Fresias and Guilt.
I grew up in Plettenberg Bay, a South African seaside village, not unlike Hornby Island where I work and live now. As a child I enjoyed climbing over the tidal rocks to pick wild, creamy fresias growing just beyond the busy breakers' spray. I would make a pact with myself that I had to climb by the steepest route to pick a blossom, thereby spinning the activity out into a labour intensive performance. I do not remember why I exacted this penance from myself before being allowed to grasp the fragrant prize. Guilt maybe? But what did I know about guilt at the age of about eleven? Later I worked as a stenographer and learned to write Pitman's shorthand in the speediest way.