Finn… Lago di Garda April 2002 aw rummaging through old photos, always loved this one of Finn forlorn, a cold rainy day, on holiday in italy of course, his expression sums up how many of us are feeling through this socially bereft, thin gruel of a winter, well me anyway! yet nostalgia a more curious beast… remember… the sun has set behind the looming hills, sky coaxes, then summons colours from the water, turquoise and tangerine all is serene, a gentle, benign lapping, as a coast dweller i am so used to the qualms of restless water Finn and I are down on the waters edge, showing him how to skim stones owl hoots, rhymes and doggerel, building snow men… and stone skipping… a beauty to share fun things with our kids… reminds us, of course, of those who lovingly first taught us the beach is littered with a myriad of plate smithereens! all blue willow pattern fragments, as tho there had been a frenzied exstasis of crockery smashing! that, or this the site of an old pottery factory? picking some of the larger fragments, their soft heft, the way they sit, cocked, between finger and palm… surface, blue ink tattooed, super smooth, with a frazzle puzzled glaze too beautiful to hurl? but we are mightier, more marvelous, by that which we throw away flat stones. flat lake. perfect. skip… skip… skip… skip… kersplosh mind follows this stone weave, away, gentle, softening to this, the distance of memory
crikey, only a year ago, yet with all the yawn of lockdown glumness and isolation, feels like several lifetimes i look so fresh faced and youthful!… well in contrast to gandhi anyway… better hair too, yeah ping pong ball head… there not be many folk i can say that to! on my way to the giddy throng, the hubbub hullabaloo of sunset in the great shiva fire temple tiruvannamalai, tamil nadu, i first learnt to pronounce the city by practising with tiramisu and timbuctu (too) on this day i had loitered amongst the serenity of the Sri Ramana ashram… then followed the trail barefoot (no shoes holy mountain!) to his meditation cave perched part way up Arunachala… when i got to the temple, no entry in shorts, so had the giggle of buying pyjama troosers in an indian department store, 10 amused staff at my beck and call… masala dosa with basha and some absurdly ornate ornamental goldfish then finally to the inner sanctum… not much tops the thrill of a southern indian temple city! today tho, a jaunt up the cliffs, all is mild and muchly waterlogged… birds starting to sing… they believe in the spring?
imbolc/st bridgets blessings…. the first quiver of spring in keeping with the season, i was trying to take a snap of yellow daffodils against a yellow wall, with a glass of lurid effervescent vitamins in the foreground (why?) yet clearly the springs quiver-riness was too much for me and i must have shooken at an inappropriate moment… the elementals are strong in this one wheel of the seasons is turning, a beautiful thing x
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Cheers, I thought it was quite enchanting… Always appreciate the notion of fortuitous mistakes, digital culture encourages the ‘not perfect, chuck it away’ ethos.. Whereas I, ha, tend to side with the wonky misfits
dreadlock combover! hair follicle elegance at its finest wind battered, drizzle drenched, pedaled to seaford head and moseyed up for a view of the seven sisters, tho much was murk heaney and hughes! its their fault… as i slipped and floundered along through the mud, across the golf course, was busy cursing those restless shades… all that insistence on the elemental, on NATURE.. too much for any impressionable teenager listening to audio books through lockdown, 2 of the bargain bucket cheapies were of them reading their own works… such resonant, profound voices. a joy
‘They seek him here. They seek him there. Those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in Heaven? Or is he in Hell? That damned, elusive, pimpernel.’ this year, as usual, i shall mostly be losing myself into the mystic
Ping Pong! Sport of Kings! a game of kaleidoscopic genius and waft spin nifty pzzazz!… went with new christams pressie paddles (…and offspring!) for a game in seaford i’m a black belt! there was a puddle bog down my end, where’s Walter Raleigh when ya need him? but nowt can cramp my style, it did tho make for a few arm windmilling stuck in the mud comedic lunges my top spin overhead pummel smash is a pulsating thing o’beauty… a rare thing of beauty, only works once in ten attempts, but, boy, bedazzle good when it comes off… kersplatt! phooo weee! braggadoccio*… lets face it apart from chess, juggling, tiddlywinks, petanque… none of which will feature in the olympics… i’m not good at many sports, so best applaud myself for what talent i posess. stepping aside, momentarily, from the brouhaha of words… spent way too much time on my own this year, obvious reasons, gratitude for any fun and connection if there are any new years resolutions to be had, best we are all supportive, patient and kind to each other xx crikey, this drear lockdown winter is a longwinded slog, obvs if boredom and glumness is all i’ve got to complain about, then things are going very well inertia, i tend to oscillate twixt a comfortable soporific sloth and a lacklustre, docile apathy… almost, but not quite the same thing… tho, yes, interspersed with the occasional yelp pang of dismal loneliness… rubbish still new year, same old me… i’m going to take up a new hobby! body popping! esperanto! hula hooping! didgeridoo! wearing silk cravats! writing left handed! the peruvian nose flute! speaking only in iambic pentameter and limericks! all of the above? nope cannae be bothered, back to bed, wake me up when tis spring *braggadocio, oh, i’d always assumed it was italian, and that the docio bit was some smoothe sweet talking to oofset the preening arrogance, but nope apparently ‘of pseudo italian coinage, from spensers faerie queen (1594)’…dictionaries are brill
solstice yawning… woken at 5:00 by a bird singing, both stridently and lost, outside the front window. stupid bird. beautiful bird. notes flung up, an offering to the wind howl… ‘blackbird singing in the dead of night’ half heartedly meditated, looked to the buddha statue, just a brood, a bulk, darkness and exhaustion amongst the shadow… but, yes, always there went out to snap the dawn. gung ho optimism, mingles with a love of murk and drizzle. not far. not daft… these pics, the best i can conjure… extraordinarily impossible to photograph luminous gloom. look east rightey ho… joys of a hot shower, head down, dull, forget everything, yet pleasant enough, work seed of light born in the depth of darkness… the promise that days of ease, the light, will return, yes!… ha, gritted teeth, better than bated breath go easy on yourself. solstice blessings one and all x
a good year for indie chanteuse covers of Radiohead… the bends, such a glorious, sorrow stuffed album, great to hear new(ish) artists exploring its charm
look to the south west, out over the sea at sunset… or turn the gentle fuzz focus of your mind to it, as all is fog in these thar parts… an auspicious time x
early christmas pressie, i have splurged on a new shower cap… pig in blanket, pink with aplomb pink is one of my favourite colours… along with green! purple! orange! one of the heart chakra colours, i do love to wear it, yet it is hard to look good in… i had to use a bilge wash filter on this snap… fashion tips from a decrepit hippy heart throb? back when i was renting and boogie boards deckchairs in ocean city, i spent every day snoozing on the beach, under an umbrella wearing a pink hawaian star shell smock… miss that top! an astonishing sense of accomplishment, just from putting it on
aaaw the 80’s, such a duff decade x
flaps: The pink wings are a nice touch too x
me: angel delight?
from jenny: All you need is a smile!
me: Ha! Your right of course… A study in glumness. Trouble is that I’m so blessed with wrinkle-age that when I smile my eyes disappear. Eyes or smile! what a choice? Hope your well and groovy, missed the happy festie massive last summer xx