Friday’s Library snapshot …
Jigsaw puzzles seem to have passed me by; in two ways. I don’t remember having them as a child; although my friends had them. So I understand the concept if not the attraction. I tried to help them complete the jigsaw when I visited. I was intrigued by the way the dining room table was taken over for days on end. Meals were served on laps. Or the jigsaw was man handled with great care to and fro and with much swearing even in the most genteel household; I noticed. Until the jigsaw was back in place and silence reigned again when the group re-camped hunched over the puzzle. .
Such an operation could not be considered when living on a houseboat. So this probably explains why we didn’t have a mountain of jigsaw puzzles beside our dining room table. As a result I am blissfully unaware of the rich history, the artistry and the technical production of jigsaw puzzles. So when I came across this book in the library this week I was pleasantly surprised and sad that I had not noticed them before.
British jigsaw puzzles of the 20th century by Tom Tyler tells the history of jigsaws from the ‘ingenious’ wooden ones in the early 1900s through to the 2nd World War when paper was restricted until 1997 when three-dimensional puzzles were introduced
As I grew up near the Southampton Water I would have seen ships like these come and go regularly.
The Cricket Match
This week I was invited to a writing group meeting. As I a onlooker I was able to observe the results of a recent poetry competition The theme was Game or Games; each writer read his or her entry and the the prizes were given out. I was in awe of the poems and could not hope to reach their high standard. However, I thought I would give it ago
Here is my attempt
The Cricket Match.
The tide had ebbed;
leaving a line of stuff.
Black weed, green weed,
with glossy blisters to pop or not.
Bleached twigs and globules of tar.
Pieces of twisted rope and cuttlefish bones.
The bigger girl it kicked aside,
the flotsam left and right.
Exposing the still damp peas of pebbles.
Shingle not too golden in the fading summer sun.
On tippy toe she could see the Fawley Flame.
The sun going over; just beyond it seemed.
The sisters joined in thinking the game had begun.
Kicking; hither and thither kicking the rule.
So she reminded them of the first rule;
to clear the strip along the shore.
Holding her arms akimbo.
That done; found four pieces of driftwood
Longish but straight.
One laid carefully at right-angles away from the waters edge.
With the remaining three she marched;
counting 1, 2, 3 to twenty two and turned.
Squinted into the sun as you should,
to ensure the path was straight
Placed the pieces side by side
on the shore.
And squatted on hillock of sedge
to think.
The toddler stumbled towards her
with the blade of a broken oar.
Much bigger than he.
Her thoughts thwarted with a smile;
as she remember the ball; salvaged from yesterday’s high tide.
Placed for safety in the branches of a willow nearby.
Almost ready they must wait;
all side by side on the dried sedge
beyond the water’s edge.
Until he with his familiar gait
came round the headland.
He turned against the breeze to light his cigarette.
The plume of smoke a signal,
for the girls to run and meet him
tiny boy remained.
He took a mallet from his tool bag.
Hammered in the stumps and placed
each child in position either end
of the carefully marked chain.
bowler and ball – batsman with oar.
Other behind the wicket and tiny boy at the water’s edge.
No longer receding, slack for a while.
The girls and the tiny boy looked at each other
and him as he walked away
He smiled, took the ball and demonstrated to the bowler
the batsman responded not a thwack exactly
Catching the ball, handed it to the bowler
The game began.
He proceeded; he didn’t do games.
He did shipping forecasts and evening news.
Wight, Portland Plymouth.
Anyway’ the tell tale breeze on his face
meant the tide had turned
the cricket pitch would soon be a flood.
Everyday … the day lily.
Everyday a bloom,
with golden yellow laughter.
each evening she dies.
Wednesday’s wise women and the Catholic Archbishop
My daughter sent me this picture from the recent People’s Summit in Rio de Janeiro. I recognised three of the names; Dom Helder Camara, Angela Davis and Tarsila do Amaral. The rest were completely unknown to me.
Also, I was not sure of their significance as I was sure that at least two of them were dead. So they were not visiting speakers. I have since learned that they are simply the names of notable human rights activists. Their names had been applied to tents used by charities, human rights groups and NGOs as workshops and information centres at the conference.
Amy assured me that they all were wise women except Dom Helder Camara who was a man; also wise.
Amy is aware of my interest in Tarsila do Amaral (1886-1973) as I have read much and written little about her. When she returned travelling in Russia in 1932 she became involved with the San Paulo constitutional revolt against the dictatorship in Brazil and seen as a leftist and imprisoned for a month as she was considered a Communist sympathiser.
Also I have read some about the Black Panther Movement and Angela Davis (born 1944) but was not aware that she is still active. She was leader of the Communist Party and the Black Panthers in the 1960s and remains active as an educator and author. Davis still participates in social movements and her defense of the civil rights were recognised in 2006 when she received the Thomas Merton award for individuals fighting for justice.
The other name I recognised was Dom. Helder Camara (1909-1999) We have a postcard on our fridge on which is written a quote by him ‘When I give food to the poor they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food they call me a communist’ He was a Brazilian Catholic Archbishop; who founded the Banco da Providencia in Rio de Janeiro a charitable organisation that still maintains an active front against poverty and social injustice.
The other three: Madre Cristina (1917-1997), Maninha Xucuru (born 1966) and Olga Benario (1908-1942) were all very active women, wise and revolutionary and deserved of more research.
100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week #48
I knew this would happen. ‘I blame it on the dog’; a poor defenseless dog. He has got the cream and the cake already; I have seen it . There will be more unsolved crimes he will be responsible for; I am sure. In the puppet show; Punch and Judy cruelly condemned Toby. To add insult to injury he got hit with Punch’s stick and truncheon of the policeman. Even my brother blamed his antisocial intestinal behaviour on the dog. This is unacceptable!
Why can’t we stand up and be accountable for our crimes and tell them straight. It was my little sister all the time.
These images were taken from a book in our Children’s Collection Punch and Judy written by Frederic E. Weatherly and illustrated by Patty Townsend. 1885.
Last week I learn that …
… I might be too old for ‘festival going’
When the children were young we went to great lengths to keep them entertained. So weekends and holidays were busy and fun-no complaints there. Then as they grew up and become less dependant on our input we enjoyed the peace and quiet. When the youngest left home, to study and live in Brazil; the space was too painful for me.
I filled the chasm with stuff and busy-ness; that was not ideal either. So now I try and find a happy medium and that seems to work. However that is not always easy; sometimes we just bob along and we wish for something to happen. Then we have a succession of busy weeks. This week has been one of them and the highlight was the Black2Black festival at Billingsgate Market.
We booked the tickets soon after we returned from Brazil. With our new found interest in Brazilian Music particularly Gilberto Gil and our previous experience of African music when we saw Miriam and Amadou last year; we were very excited.
This was my first experience of a ‘festival’ since WOMAD in 1994. That year it was particularly hot and we wandered from tent; tasting music and food. Lounging on the grass beside the Thames or sitting on strategically placed bales of straw; more easily dine in rural Reading.
Here at Old Billingsgate Market, again by the Thames but in the city of London; it was not so crowded but very concrete. There were a few coffee bean sacks stuffed and used as cushions; not ideal but OK if not a little intimate at times.
More so when the queues for food criss crossed the terrace in front of the main building. The wait for food was about half an hour for the Veggie choice; the meat queue was considerably longer. The food was cheap and substantial; but the choice was limited. When supper time came we had ‘same again.’
Us girls are used to queuing for the toilets … I assume a fifteen minutes wait at a festival is normal. I cannot fault the cleaning and support staff; so while perhaps not as comfortable as I would like it was clean and a very happy occasion.
The music was fabulous and the choice in three different areas almost too much- but it did make the queuing bearable.
We did find a very nice coffee shop in the vaults; where the coffee was delicious and they served some very pleasant corn cakes which are gluten free that I had become accustomed to while I was in Brazil earlier this year.
So all things considered it was a very pleasant day, albeit a little hard on the feet and the bottom … I will do it again.
Weekly Photo Challenge … Fleeting Moment
Here is my Fleeting Moment at the Back2Black Festival on Sunday. It was a good day with many fleeting moments. The sun, then rain, then sun and rain, wind and warmth. The children, child, man, girl, lady, boy, music, dance, love, frustration, anguish; the list is endless every moment we documented them all on our cameras etc.
This was precious for me a chair, coffee and cake … Gluten free perfect
Neither works of art
but priceless moments enjoyed
in music dance
Silent Sunday
The beads like droplets
Fall between the fingertips
Counting the mantra
Saturday Supplication
My wish this week is simple. It is to do with time. I know I should honour time; it is not mine to keep, to hold or grab. I cannot save it or put in the the bank. It is more precious than gold or silver. It is the ultimate gift that I should treasure and spend wisely.
So why is it at the end of the day, week, year, I say ‘If only I had done this or done that.’
Full of regret and excuses.
Instead I should be grateful for time, the way and the choices I have to spend it. No, ‘What ifs ?’ and ‘Buts.’
Time is here and now
There is no going back; so
be grateful for that.
I have a friend at work who is very dependable; he always has the answer. There is nothing he cannot do. He is the perfect brother!!
And today I needed him; I wanted an image for this blog. However, he was busy with the end of term staff party; the party of the year. Better than Christmas; so I could not disturb him. I wandered around aimlessly with my camera looking for the image. It was raining and the light was poor. Still at home-time there was no picture and no hope!!
So, I resigned myself to the fact that today’s blog would not have an image; and enjoy the party instead!
Later at the party; I told ‘brother’ of my predicament and he said ‘yep! I have the very thing … it’s in the Bindery, (my colleague is a binder and his domain is an Aladdin’s cave) … he carried on doing what brothers do … cooking at the party!!
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Friday’s Library Snapshot …
Some images from Edward Bawden’s London a book recieved this week at Special Collections
St Paul’s Cathedral, linocut 1966
Coat Hanger Doll's House 