lappiesland: Red sticker shopping

Monday, June 13, 2011

Red sticker shopping

I just LOVE red-sticker shopping! Checkers has this thing (I hear Woolworths is catching on) where they sellout all due-date stock in the fresh section. Lately I just do shopping on that trolly. And if you come just at the right time, and you catch the trolly being loaded up, you can literally, like me today, buy two bags worth of fresh's for R80!! I LOVE the red-sticker stock. Bag of butternut, R3, packet of celery, R3, cucumber, R3, bag of apples, R5...

And then I also LOVE the fruit-ladies on Checkers' portch. R20 for this box of 8 paw-paws and I don't know how many banana's. (The bananas are two layers deep)

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The lost chord

I sat alone at the organ, At the close of a troubled day, When the sunset's crimson embers On the western altar lay. I was weary with vain endeavour, My heart was ill at ease, And I sought to soothe my sadness With the voice of the sweet-toned keys. My hands were weak and trembling My fingers all unskilled, To render the grand old anthem With which my soul was filled. Trough the long day's cares and worries, I had dreamed of that glorious strain, And I longed to hear the organ Repeat it to me again. It fell from mine untaught fingers Discordant and incomplete, I knew not how to express it, Or to make the discord sweet; So I toiled with patient labor Till the last bright gleams were gone, And the evening's purple shadows Were gathering one by one. Then, a Master stood beside me, And touched the noisy keys, And lo! the discord vanished And melted in perfect peace. I heard the great organ pealing My tune that I could not play, The strains of the glorious anthem That had filled my soul all day. Down through the dim cathedral The tide of music swept, And through the shadowy arches The lingering echoes crept; And I stood in the purple twilight And heard my tune again -Not my feeble, untaught rendering, But the Master's perfect strain. So I think, perchance, the Master, At the close of life's weary day, Will take from our trembling fingers The tune that we cannot play; He will hear through the jarring discord The strain, although half expressed; He will blend it all in perfect music, And add to it all the rest.-

Uit The Realm of Spirits: Hugo van den Dool