Saturday’s supplication
Maybe this holy family might help … from The Book of Hours?
This wishing malarkey is helpful. I tell my grandsons so. As parents and grandparents, it is part of the deal; the fulfiller of wishes. So what happens when we no longer have a kindly parent or grandparent to help.
Then, our inbuilt parent comes into play and if we listen; can provide a good service!
So what happens when even they run out of answers to our constance requests?
For instance, I wish for more hours in the day. Not less todo! I just want more hours! I have made lists, prioritised, revalued … you name it. You know-you have been there!
So this is a heartfelt plea to anyone – the fulfiller of wishes
More hours please.
Saturday Centus … the Hound
Tide ebbed from the east we walked westward.
Looking to where the sun lowered into the sea.
Squinting, seeking along the saltern sand
Walking wading at the water’s edge.
The hound bounded in swirls; hither and thither.
His fleshy mouth scooping the surface of the sand.
The tip of his tail twitched triple time.
His stride lengthened leaping towards the driftwood
Thrown; it breaks the mirror images of the evening cloud
that billows over the Northdowns and scurry southwards.
Lone seagulls strutt and search in debris; for morsels left by the tide.
Swoop into the dunes and laugh at the foolish hound
Friday’s Library Snapshot … Eric Gill
I cannot begin to do justice to Eric Gill in few short words.
But I will try, and then show a few images that I enjoyed; selected from some of the books we have in the library.
Eric Gill is one of the twentieth century’s most controversial artists. He was a great artist and craftsman; not matched as a letter cutter, wood engraver or typographer. His life style was scandalous; but it did not distract from his reputation in fact it undoubtedly broadened Gill’s appeal.
Like other modernist works of the early twentieth century his technique was stylised and sexually explicit; a form he used to his advantage; putting him in the front of the avant-garde.
Gill was considered by some to be culturally apart because of his sexual behaviour, adulterous and incestuous relationships. He was also a radical and a social reformer; who pushed out boundaries.
Nonetheless, Gill was able forge working relationships with traditional organisations such as the British Government, the Roman Catholic Church, The Victoria and Albert Museum, the Royal Mint, the Post Office, London Underground and the BBC; although he did often criticise them albeit with a humorous edge.
Well worth further reading if only to unravel some of the complexities and contradictions already highlighted.
Alphabe Thursday … L is for Living, Library and Languages
This is a great opportunity to celebrate my blog Living, Libraries and [dead] Languages. I began just about one year ago as an experiment; I didn’t even use my real name. As the days, weeks and months have gone by and the readers have grown; I continue to be humbled by the attention.
By way of a celebration rather than use one of my own images; I will feature some sweet pictures from a fellow Blogger Gennepher’s Art who has amongst others been very supportive … it transcends the formality of libraries that I am familiar with … and makes me smile!!
100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week #53
Prompt … would seven prove to be too much?
A philosophical question; can girl have too many bags?
There already too many decisions to be made in one day; without considering a bag as well.
However; we all know there is not one bag to fulfil our daily requirement. For instance; today I go to the gym. I need to take a packed lunch and going with a friend for tea after work. To find a suitable bag in the correct shade from my extensive wardrobe; I have bought over the years in search of the ideal bag would take hours. I need to narrow my choices; would seven prove too much?
And I still say no!
Wednesday’s Wise Woman … Maysa
My weekly woman features like most of my blogs are embryonic. Representative of my relative newness to the journalistic culture; probably not even considered journalistic; mere musings about people I know little about. A fleeting interest that has prompted me little further than Wikipedia … although not far and I apologise for that.
You will notice some of my ‘mentions’ have a Latin American feel … I will not apologise for that; without this vital connection life would not be worth living.
So this week’s woman; who I thought might have been wise; may not have been consider so wise in the end. However, she did find her way to Wikipedia and to my attention so that is wise enough for me.
Also she died in a car accident on Rio-Niteroi Bridge which joins Rio de Janeiro to Niteroi over Guanabara Bay; the second longest in the world. I have been across it in another blog on my way to Museu do Arte Contemporanea.
Maysa Figueira Monjardim (1936-1977) was born and married into a rich and influential families. Her paternal grandmother was a singer and actress and was closely associated with Bossa nova music known then as torch song.
Maysa showed musical talent as a child and began composing songs as well. One at least was used on her first album.
In 1950 she with her stage name Maysa Matarazzo formed a successful bossa nova band. She toured with her band to Buenos Aires, Uruguay and Chile. The tour was great success and it was a good opportunity to project bossa nova beyond the Brazilian Borders.However it did not go according to plan. Maysa had an affair with Ronaldo Boscoli a composer and journalist who was linked romantically with Nara Leao. Which lead to the end of the relationship between Nara and Ronaldo but a split in the bossa nova movement. A complicated battle followed between the rival factions and Nara became the queen of the protest songs against the military dictatorship.
Maysa became alienated from the bossa nova network and the protest singers.She married a Spanish musical director and moved to Spain and work there and in Europe singing to full houses; she was still considered by some to be the best singer of the the torch song. Her turbulent and chaotic lifestyle bought her much publicity and the name Janice Joplin of Bossa nova.
She did make a popular recovery back in Brazil, singing of her lost loves; old Bossa nova hits in the current festival style. She also appeared in some television soap operas. She also appeared in the film by Almodovar; Law of Desire singing Ne me quitte pas.
In the 1970s it was suggested that she was happier but died in a car crash on the Rio-Niteroi Bridge.
After her death; a television programme was broadcast documenting her life. The narrative spanned two books naming her as one of the most charismatic divas of Brazil. Her style will go on to influence generations of Latin American singers and composers.
Weekly photo challenge … Growth
After much thought and deliberation; I pulled together this growing worthless bunch of aging pots. They are are used regularly depending on the brew and number guests … and their status. There is only one that has stood the test of time and remains un-chipped and worthy of a fine guest. I think there is room for growth.
Fermented camellia
warmed teapot waits
sipped tea
Last week I learned that … getting fit is hard work!
I go to the gym every day; except the weekend. It is not something I discuss! I come from a generation who believed that only sportsmen and women needed to go to the gym. So to consider myself a sports person would be audacious.
From my late teens I have always tried to keep slim; you don’t grow up with Twiggy lurking around every magazine corner and not aspire to leanness. This of course didn’t mean that with the slimness came fitness.Still, going to the gym was not an option; neither financially nor culturally as already discussed. Also, there was not a gym in every locality; although there were swimming baths in most towns; a bus ride away.
So I cycled at every opportunity, to and from work and did the London to Brighton Bike Ride once. I enjoyed running and swimming until quite recently and now yoga is for me.
Now that I have been dragged into the 21st century; and that going to the gym is no longer forbidden for the uninitiated. I decided to take the plunge when swimming and particularly running was now for me a health risk.
I considered myself fit when I joined the gym. It was quite a shock to learn that I needed to get fit to be fit! Day after day I go; doing a bit of this and bit of that; yoga, weights or spinning.
Trying not to notice the sweat dripping bodies and red grimaces around me and the huge effort ‘they’ make to get fit.
The rowing machine for instance, a mean contraption ; that in the hands of an athlete can fly while I gently meander down the ‘Thames’ barely making a wave. On the mats, manly muscles crunch, beyond imagination; heaving like all-in-wrestlers. Me and press-ups are not easy bedfellows; after one or two feeble lunges; the water fountain has a strange appeal.
So you see I am not a natural gymnast; my intentions are good but my muscles are weak – and my attention span is nil.
Also, I am too long in the tooth … those previous culture barriers are still well down.
I come from a generation who believed girls should only perspire. I never saw Twiggy even glow!
So a eventually when somebody begged the question and asked ‘
Don’t you sweat? ‘
‘No!’ I replied ‘You cannot sweat and smile!’
Silent Sunday … Signal flags.
Yesterday, while the tide was going out and a stiff a breeze; there was no sailing here at the Tudor Sailing Club, overlooking Langstone Harbour.
So these signal flags were very silent. 
This is a Silent Sunday post inspired by Mocha Beanie Mummy. Check out the rest of the entries using tag #silentsunday on twitter.
Saturday’s Supplication … for mums of distant children!
Celebrations for me are not easy. My my life has been a minefield of delights and despair. Ricocheting from Carrying on up the Kyber to Jude the obscure.
So a splendid expensive celebrations can have reminders of pain; so best avoided. So I prefer moment by moment celebrations.
This transition was not easy; the psychological, emotional and hormonal imbalance had to be considered.
Without our ‘last left home child’; getting my long suffering husband ‘on board’ and able to celebrate ‘alone’ was more difficult.
I can do this; cake, coffee, tea or a walk in the park are all it takes; but he struggles especially with my aforementioned fluctuating attitude. The poor chap didn’t know what to expect. I could always change my mind. What pleased me yesterday may not please me today!!
This weekend we plan a skype breakfast to celebrate our daughter’s birthday … as far from spontaneous as you can get (see what I mean) I say breakfast as it will be our lunch and in Rio breakfast
So I ask those gods and goddesses … to bring all mums of distant children to a warm place on Sunday and the ability to celebrate their distance Please!
Coat Hanger Doll's House 