remembered; I feel like I’ve let the person down, somehow, by not having retained the memory. Fortunately, it also happens the other way around.   

What I like is when the rekindled friendship feels like a comfortable fit, where, despite the relationship having discontinued many years ago, there’s an ease of communication, ready laughter, and a natural flow of who and where we are at this stage of our lives. It’s a really good feeling, and something that I find wonderfully affirming. I love it when the energy of a good connection, made at one stage of life, resurfaces many years later. It confirms my belief that certain bonds are permanent, even magical, defying geography or the passage of time.  

But what is decidedly in a category of its own is a friendship revisited after forty-plus years, when your last connection was in your childhood, and you meet up again as middle-aged people. Very strange. In so many ways, I feel like a different person to whom I was when I was 11, yet when I hear the other person’s views of me, it seems one’s essence remains unchanged. Having said as much, what unnerves me - ever so slightly - is someone expecting me to hold the same views I held decades ago, when surely the whole point of life and growth is shedding what no longer serves us, and taking on what does. I rather like the process of redefinition, both conscious and unconscious.

As I approach the end of yet another year, I can’t help but smile as I contemplate the regaining of lost connections. Some destined to play a bigger role in our lives than others, they definitely give us a fresh perspective on who we are, and of how big a ripple we’ve caused in the pond of life.   

            L-R: Aunty Helena, Mom, Wendy, me & Dad, +- 1970, when I was 9 or 10 yrs old. 

Planning my next concert: Sun 27 Dec 2015

Last week, Wayne confirmed a date on which we could do our annual concert (during his visit to Cape Town), and today the venue was confirmed. 

For now. I'll announce just this, with all other details to follow shortly:

I'm doing my 3rd annual concert with guitarist Wayne Bosch, undeniably the musical highlight of my year, on Sunday 27 December, at the District Six Museum, at 4pm. We will have two sets, featuring young musicians in the opening set. Wayne and I will do a longer set, putting everything into our one duo performance for the year. 

Tickets will once again cost R100 each, which includes the delicious refreshments served after the show. 

I invite you to contact me to reserve your tickets as soon as possible, as last year's concert was sold out, and many people were disappointed.

Contact me on my Facebook musician page (Trudy Rushin, Singer-songwriter), or e-mail me at guitartrudy@gmail.com

             Wayne Bosch and I at our 2nd annual concert, on 28 Dec 2014 (District 6 Museum)

My 2nd music video - Joe - is on Youtube!!!!

Last night, my second music video, produced by Lisba Vosloo (an amazing woman, who also produced my first video), was uploaded onto Youtube. It's a song called "Joe", and it features my guitar teacher, duo partner, and mentor, Wayne Bosch, on guitar, and me on vocals. Filmed at our world-famous coffee shop, Truth Cafe, in Dec 2014, it's another proudly South African product. We recorded the audio with Dave Subkleve, at Audiolounge, in July 2012. 

I wrote the song in 2001. Like most of my songs, it arose from an actual life experience. It's a tongue-in-cheek song about seeing an interesting man at a jazz concert, admiring him, and wondering how my life would be if he were in it. :-)  

Because of its playful theme and sound (a humorous blues ballad), it's quite popular. I've often been asked, after performing it live, if he's a real man, and what his phone number is. Haha! 

I'm ecstatic at the release of this video. I'll post the link below - hope it gets you to Youtube. 

Plan B - just go onto www.youtube.com, type my name and surname, Trudy Rushin, and you'll find it. 

Enjoy!  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EiPk0e-VJPg

                         Wayne and I at the filming of the Joe video, in Dec 2014. 

Sad Art

A few weeks ago, I sang at the Cape Cultural Collective’s October event. A special aspect of being part of any of their monthly events is that I get to watch - and sometimes, meet – really interesting artists.

In October, the programme consisted of: drag artist, Manilla Von Teez, poets Tasneem Daniels and Sibulelo Manamatela, dancer Darion Adams, rapper Riyaad Riyo Samang, actor-magician Charles Tertiens, jazz singer Joe Schaffers, poet and artist Zulfa Abrahams, singer-songwriter, Byron Clarke, and me. Needless to say, it blew my mind to be on the same programme as these talented people. I sat in awe, watching them, as they performed their work, each one excellent.

I always leave these evenings inspired, and that night was no exception. One of the people whose story touched me was Zulfa Abrahams. On display in the performance area were some of her paintings, all portraits of women (faces only), and she read an extract from her recently-published poetry compilation, “I Am the Rose”. She commented, when talking to the audience, that people generally regarded her as a bubbly, happy person, but that all her art was sad. I looked at her paintings again, and she was right – all the faces on her canvases had intense expressions. And they were all beautiful.

I started thinking about the songs I like singing, and the songs I write. Many of them are decidedly melancholic. I could easily sing a whole night of bittersweet songs – in fact, I have to plan my performance repertoire carefully, so that I give my audience a wider range. I thought about the dancer, Darion, and how dark some of his dancing had been – powerful, riveting, and dark. Even the poetry that was read had dark, sad themes. I admired the way Zulfa had handled the topic of her sad portraits – unapologetically claiming it for what it was. She inspired me, and gave me the permission I hadn’t given myself, to be truly at peace with my own sad art. 

These are my thoughts on the happy-person-producing-sad-art issue: when we’re growing up, we’re given strong messages as to which emotions are socially acceptable and which are not. Parents and others give positive reinforcement for the brighter emotions, and we grow up learning, through experience, that people like us better when we’re happy. In contrast, what do people instinctively say to a crying child? “Don’t cry.” “Why are you sad?” “Cheer up!” We don’t allow people to be sad – we immediately want to fix it up, sort it out, make it go away. We so desperately want people around us to be happy all the time. This can put immense pressure on us, and cause complications, later on.

I remember when my son was a young child, we’d see him becoming tearful, and we’d ask him what was ‘wrong’. He’d say, “The music’s making me sad.” We realised that classical music, especially orchestral music, moved him to tears. I distinctly remember one day I went to switch the music off – in an attempt to remove the source of his ‘sadness’ – and he asked me not to. I was surprised, but I understood, in that moment, that he was an intensely sensitive child, and that he somehow knew it was perfectly fine to feel what he was feeling, and that the music should in fact continue playing and continue stirring him. It was one of those profound moments in my journey of motherhood. When we keep ourselves attuned, and don’t assume superiority, we can learn from the most unexpected sources. 

Now that he’s a young man, and is working on the different art forms at which he excels (music, art and writing), I can see that his sensitivity is one of his strengths, and always has been.

I remember the late actress, Elizabeth Taylor, saying, in an interview, that she had no problem showing anger (another frowned-upon emotion), in all her relationships, because she believed that the people we love need to know the full extent of who we are. I like that. I think it’s unhealthy to pretend to be happy all the time, because we possess such a wide range of emotions.

In conclusion, I’d like to say that if, for whatever reason, we end up showing our ‘darker’ sides mainly through the art we produce – be it poetry, paintings, sculptures, songs or any other form -  then so be it. Some of the most beautiful work that has been produced, over the centuries, has come from the deeper, darker sides of highly sensitive people.    

               30/10/15 - Old Slave Church Museum, at the Cape Cultural Collective's concert. 

Anniversaries

In the past few days, I’ve had two anniversaries, but not the kind one generally talks about in public, let alone celebrates.  After considering the matter, though, I’ve come to the conclusion that everyone has these kinds of anniversaries. We don’t throw parties for them, and we don’t get cards or gifts. If we’re lucky, we have a few close people who know the significance of the dates.

On 28 October, it was 19 years since my miscarriage. Even though I wasn’t very far into my pregnancy, it was still devastating. I’d had a very stressful year at work, and had decided to leave teaching. In the wake of that decision, even more events took place at work, and I was aware that I was taking strain. However, it was still a huge shock having to deal with the sudden end to my pregnancy. Just the day before, I had excitedly told my dad that I was expecting my second child, and I’ll never forget how thrilled he was. Having to phone him from the hospital, the next day, to tell him I’d had a miscarriage, was very hard for me.  

I finally gained a healthier perspective and found my peace, when I gave birth to my daughter, two years later. Seventeen years later, my daughter is one of my two bright shining stars, and I know, without a doubt, that everything  is exactly as it was meant to be.

The second anniversary was on 1 November - the date my marriage was legally terminated, fourteen years ago. It was the healthiest thing for me, to leave that marriage, and I have no regrets, except that my children did not have the kind of childhood I’d have liked them to have had. Having said as much, I have to add that I am extremely proud of them; they’ve grown into confident, compassionate and insightful young adults, and I know they’re going to live interesting, purpose-driven lives.

I know I’ve grown up, because I can look back at both of these events, and understand that they are merely parts of my journey, parts of my life story. I can’t say I’ll ever forget them, but I can feel myself disentangling from the sadness of the memories, and becoming more philosophical about them.

My concern, these days, is for other women who are going through the same things. I want to reach out and tell them that, in time, they will find peace. It doesn’t happen overnight, but if you focus on nurturing your gifts, and on loving the ones who need your love – and not forgetting to love and be kind to yourself - peace will be your reward. So many people regard the achievement of fame as success, but for me, having achieved inner peace, after years of turmoil, is one of my greatest feelings of success - second only to the joy of watching my children grow into who they’re destined to be.

Facebook post on World Teacher's Day 2015

If my heart could burst from happiness, it would do so right now.

I sang at a World Teachers' Day event today, organised by the British Council. I thought I was just going to sing, but I was invited to be part of the day's proceedings.

Oh my word, where do I start?

Firstly, it was held at one of my favourite Cape Town venues, the District Six Homecoming Centre. For the first time, I got to see the Table of Hope! Super-inspiring! People have such good ideas, and are doing so much to make a difference in the world.

Secondly, it was part of an ongoing programme called Connecting Classrooms, where schools from different countries form partnerships, working together to effect change.

Thirdly, the main presenters were from an organisation called ATD, which stands for 'All together in Dignity' - part of the Fourth World Movement. They work with poverty-stricken communities all around the world, helping set up projects suggested by the communities themselves. Two such projects are the Street Libraries and the People's Universities.

Next, throughout the day's varied and interesting programme, they had 'buzz' sessions, where you had to leave your seat and walk across the room to speak to someone completely new to you. I met such interesting people!

One of the biggest wows of the day, for me, was the session with the Bonfire Theatre Group - if you ever get to experience this group, you'll understand why they were able to move most of us to both tears and laughter, sometimes simultaneously. They work with the participants, drawing their topics from what we say, but it's not like Theatresports - it's fully immersed in the topic of the workshop. Deeply moving - an 'MC'/guide, three actors, and a cellist. Improv acting, lots of dance-type movements, and this incredibly haunting sound of the cello. Their only props = scarves and other pieces of fabric. Made me sad at the thought of the arts vacuum in most of our schools.

There's so much more I want to write, but I think I'll let it all out in a carefully written blog post.

In conclusion, 2 things: 
1. Today I met a woman whose story touched my heart, and her name was (literally) "Life". 
2. As happens to me every now and then: "Are YOU Trudy Rushin?!" I nod. "We're Facebook      friends!" Haha!!!

A story to be told

Do you know that I think about writing throughout the day? I always have so much on my mind, so many observations of life, so much to get out of my system and put into words, that, by the time I actually sit down in front of my laptop, I have at least three different ways I could start my piece. I yearn to write more often, and I should make it happen. If you love something, you should do it.

I’ve been on a short college break – just one week, hugged by two weekends – and today’s the last week day before the last weekend. Why am I up so early, then? It’s garbage collection day, or ‘Bin Day’, as we call it. I have to get up and haul the huge bin to the street before the truck gets here. I’ve been doing it for years, so it’s just one of those regular chores that keep the household running. Just another thread in the rich tapestry of life.

                          My neighbour's mulberry tree in full bloom - spring is indeed here.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve felt a significant shift of energy, and I’m fascinated by it. I’ve made a conscious decision to live my life with more awareness, on many fronts. One of the things I’ve started doing is, on becoming aware that I’m awake each morning, allowing this thought to fill my head: “I accept the universe’s gift of a new day, and I give the universe the gift of myself.”

I’ve been feeling a strong sense of inexorability, as though what I’ve been moving towards, my whole life, is just around the corner. It’s a wonderful space to be in, because my restlessness has been at an all-time high. The more I experience and learn, and realise how much bigger the world is than my everyday routine exposes me to, the more I’m convinced of the imminence of a stronger, more profound shift. All I know is, by this time next year, my life will be different in both a visible and a spiritual way, and I’ll be going through my daily stuff with a deep feeling of having found my purpose. I can feel its proximity, and I’m excited.

My head feels clearer, and I feel a sense of immediacy and connection, when I contemplate - and then make – decisions. Only when I become this focused, do I realise for how long I’ve been wading through life under a cloud of uncertainty, self-doubt, and all those other things that prevent us from living life to our full potential.

This has been an awesome week. It started with my being part of a World Teachers’ Day event. I sang two of my original songs to a group of about 50 educators, and I participated in the day’s workshops. I’ll post the article I put on Facebook, explaining the day and how it impacted on me. I met new people, I learnt a lot, and I left the event fundamentally different – still proud to be an educator, but deeply moved and inspired to do so much more.

                                         Kalk Bay Harbour, from the railway station.

On Tuesday, my daughter and I went to Kalk Bay, a quaint, seaside town situated just seven stations from where we live. We hopped onto a train, and made our way to this little piece of heaven. We spent the morning there, enjoying the hippie vibe and buying the things we go there for: ankle chains, earrings and fun clothing items. My daughter always buys succulents (plants) and we always buy second hand books. This time, I bought four:

1.   ‘Lucky Man’ - autobiography by actor, Michael J Fox

2.   ‘My Own Private Orchestra’ – by Ian Fraser, a South African actor and playwright

3.    ‘Escape’ – Carolyn Jessop (a memoir by a woman who escaped from a religious cult)

4.   ‘Dancer’ – by Colum Mc Cann (about a poor Russian boy who grows up to be a world-famous ballet dancer)

                     I've already started reading Lucky Man - compellingly written. 

I’ve become fascinated, all over again, by people telling their own stories. When I was younger, I used to love reading autobiographies and biographies. It seems I lost my essential self for a few decades, but have come right back to that knowing, that truth, that people telling their own stories is the most riveting of all.  

When I was trying to decide what to sing at the World Teachers’ Day event, I grappled with the usual dilemma – whether to sing well-known, people-placating covers, or to sing my own compositions. I went with my gut, and sang, at the opening of the event, my song called “In the Shade of Table Mountain”. It’s about people who were forcibly removed, by the apartheid regime, from an area called District Six, close to our beautiful mountain, and their yearning to go back and live – and die - in the shade of Table Mountain. It was the perfect song, because the event was held in the District Six Homecoming Centre, and the theme, throughout the day, was of people telling their own stories. The hook of my song goes, “All around in my city / People who are just like me / Each one has a story to be told”. (You can watch my video on youtube.)

                            Inside the District Six Homecoming Centre, on World Teachers' Day.

 At the end of the event, I sang another of my originals, called “My Favourite Time of Day”, a mellow bossa nova. The facilitator of the event asked me to conclude with a sing-along song, so I did “You’ve Got a Friend”, by Carole King. Even though I called out the words before each phrase, to help those who didn’t know the words (most did), I was struck quite powerfully by something - that the songs I regarded as sing-along songs were culturally specific, and that my Xhosa-speaking contemporaries were being left out. Life opens our eyes and hearts all the time – and we are called upon to respond, with as much love as possible. I have a new challenge. Yes!!!!  

The Table of Hope, where people's hopes have been written on rough strips of wood that are then made into a table. (D6 Homecoming Centre)

I have to end this post by saying that the highlight of this short holiday has been spending time with my children. Aged 16 and 20, they have busy lives, full of academic deadlines, creative pursuits, and all the wonderful social stuff that young people do, so it was fabulous spending hours and hours with them, just hanging out, cooking, eating, talking, laughing….. I really have no adequate words, right now, for how magical my world is with these two beings in it. My heart swells with love and pride. I am one lucky mother!

                     One of the many ocean pics I took from the train, on our trip to Kalk Bay.