#TheLong&WindingLake By Colin Kennaugh www.facebook.com/colinkennaughphotography (at Newton Abbot)

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#TheLong&WindingLake By Colin Kennaugh www.facebook.com/colinkennaughphotography (at Newton Abbot)

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Late dinner after networking event with my #ResterHeroes from #Reeting.com! #gentlemen #gq #TheLong #Saigon #Vietnam #2016 (at The Long)
[ g (r) o (w) i n g . h o m e ]
Two weeks ago I was faced with the fact that in four weeks I might be going home. Back to South Africa. Only because some home different from my own was no more than a house held together by matter: bricks and cement. By science.
Home is a feeling.Â
Itâs an idea so abstract that a collection of words can only begin to describe it.
And itâs a longing like no other. Home reminds you of the reason you left it to treat yourself to the possibility of finding a new one in the first place. The home you leave will always be the very first and of course, the only, place that can take credit for giving you a reason to become somebody outside of it. It may be a positive reason or a negative reason, but itâs always a good one. Itâs deeply personal.
[ o l d  (is)  g o l d ]
The elderly are a very dear people. Especially the ladies. But wow, they love to tell us stories of their childhood and hobbies and grandchildren. They talk a lot and seemingly donât say much, donât they? Itâs not that they ask many questions, they just seem to love giving long answers to simple questions. But when all is said and done, this past weekend at Tolsteeg made me realise why this generation of women has more life in them than my generation of twenty-somethingâs does.
I met this 93-year-old Mevrouw (whoâs name I regrettably forgot to take) during an afternoon of creative activity. Just as poor as her eyesight and hearing may be, so rich is her life. She told me about the birds and the bees: her late husband was an avid birdwatcher, she an insect-expert. The coo-coo clock above her bed at the care centre reminds her of the Meneer. Everyday, the sound of a hummingbird fills the room on the hour. Just in time, just as her memoryâs about to fail her.
[ r e d (re) r e a d ]
We tend to work five days a week only to spend the money we make on the pleasure two days a week "promises" us. Money is everything during the week and nothing at the weekend. With Valentineâs Day landing on a Saturday this year, our weekend was filled with plans of either grand gestures or social acts of rebellion against romance. And with all the red going around this weekend, I actually thought of the colour as an intervention.
This year, instead of spending money on store-bought sweets with red wrappers, I had the opportunity to spend time (and only some loose change for a bus ticket) to celebrate love in a less expected way: with strangers.
At 07:30 the silhouette of the naked tree branches overhead at the bus stop looked like a bundle of nerves.

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