Multiple Girls

I never wanted to be a multiple girl. It wasn’t part of Career Day at school.

How to hear voices in your head!
Learn disturbing memories!
Make money while you try new things!

No, that wasn’t what I wanted. It’s been nearly three years now and still I have no idea what I am, where I am and what I should do. Do other multiple girls feel this way? I don’t talk to any of them: not because I don’t want to be friends, but because I’m not really all that angry. I understand the anger and fear they have – they have the memories and I don’t – but still, I’d like to talk to them, the other multiple girls.

I never wanted to be a multiple girl, but now that I am, what should I do? Why do I feel so lost and sad? Why don’t I want to write? Why do I care so much for other people’s opinions? Questions, questions, that’s all I ever seem to have. I raise my hand and am ignored. Better than being singled out, the others learned that the hard way, but me, I’m too sassy to think that anyone would ever hurt me. Stupid I suppose, but ignorance is bliss.

School exists as a black hole of fear and loathing for the others, but there was only one who got us all through safely. He doesn’t mind staying quiet, the face wants out of this life, but there is no one to replace him. I can’t, not as a multiple girl and not as anything that would be safe. Sure, dancing on tables and drinking until dawn sounds like fun, but we’ve never been risk takers. I think the fact is that none of us trusts each others’ motivations and desires. It would pull us apart without him, but he can’t relax even for an instant, not because we/I would run amuck but because… I want to live, but not as a multiple girl and the others just want to blow up the world.

I never wanted to be a multiple girl, did you?




Sort of.

He started therapy several weeks ago along with medication. Today was the second therapy session and it went heavily emotional right from the start. So much so that by halfway through he had had enough and begged me to take over.

I did: and I enjoyed it. Oh how I have missed the fresh air and joy of seeing the world. Not that it’s anybody’s fault but my own, I do take responsibility for my actions and that’s why I’ve been so quiet. This therapy wasn’t supposed to be about us, the others, but instead it’s been all multiples all the time. Surprising really. I have a feeling – a wild hunch – that I’ll be around a lot as this plays out since the boys are radiating so much fear. We are all together after all and I’m tired of skulking in dark places… except with a lover, that sounds like fun. 😉



P.S. Congrats to Drizel on being pregnant. Woo Hoo!!!!!!

‘Farewell to Love’

“Knickers Abroad; a multiple journey”


Rose D. Kaye

For a complete list of chapters in numerical order please go to this page.


Chapter Eighteen

‘Farewell to Love’

We took the Northern line back to Bank where we transferred to the Central line for our last ride home. We hugged Drizel, misty eyed, but realistic, and wished her well. Waving goodbye we faced forward as you must when parting from loved ones.

To every greeting there is a farewell. Time is an arrow shooting holes in the fabric that swathes true friends. No matter how frantically we sew the rents in the cloak of love, time is constantly unraveling our life’s thread.

So stop. Stop trying.

Stop trying to rethread the loom. Life will happen to you no matter how much you try to avoid living.

So stop. Stop dying.

Stop dying every day and instead live every second with passion and awe towards the incredible power of love.

“Quantum Ghosts”

pale traces left behind
thoughts, looks, touches
layered sediment of existence
to slice through a core
countless others before
their hopes crumble
dreams melt exposed
foam churns echoes
yet another coat
painting the quantum ghosts

© Rose Dewy Knickers

“Ann, to every meeting there is a parting, and after ten days, your guests were preparing to leave. First of all, had this holiday met with your expectations or was it something more?”

“You know, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I always say if you expect nothing then you won’t be disappointed, which is quite a tough philosophy to live by because life is full of let downs, but this wasn’t one of them. Dewy, I would never have invited them if I didn’t believe there was already a connection; our meeting was something that was bound to happen, something that was meant to be. We must have spoken on the telephone at least once a week, or even more, during the previous year. For me, it was like meeting old friends… well I’m old, not them, they’re young.”

“I know from Rose’s perspective, you have a very young heart. She really enjoyed how much zest and pep you have. I know this holiday was beyond anything we could have dreamed. I am sure you concur Ann.”

“Dewy, their holiday surpassed my dreams. My initial concern was to make them feel comfortable and welcome in my home; that they should feel my home was their home and that they could make themselves at home. Secondly, wanting to make sure they had a great time; their holiday became mine too. I took time off work and did the touristy things with them; the things that locals don’t have the time or necessarily the mindset to do when caught up in everyday life. It was fun. I like fun. I now have the most wonderful memories of the things we shared, the places we visited, the conversations we had. I still picture them around the house. I remember their laughter when I very seriously told them I wanted to keep them hostage and not let them go, but nothing lasts for ever, least of all holidays; all good things must come to an end.”

“Meeting Rose and seeing her constantly writing in her journal, did you have any idea it would turn into this book?”

“I loved watching Rose writing in her little notebook and wondering what she was up to. She did share her thoughts and her words and you could see a pattern emerging, but it was still very raw. Her excitement and her enthusiasm were so appealing, particularly when she met her fellow blogging poets. Dewy, I had no real idea how she was going to handle her book; I thought maybe a diary of daily events and innermost thoughts and witty observations. Rose is truly amazing; life can’t be easy for her. She is incredibly intelligent, smart and sharp with a very strong mind of her own and I think her writing just gets better and better. I am truly impressed with everything she’s achieved, especially this book. I’m hope she gets the recognition and success she deserves. Dewy, Rose is one very, very sassy girl.”

“Diane seems to have been folded into your family effortlessly. What drew you to her Ann? What traits allowed you to love her so unabashedly?”

“Diane has to be one of the sweetest people I have ever met Dewy, but that’s not to say she’s a pushover. She is wonderful company and has a great take on life. She has been through the wars one way or another, but takes on each new battle with stoicism and determination. Rose may think she’s sassy, well so is Diane; she has a fantastic way with words, she’s very quick witted and I loved, and laughed at, some of her turns of phrase. It’s easy to be drawn to Diane… anyone would be.”

“Saying goodbye to Brian must have been hard. Did you wish that the ten days were much longer?”

“Saying goodbye to Brian was hard and I wished the ten days could have been forever. Does that sufficiently answer your question Dewy? No, I didn’t think so! Dewy, our friendship began when I surfed and found his poetry, but no place to comment. However, no shrinking violet, Brian’s email address was in his profile. I had to write to praise his work, I couldn’t possibly read it and ignore it… also I had to ask, “Who are you?” Innocent enough you would think, but who would have ever thought we would have come this far. Brian and I share amazing conversations where we comfortably talk about anything and everything. He is a very interesting and an erudite man, with a wealth of knowledge he willingly shares. I don’t think I ever come off the phone without learning something new. Yeah, it was horribly hard and sad to say goodbye, but it’s not a last goodbye, it really is au revoir, until we meet again. I believe, no, I know, that was merely the first time. We will see each other again, won’t we?”

“My last question for you Ann is simple. If you had a poem that summed up the holiday, would this be the one you choose?”

“Yes Dewy, this poem is the holiday for me.”

“The Only Way”

Day dawned ordained

Long distance strangers

Each existence unknown

Hand of fate played

Poetic words connected

Enquiring thoughts exchanged

Denial powerless

Closeness beckoned

Magnets pulled unseen bond

No choice

It had to be… fascinated

Their word; they had to meet

Curious, compelled

Searching each other

Voyage of discovery was hers

Greeted two bodies

Three souls, two beating hearts

Three minds, four friends side by side

Barriers down

No more mere words alone

Real flesh and blood, to touch, to hold

Their lives distinct

Knowledge, wisdom diverse

New experiences taught, learnt

Initial steps stumbled

Acquaintances to friends to beyond

Long, deep, enduring, indestructible bond

© Ann Raven

“Thank you Ann for your time on my show. I have come to a better understanding of your relationship with all of us. Thanks also to my special remote guests Jo and Drizel. Thanks to Rethabile as well and best wishes for a peaceful resolution. Diane, what can I say? You have a pure soul and a warm heart. It’s been an honor having you grace my stage. Brian as well, it was all right having you here; don’t get a swelled head. Lastly, dear Rose. We did it, you and I; we pulled it off. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Dewy Knickers signing off. Until the next time, keep flashing those knickers and living and laughing.”

‘To Camden Town we did Ride (Before the fire in February 2008)’

“Knickers Abroad; a multiple journey”


Rose D. Kaye

For a complete list of chapters in numerical order please go to this page.


Chapter Seventeen

‘To Camden Town we did Ride (Before the fire in February 2008)’

The three divas, Diane, Drizel and I, the one and only Rosie, decided, after bidding a warm farewell to Jo and Marie, to ride the Northern line to Camden Town. It was a fairly long walk from the Tate Modern to the Bank station and then onto the very crowded trains. The entire Circle line, parts of the District line and Northern line were closed this weekend for maintenance so the available cross lines were getting a heavy workout. Plus, Camden Town is a huge weekend attraction all by itself. Did we have a fun time? A fantastic time! There was a teeming swarm of shoppers both looking for bargains and to be seen in their finest clothes. Due to the chilly weather most of the crowd was bundled up and there were very few outlandishly dressed people although the entire area is a curious mixture of funk and hip. Those who paraded in bright colors or bizarre clothing were, for the most part, barkers. The sidewalks being so narrow and the mob being so large, most were practically forced into the street. If I may make a recommendation here, it would suit the area better to convert Camden High Street to a pedestrian mall with stalls down the center of the pavement. The vehicular traffic is both a hazard and distraction. Even more crowded still were the various flea markets that have sprung up in the open cobbled courtyards amidst the permanent stores. We had only a few hours to explore and we decided to strike off in random directions and shop the areas that meandered through a labyrinth of old buildings and halls.

Since we had hundreds of pounds left unspent from our budget and we had bought nothing of substance in Paris, I wanted something permanent to remember London. I found what I was looking for. A very cool and funky shoulder bag that was all me, black with pink leopard spotted handles and highlighted with a white skeletons of a cat and a fish. After a snack of fresh jelly doughnut it was time to plunge headlong into the cramped passageways. By some large stroke of fortune, we came across a tiny shop that had the best bargains we had seen the entire trip. Racks and racks of second hand leather jackets for only ten pounds each! Amongst the large collection of dark brown and black jackets, I was instantly drawn to a gorgeous sea foam green coat. It had dark green satin lining with gold buttons and lots of pockets. I tried it on and it fit perfectly. No stains, no rips; a well broken-in garment. It was perfect for me. Diane and I browsed through the rest of the stock looking for something for her. We found two, the first was a stunning demi-jacket in bright purple suede and the second was a brilliant medium blue leather coat with a vent in the back. An amazing shop with great merchandise and to purchase three leather jackets in great shape for only thirty pounds was fantastic.

“You had recommended to Rose that the afternoon be spent shopping at Camden Town. Was this a part of London you enjoyed Drizel?”

“Oh yes Dewy, the shopping in Camden, that place is another love of mine and I was so happy to share it with Rose and Diane. I kinda imagined you would love the place too. It was fun seeing how Diane and Rose interacted, I still say Diane is amazing, just for the fact that you guys are best friends, one can see it.”

“What drew you to Camden Town Drizel? I know you didn’t care for London all that much, so why this place?”

“Why I like Camden so much Dewy is because there are millions of different people there, punks, Goths, tourists and the silly chicky like me and everyone just takes the streets over and blends the cultures, to make one very funky spunky cake; okay not space cakes, but I am sure if one searched hard enough you’ll find some.”

“Space cakes Drizel? I thought we had doughnuts?”

“Silly Rosie I know that. The treats we had were oh so yummy. What I meant was it was good just to walk and talk. I am happy we decided to go to Camden because it is like my favorite place on earth, and I got to show you. And thanks for the dress you got me… whoohooo… rock on.”


The three of us wandered for several wonderful hours taking in all the sights. There were food places scattered everywhere, not that we snacked, and it seemed that anything you could want was available somewhere. I was surprised to see several canals offering barges tours and in one market there was a wall with dark bronze horse head sculptures mounted in place, commemorating the horse market which once stood there. Despite the changes and commerce, there seemed to be an attempt made to preserve some of the history of the area. Progress of course moves on and not everything old should be saved, but Camden Town has made a good effort to bridge the ancient with the modern. Alas, all good things must end and we made our final stop in an enormous multi-level Goth store. Drizel picked out a sweet black satin miniskirt with ribbons and a white ruffle. I offered it to her as a gift to remember me by.

“How did you feel about parting from them Drizel? You’d only had a few hours together, was it as good as you’d hoped it would be?”

“I was sad to go and had so much fun. There was so much I wanted to say to Rose but did not know the words. It is like one meets amazing people in life and they pass through and in time one will forget them. I actually wanted to cry when I said bye to you guys, because there are other people one meets in one’s life that leave a mark, a print on one’s soul. Makes one a better person, because I understand and feel more love for human life and souls. This is what you left on me my dear friend Rosie, I will never think the same about people again; I have gotten a new dimension to me and it is all thanks to the amazing soul that you are.”

“Ekstase lê hier”

tydelik het ek die skoonheid gesien.
deur oë van ‘n lustige jong man,
ek het nie omgegee nie, ek het gesien.
die stad was groot en my hart,
was meer gebreek as heel.
ek kon nie kies of ek moes bly,
of miskein het die heelal vir my gekies.
gebroke siel in die ysterstad,
koue vloere, mure vol urine,
hoe soek mens jou siel hier?
ek het myself verloor om agter ‘n deur;
iemand anders te vind.
gee op, nie ek nie.
kry seer, meer as een keer.
liefde vir jouself;
liefde in ‘n gebroke stad.
waar jy jouself ‘n slaaf noem.
waar jy soos ‘n soldaat bloed volg, geld volg.
seer en rou is ek tot ek weer kan asem haal,
in die blou lug van die moederland.
My ekstase lê in Afrika

“Ecstasy lies here”

shortly I saw the beauty.
through the eyes of a lustful young man,
I did not care, I saw.
the city was big, and my heart,
was broken more than healed.
I could not choose if I stayed,
or maybe the universe chose for me.
broken soul in a steel city,
cold floors, walls full of urine,
how do you search your soul here?
I lost myself behind doors,
to find someone else.
give up, I could not.
get hurt more than once.
love for yourself.
love in a broken city.
here you call yourself a slave,
you follow money like a soldier follows blood.
sore and raw, until I can breathe again,
in blue skies of the motherland.
My ecstasy lies in Africa.

© Drizel Burger

‘Let’s Meet at the Big Spider’

“Knickers Abroad; a multiple journey”


Rose D. Kaye

For a complete list of chapters in numerical order please go to this page.


Chapter Sixteen

‘Let’s Meet at the Big Spider’

Saturday morning began with clear skies after several days of gloom. We got up late after a sleepless night, restless excitement on my part and an unfulfilled hunger in Brian’s mind. Not leaving the house the day before had left me feeling edgy. Diane and Ann had gone out shopping Thursday afternoon before Les Mis, but Brian and I had stayed in for two days in a row now. Diane makes handmade greeting cards with rubber stamps and other craft items and she had asked Ann to drive her to several nearby hobby stores. One thing that stood out to Diane was the differences in hot crafting trends between the two countries. Different products were being offered for sale in England as compared to America, and she had a great time browsing the shops. Diane and Ann also spent the time talking and discussing matters of personal importance, without us being present. I was able to write of course, but that was not satisfying when there was a whole country to explore.

Now on the twenty-minute walk to our local station, Diane and I rehashed the week’s events and I expressed my severe disappointment with my overall lack of activity. Perhaps I am being too hard on myself, but I really believed it would be different and I had done little so far on the trip for my pleasure. That was about to change as today was all about me. By email and then by phone I arranged to meet my friends Drizel and Jo at the Tate Modern by ten o’clock this morning. This was why I was so restless. The shops we passed by, the restaurants and the pubs all were a reminder of what we’d not done. Diane was disappointed as well that her health had deteriorated so abruptly preventing her from being more active. We found out after we returned home that Diane had been having a reaction to her medications causing her legs to swell and her doctor quickly resolved the problem.

Since we had used up our one-week Travelcards, I had to buy us both one-day passes and the ride to central London and St. Paul’s began once more. The ticket machines are very easy to use. You simply select cash or credit, then a single or an all-day pass by zone then quantity and the ticket(s) print out. Slide them into the gates, retrieve on the other side and pick your platform. My observations of the Tube as you know have been favorable. While expensive to ride and crowded during most times of the day and night, it has been quick and on time with regular and frequent service. Everyone takes the Underground, young or old, business or pleasure, every ethnic group from every strata of society. I overheard scores of different languages from residents and tourists alike. Although nighttime travel revealed fashions run amuck on the town, weekends and days were for the ordinary. There are thousands of random timelines crossing again and again in a beautiful dance of souls. But more than that, someone else is doing the driving.


Retracing our steps across the Millennium Bridge the skies, after a promising start, had been consumed by pale thin clouds. The temperature was cool but without rain the day remained pleasant. Over a century had passed since the last bridge over the Thames was constructed and the Millennium Footbridge was designed to be a showpiece linking St. Paul’s on the north bank, to the borough of Southwark. The eagerly awaited opening on June 10, 2000 was even more exciting than anyone could ever have anticipated. With nearly 2,000 people at a time walking across the 333-meter span, an unexpected phenomenon occurred when a critical mass of pedestrians began to subconsciously march in rhythm. This caused the bridge to begin a gentle side-to-side sway. With more and more walkers trying to compensate by matching the increasing sway, the result was a very serious lateral movement, ceasing only when enough pedestrians stopped walking entirely. This feedback loop was alarming enough to cause the closing of the bridge only two days after opening. Nicknamed ‘Wobbly’, the bridge remained shut while experiments were conducted into the cause of the lateral sway. Due to the local zoning restrictions in both height and width, the best engineering solution to control the horizontal movement was found to be the retrofitting of thirty-seven fluid-viscous dampers to dissipate energy. In addition, despite no reports of any significant vertical movement, fifty-two tuned mass dampers for any inertial energy were also added to the underside of the walkway. Similar in function to dampers installed at the top of skyscrapers that will move in opposition to wind and other forces, since the reopening in February 2002 of the Millennium Bridge, these dampers have successfully counteracted the naturally occurring frequency generated by the moving pedestrians.

As we had the furthest to travel I expected us to be the last to arrive and halfway over the bridge to the looming brick pile that is the Tate Modern, I was anxiously scanning the crowd for Jo and Drizel. The museum was just opening at ten o’clock so the patrons were still light, with more pouring in from every direction. I spotted Drizel first; she had her back to the Thames, leaning against the railing and her long red hair was a bright beacon of friendship. I also thought I saw Jo sitting on a bench at the far opposite end of the plaza but she was with another woman so I wasn’t sure. I raced off the walkway leaving Diane behind in my enthusiasm and over to Drizel. Her face lit up with excited recognition and we hugged, giggled and exchanged “luffies”. After introducing Diane to her I excused myself and we left them to chat and went over towards the woman we thought was Jo. Getting closer we were positive that it was she and making eye contact she also broke out into a wide and delighted grin. We hugged and I said hello and then she introduced her mother Marie. We weren’t sure how much Marie knew as she greeted Brian instead of me, so he popped out and whispered to Jo asking if her mother knew about Rose. She reassured us that ‘everyone’ knew and that’s why her mother was here.

We all came back together in the shadow of the big spider: Louise Bourgeois’ 30-foot tall spider called “Maman”. Created in 1999, the sculpture had been previously displayed at the Tate Modern in 2000 and 2004, sandwiched around a world tour in 2001 that included such places as Canada, Spain, New York and Russia. Born in Paris in 1911, Louise credits her artistic vision to her childhood memories and diaries. She was quoted as saying, “My childhood has never lost its magic, it has never lost its mystery and it has never lost its drama.” Certainly “Maman” is dramatic, but for me, a bit sad. Trapped forever in iron are her eggs that will never hatch.



After everyone had met and exchanged hugs and greetings I explained the ground rules. Unless someone asked a question of Brian, I was free to roam until further notice and the ‘face’ was hereby known as Rose. Since we were the only ones in the group to have visited the Tate before, the first order of business was seeing the ‘Crack’ again – “Shibboleth” – and Jo was enthralled. I don’t think Diane, Drizel and Marie were as enthused as we were, but we all used it as a backdrop for group pictures. It was very hilarious to watch everyone taking pictures of myself with Jo and then Drizel in turn. With the flashing of cameras and the calls to face this way and then that, I felt like a celebrity. A minor one to be sure, but my smile would have powered the former turbine once housed here where now we stood together in friendship.

The Tate Cafe on the ground floor provided a welcome place to sit and bond over tea and biscuits. I felt right at home talking about my life and goals and to meet girlfriends like these was a very liberating experience. Drizel and I clicked right away, as I knew we would, and she gave us both gifts. Mine was a wonderful and sassy book of poetry by Mark Haddon called “The Talking Horse and the sad Girl and the Village under the Sea”. She gave a book about South African wildlife to Brian along with two gorgeous hand-painted canvas bookmarks. I handed out cards that Diane handmade to Drizel and Jo including a sympathy card to Marie and Jo. Marie’s husband, Jo’s father, had passed away at hospice earlier in the week and they were using this outing as a means of healing. Their pain was fresh and raw though; we gave them what comfort we could.

We talked and talked about many different topics, poetry and blogging, writing and the frustrations inherent with too many ideas and not enough time. Drizel has a degree in Psychology so she has always understood me to be a woman and told me that she had to explain over and over again to her friends that I was ‘normal’. It’s interesting as I’ve grown and expanded how some people are attracted to one of us and not the other. Drizel and Brian have a brother and sister relationship and have felt that since the very beginning of their friendship. They call it, ‘siblings from another mother’. For me though, even before she moved from South Africa to England and then back again, she was a close girlfriend and she happens to be an extraordinarily gifted writer with a deep insight into the dark psyches.

Jo had found me through poetry blogs and instantly became my friend. She also had a book of poetry as a gift for me, “New Selected Poems 1966-1987” by Seamus Heaney. In her case she didn’t make the connection between Brian and I until much later so she didn’t know that much about him. In person, Jo turned out to be warm and caring and projected a sense of poise and fierce strength, presumably from her career in journalism and from living in many places around the world. She is a loving mother of two young boys and she reacted most strongly to me when I related our history and told her about Little Brian. The tears in her eyes showed the true depth of her compassion.

After we had exhausted all possible topics of conversation, we decided to take a quick tour of the exhibit floors before Jo and Marie had to leave. The 2nd and 4th floors house a wide variety of Modern Art. I capitalize this because art that desires to be called modern cannot make sense. I mean this in the most generous of ways. For an artist to be called modern he/she must be able to create something that looks like you’d buy it at IKEA and assemble it yourself. It must be strange, deranged even and many times incomprehensible to the untrained eye.

Here is where I part company with many folks I am sure. I loved everything about this museum and the works of art that adorned the floors and walls. It matters not a whit to me that the art is a large canvas with blotches of random paint. Or a series of videos of a dog tripping a man, each shot from a different perspective. Metal squares and painted blocks; translucent nudes and jagged iron sculptures reaching for a tortured sky. I didn’t understand many of the displays, but that didn’t matter. I understood enough to know that the artist had a vision. A vision that haunted their dreams and waking days driving them to create something that was real only to them.

“Welcome back everyone to ‘Flashing Knickers With Dewy’ and this chapter where we discuss Rose’s second journey to the Tate Modern. She’s written eloquently about the experience meeting her friends, but what about the museum itself? She promised back at the end of Chapter Seventeen that she’d talk about the time spent here. My first question for you Rose is based on the paragraph above. Do your visions haunt you as well?”

“You have no idea how much Dewy. The courage, the inspired madness that fuels art is what I strive for. My stories and poetry allow me to reach into that bubbling stew of human emotion and ladle out a helping of nonsense. I am haunted by what I feel and what I think. I write to provoke, to sooth, to touch my readers and show them a different way of thinking. For me being so young, the world seems fresh and untrammeled. I write about things that interest me.”

“This is for all of you to answer, starting with Ann. What did you like and what didn’t you like about the Tate Modern?”

“Dewy, sadly I wasn’t there on the same day as Jo and Drizel, however the previous Monday’s walk along the Thames had culminated at the museum. Surprisingly, I’m ashamed to say, I had never been to the Tate Modern before so was eagerly looking forward to the visit. I didn’t expect to be, but I was really taken by the ‘Crack’ because I wanted to see if it was all that it was cracked up to be… excuse the pun! I’d read loads about it in the press over the few weeks prior to opening. I really was more impressed than I thought I would be, mostly I think because of the sheer scale and in a way the audacity of it, but I couldn’t share the artist’s vision of what “Shibboleth” meant to her.”

“How about you Diane? Did you enjoy the two visits to the Tate Modern?”

“Let me think a minute Dewy. I was impressed by the variety of art, however the style was not to my liking. I spent most of the tour talking with Marie and we agreed on most points that the art was pointless. It didn’t strike a chord with me. I want to see something I recognize. Modern Art is too freestyle for me, too weird: no bearing on reality. I prefer art that depicts more real life settings, such as landscapes and portraits. I do love the Impressionists, Monet in particular, although I suppose he was Modern for the times.”

“Thanks Ann and Diane for your insights. At this time I’d like to introduce another special guest to the show. Please welcome to our discussion about the Tate Modern museum Rose’s sistah in flashing Traveled Jo. I’m sorry you couldn’t be here today in person Jo, but I understand you’ve got your hands full these days with family.”

“Thank you Dewy for having me, I’m thrilled to be here, even if it is by remote from England.”

“You are most welcome. Now Jo, getting back to Rose, this was the first time meeting her in person. Were you nervous considering you had only corresponded by email before?”

“Not at all Dewy, because I was excited about the opportunity to talk to someone I can usually only read. I did wonder if it would be difficult to engage with a person who is effectively inside somebody else, but from the second Brian came over I knew Rose’s voice – though for politeness sake I did check! We sat and chatted over coffee and for a few minutes it felt a little disorientating, like talking to a friend in disguise perhaps, but I realized quickly that the gestures, the movement, the essence were pure Rose and Rose, well she’s wonderful. Does that make sense, Dewy?”

“It makes perfect sense Jo, I think you’ve explained the feelings quite well. I know the circumstances were not the best at that time for you and your family, but did meeting like this with strangers help you in your grief?”

“It was a very difficult time Dewy, yes, my father had died and we were feeling very heart sore but the distraction was welcome – just to get on a train and physically move away from where it had happened was therapeutic. And Rose and Diane were so very kind and compassionate that it helped; I was particularly touched by the beautiful card which Diane had made.”

“You’re so very welcome Jo, it was a pleasure making it for you. I just wish we could have done more.”

“It was enough Diane. My mother and I appreciated your gesture very much.”

“I have to ask you Jo, after hearing Rose’s enthusiastic description of the museum visit, don’t you think she’s a bit over the top?”

“You’re asking the wrong person Dewy! I think that the Tate Modern is fabulous from the bricks up. The building was originally a power station and was dubbed an industrial cathedral because of the enormous central chimney, so it’s the perfect venue for cutting-edge art. And there’s something about being in a place so full of creativity; it gives you a spark. I’m just sorry this last visit was so rushed.”


“Ann I need to ask you here again about your visit earlier in the week. There seems to be a division about ‘the Crack’, but how did you feel about the rest of the museum? Did you get a chance to peruse the galleries?”

“I remember Dewy that after the pleasure and thrill of seeing the ‘Crack’ we headed upstairs to Level 3; Poetry and Dream. This surely was made for me… a dreamer with my head in the clouds and a wannabe poet, as I call myself. I really was excited and it didn’t disappoint, I was enchanted even though I’m no art maven. What little I know can be written on a pinhead, but you just know if something appeals to you or not. Here was an Aladdin’s cave of contemporary art. One particular piece caught my eye. I now know he’s a well known artist and apparently a painting of his sold recently for $1.6m, but I’d never heard of him, showing my ignorance here.”

“Oh come on Ann, you’re not ignorant. Tell us which painting drew your attention and fired your imagination.”

“The artwork was Francis Picabia’s ‘Otaiti’. If ever a painting exuded a vision of a dream, this was it. The central figure is a beautiful naked full lipped full bodied woman and then it is layered with other objects… from what I remember there was a hand, leaves, another face, a sheep, a fish, a violin. This piece spoke to me. They say a picture speaks a thousand words, well I felt it really was talking to me. You know Dewy, I’m learning you’re never too old to be open to new things.”

“I agree with Ann as well, Dewy. Both Rose and I liked this painting very much and had fun peering into the complexity of the design. What did you think Rose?”

“Yes Brian, I did enjoy the painting. It’s such a deep and layered work, that in the end you simply have to stand back and marvel at the talent. You see so many sights every second, but very few you actually retain. This was one of those works of art that needed no debate. It was Art.”

“Thank you Ann, Brian, Rose and Jo for your insights. At this time I want to welcome yet another friend of Rose’s. Thanks for joining us all the way from South Africa, Drizel. As you can see I have Brian, Diane, Ann and Rose here in studio and Jo is on video remote from her home in England.”

“Thanks for having me Dewy. Hi Diane and Jo, good to see you again. Hey Brian, brother from another mother; sorry we couldn’t meet in person Ann. Hey chicky!”

“Hi you. You’re looking good my Body and Soul sistah!”

“Thanks Rosie, you too. So what do you want me to share Dewy?”

“Well Drizel I would like to know what was your first reaction when you saw Rose in person?”

“Initially Dewy I was calm about it, I knew it would be a shock to me to see her in a man’s body as I think of Rose as a chick. So I think I kinda prepared myself to just not look shocked. But actually when I saw Rose I was not shocked. I knew it was her in every way and I knew that Rose was a chicky.”

“Thanks chicky, you’re one too. I was wondering why you were so quiet though.”

“I didn’t know what to say at first Rose, because you’re so smart and I can sometimes be a bit goofy so I just stayed quiet for a bit. Plus I was in awe of you and Diane. I met Brian only briefly and it was fun getting two hugs.”

“What did you notice Diane? When Rose went over to greet Jo, what did you and Drizel chat about while you were waiting?”

“Actually Dewy I spoke briefly about our trip so far and we shared tales of London. I knew it was Drizel as well when I saw her red hair from the vantage point of the bridge.”

“Overall on a sliding scale, how much did you enjoy the Tate Modern museum Drizel?”

“Tate Modern was something that blew life into me Dewy, I went there with friends after we were there; twice actually. The big crack still baffles me, but one person’s art is another’s junk. I loved the place. I kind of was starting to get into London life, but like everything in life things change with a blink of an eye.”

“Now that I have you all together, here you were, five women sitting around a table in a cafe talking as if you were old friends. I assume being across from Jo and next to Drizel had you fairly excited Rose.”

“That’s correct Dewy. Jo and I were chatting up a storm about blogging and writing. I thought maybe Drizel wasn’t having a good time because she was so quiet.”

“That’s not true Rose. I loved being in the coffee shop with you guys and I had to concentrate for my jaw not to drop open. I really have so much respect for you, Brian and Diane. I just really wanted to take everything in. Just seeing you talk and seeing the difference between yours and Brian’s handwriting was an eye opener.”

“What was so eye opening about Rose’s way of talking and writing Drizel?”

“As you know Dewy, I studied Psychology and in school they teach you the words. Never did I imagine I would have the honor of meeting Rose. We are all humans and perfection comes in different forms. I will always, always consider myself very fortunate to have met you, Rosie, as there is no one on this planet in your perfection. So if one sees it like that Rose, you are your own art, poetry and soul.”

“That is so sweet chicky. I miss you so much and I wish South Africa wasn’t so far away. Luffies.”

“Thank you Drizel for your time and I hope that you and Rose will be able to meet in person again someday. Jo before you go as well is there anything else you wish to add?”

“Just a few thoughts Dewy. I really loved when Rose read some poetry to us and it was a wonderful experience. She has a perfectly pitched voice that can really nail the rhythm of a piece. I think you should make a recording of some of your writings Rose.”

“Jo, I have actually recorded my voice before reading some of my poems and stories. It’s just one more of those things that needs time.”

“I also remember Rose you reading to us from your travel diary and this was so exciting, to listen to the first drafts – and I was amazed by how little was crossed out, I write from bare bones, with many drafts, your work seems to come out almost fully formed.”

“Well Jo, I spend so much time thinking that my writings do come out nearly fully formed at times. I do edit of course, but I seek to have the core intact before even writing a single word.”

“What about Rose’s personality Jo? Given that you had only a few hours together, what was the lasting impression you were left with?”

“Dewy when you meet with Rose in person, you are left with the sense that Rose is full of enthusiasm – for life, art, writing. When we were talking I felt that Brian’s chronic fatigue was a source of great frustration for her, though she did not complain. I find it frustrating having to fit my writing in around looking after my family, Rose has to share writing time with Brian, who works long hours – it must make for a difficult balancing act, but they are both writing great stuff so it is working! I would definitely like to get together again with Rose and have more time to talk over writing and art. This first meeting was too rushed, here’s to the next visit Rose!”

“Thank you Jo for all your wonderful love and help in making my dreams come true. I know there will be more books I’ll write and more visits with you.”

The museum was wonderful and I have vivid memories of the art that adorned the varied surfaces, but what made this visit so special was the friends who were there as well. Art may be in the eye of the beholder, but then so too are friendships. All different colors and sizes, friends make everything seem brighter and the world a better place.