You can take a girl out of England but …
This week end the clocks in Rio went back 1 hour ; my daughter in Brazil is now 3 hours behind me in UK. I see the sun before her and the moon rises over the Thames 3 hours before it rises over Copacabana! I am not sure of the effects of all the other meteorological differences and I am very sure that none of it has a detrimental effect on our long distance relationship. Especially when I think of the families of military men, and those relations split by real disaster and the difficulties they endure.
So as I consider a reblog I celebrate my good fortune and look forward to warmer climes. I remember when my daughter first moved to Rio and had problems keeping a tea in a good condition.
The girl in Brazil!!
My daughter has more varieties than Mr Heinz himself. So the so called proverb ‘you can take a girl out of England but you cannot England out of the girl’ doesn’t apply. She has little or no Englishness –that dropped out generations ago. Grandparents and great grandparents on both sides were immigrants from places such as Ireland, Scotland, Yugoslavia, Italy and South America.
However it doesn’t stop me trying to ensure that while she is in Brazil she keeps some English traditions, such as the age old tradition of tea drinking and the more recent phenomenon wearing of Elle Macpherson underwear. (Oops! She is Australian) The latter is expensive here and more so in Brazil, but a simple gift and inexpensive to send if the need becomes urgent.
Such a pretty design
The tea drinking is not difficult as she can get tea – Matte, a…
View original post 203 more words
Silent Sunday
Saturday … to an Art Class
Enough is enough ! For too long I have wallowed in this empty nest … The fledgling has grown, she has her own life, nest and home comforts. Her home in the UK is a bolt hole, nonetheless loved and sometimes longed for, but not Home! I agree and have no regrets; I really don’t! The transition has been long and sometimes painful; but in the main a pleasant journey especially as we begin to plan our third visit to Brazil in the summer.
However, these recent shocks: my mother’s death, my daughter’s return to Rio, no matter how well we plan this it is always a tender time, then there was the accident, these have taken their toll.
Emotionally it has been exhausting and practically too. My creative stuff went on hold; in its very new and treasured condition it could not have endured the festivities and then the turmoil of the funeral and child’s return. So at the end of the year it seemed right to have a little break. I did do what was necessary like my homework for my art class and my daily blog post; but nothing to raise the mood or delight in my previous new found delight in self improvement.
Gradually I fell into a circle of mournful displeasure. The grief and woe be gone become my focus; blaming the non-productivity on the grief and then grieving over the non-productivity!
So today I take some baby steps to address this ugly situation …
As I said I have not stopped working, but while I now had no mother (although she had never in the past praised my attempts to be an artist … I did live in hope) to wonder at my creations and my daughter too had other things more pressing to occupy her mind (or so I thought) ….
I really must honour my recent works of art! and celebrate today an Acrylics Workshop today and the local Community Arts Centre.
Library Snapshot on Friday
This was the very first Snapshot from the Library and the beginning of a weekly slot for nearly 2 years that doesn’t seem possible ….
As a library assistant in a cataloguing department of Special Collections I come across some gems. This weekend I am helping at a special event called; Museums at Night: Poetry Night at MERL. So today I retrieved the books that we will display; for example Year of Birds by Iris Murdoch with engravings by Reynolds Stone.
So I was pleased to find some lovely images that I will share on a Friday and will continue to add in the coming weeks.
Alphabe Thursday M is for Mauve
Mauve was originally called Tyrian Purple by William Henry Perkin in 1856; at 18 he was a student at the Royal College of Chemistry. He, among others had been looking for a synthetic alternative to quinine, the Malaria remedy that was only found in the bark of a particular South American tree.
After experimenting with hydrogen, oxygen and coal tar, Perkin noticed a black residue in the glasses. As he was about to discard it he noticed its strangely beautiful colour. He decided to call his new discovery Tyrian Purple as an ancient dye used for the gowns worn only by emperors of Rome and suggested luxury and elitism and a clever marketing ploy.
However these scholarly historical references may not have perhaps attracted buyers of high fashion so new dye was named after a pretty French flower. Mauve from the French form Malva ‘mallow’ named after the mallow flower.
It was after this when other chemists began experimenting with alternatives to natural colours
Wednesday’s Woman … Lucy Parsons
Lucy Parsons as she was best known was born c1853 in Waco, Texas, she claimed she was not black but a child of a native American and a Mexican; Although she provided a variety of maiden names on different documents she claimed her name was Gonzales to verify her Mexican ancestry. Around 1871, she formed a happy relationship with Albert Parsons, a Confederate scout who had become a Radical Republican and an advocate of civil rights for black people after the war.
Lucy, had been living with a former black slave Oliver Gathings. Lucy and Albert were set apart by local Texans because they were miscegenationists So when the reconstruction government came to an end they knew they would have to leave Texas.
The question of her marriage and race were to plague Lucy for the rest of her life. Her denial of her black heritage is a real indictment of the racist society which made her compelled to do so.
Waco had been the scene of intense racial brutality in the years that followed the war. As the Ku KLux Klan gained power, the atrocities committed against black people in Waco were multiplied across the south. Many years later Lucy wrote of the shocking scenes . Among the crimes committed by the Klan, in or near Waco were the castration of a black boy in 1867, the murder of an eight year old girl by rape in the same year and the murder of a black man in Waco Public Square the following year. White vigilantes and the Klan got bolder as the Republican Construction became less effective, In April 1868, the Klan mass murdered 13 blacks near Waco. Later they killed the father, mother and brothers of a black woman. She was nearly witless when interviewed by the officers of the bureau and when Freedmen’s Bureau officer and the District Court Judge attempted to hold court in the case, the mob bought in a rope to hang them. The list continued.
Carolyn Ashbaugh in Lucy Parsons; an American Revolutionary goes on to say that Lucy may have seen the raids and may have also been raped or her family had been victims. She never recounted the details of what she had seen ; but always denounced crimes against black people with passionate anger.
In 1873, Albert and Lucy left Texas. Albert was elected to the Radical Republican Convention in Travis County. Albert; with his charm, good looks, military and political connection would have been welcome in the states high society but he gave that up for a life long commitment to advance the poor and downtrodden. He became a believer in racial equality and his ‘marriage’ to Lucy identified him with the oppressed.
In Chicago, Lucy would no longer have to fear rape by the Klan. She would have space to develop her own potential as a crusader for human rights … to be continued
Further reading Lucy Parson : an American revolutionary by Carolyn Ashbaugh
Weekly Photo Challenge … a selfie
Not sure whether I welcomed the opportunity to photograph myself. I loathe having my picture taken; and always shocked at the results. ‘Why do I always look so:- old, ugly and bad tempered?’
So perhaps while taking a selfie I might be able to do a better job!
The jury is out!
First days at the favela Babilonia
While things in Brazil as regards the health of my daughter and son-in-law are far from perfect, they are not so bad as they might have been. Their injuries are beginning to heal. My son-in-law is not yet out of the woods, but this week we hope he will have his operation and sent home to be with his partner. She is at home, having physio and getting mobile already. She is well on the way to have the pins and brace removed in 3 months time; which is two months sooner that we first feared.
With this in mind we can now make plans for our July visit; when they will be much more able to to receive guests. We bought the tickets before the accident and we feared that our visit would be brought forward for reasons that were less welcome.
Now we can tentatively begin to make plans to extend our horizons when we are next in Rio. Although Rio and the beaches are fabulous, there is still much to see; a bus, train or plane away!
Meanwhile I will look back at our previous visits and the impression they made.
Today is Monday. My heart is bursting; the sights sounds and smell seem so alien. I don’t know where to begin. I sip green tea in my daughter’s kitchen. It is the hub of her home, a newly renovated and decorated apartment in a recently ‘cleansed’ favela called Babiliona. It was built by the army in 1930 while they were stationed here. One of the first favelas , with Providensia (built 1879), built to give the soldiers homes for a few months. When the army moved out it became the home of migrants, slaves and those who needed cheap living accommodation; now, no longer temporary homes but a vital part of the growing city.
‘M’ moved in here with her recently graduated partner, three months ago. Before that it had been a single story house owned by Seu Manuel. He lived here for over twenty years with his wife and…
View original post 269 more words
Silent Sunday
Saturday … what will it bring? … an angel I am sure!
These last two weeks have been the saddest and most difficult of my life. This, mixed with the recent loss of my mum has made me feel pretty wretched. My relationship with my mother was complicated; ricocheting from love and hate; not lingering long in the comfortable place in between. So when she died or as reconciliation became less likely, I found myself with many unanswered questions and unhealed wounds and painful scars.
Then, closely followed by my daughters accident I am feeling vulnerable and shaken. My relationship with my daughters and son is stable and uncomplicated; nonetheless it is distant and precarious at times. While we remain open and honest, we are not,of course always prepared for accidents. Over the years, we have fallen out of trees, walls, climbing frames, crashed into cars on bikes, even fallen painfully out of love, we have healed each other directly or indirectly. Mothering each other we have recovered.
This accident more serious perhaps, certainly life threatening has left me feeling powerless and afraid for the future.
Prior to this life was looking favourable I was being successfully creative and I had some opportunities to show some more work. But now while I go through the motions it seems my passion has died.
Yesterday it was my birthday; a significant day; in the words of the Beatles’s song I did feel loved at 64. I had lots of good wishes and gifts; one or two in particular will be a reminder that I am surrounded with angels of the human kind …
Coat Hanger Doll's House 