So This was Summer!

We spent our summer in the UK mostly at home or on the Isle of Wight with the odd day trip. The exception to this was a trip to Norway with my 94 year old mother-in-law to visit family.

I should like to share my favourite photos with you.

Dorset

“Rime Intrinsica, Fontmell Magna, Sturminster Newton and Melbury Bubb,
Whist upon whist upon whist upon whist drive, in Institute, Legion and Social Club.
Horny hands that hold the aces which this morning held the plough
While Tranter Reuben, T. S. Eliot, H. G. Wells and Edith Sitwell lie in Mellstock Churchyard now.

Lord’s Day bells from Bingham’s Melcombe, Iwerne Minster, Shroton, Plush,
Down the grass between the beeches, mellow in the evening hush.
Gloved the hands that hold the hymn-book, which this morning milked the cow
While Tranter Reuben, Mary Borden, Brian Howard and Harold Acton lie in Mellstock Churchyard now.

Light’s abode, celestial Salem! Lamps of evening, smelling strong,
Gleaming on the pitch-pine, waiting, almost empty even- song
From the aisles each window smiles on grave and grass and yew-tree bough
While Tranter Reuben, Gordon Selfridge, Edna Best and Thomas Hardy lie in Mellstock Churchyard now.”

— John Betjemin

The first three images and the title image are Corfe Castle, the others are Lyme Regis

Oslo

“Until the Eighties, Oslo was a rather boring town, but it’s changed a lot, and is now much more cosmopolitan. If I go downtown, I visit the harbour to see the tall ships and the ferries, and to admire the modern architecture such as the Opera House or the new Astrup Fearnley Museum on the water’s edge.”

— Jo Nesbo

Åsgårdstrand

“Nature is not only all that is visible to the eye... it also includes the inner pictures of the soul”

— Edvard Munch

Isle of Wight

““Any man from America or Australia might take one glance at the Island as something on a map, and then decide to give it a couple of hours.

But you can spend days and days exploring the Isle of Wight, which, if you are really interested, begins magically enlarging itself for you.””

— JB Priestly

East Lambrook

“‘Nowhere in the world is there anything like the English cottage garden. In every village and hamlet in the land there are these little gardens, always gay and never garish, and so obviously loved. There are not so many now, alas, as those cottages of cob or brick, with their thatched roofs and tiny crooked windows, are disappearing to make way for council houses and modern bungalows, but the flowers remain, flowers that have come to be known as ‘cottage flowers’ because of their simple, steadfast qualities.’”

— Margery Fish

In Flanders Fields the Poppies Blow .........

Yesterday we went to the Tower of London, not to see the Tower itself, but to see the installation commemorating the centenary of World War 1 'Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red' Created by ceramic artist Paul Cummins, with setting by stage designer Tom Piper, 888,246 ceramic poppies will progressively fill the Tower's famous moat.

I feel a deep personal connection to the First World War. Not only did both my grandfathers serve in the British Army (and survive, so that I knew them both well) but my maternal grandfather's family had lived in Belgium for many years and my great grandmother came over with my Aunty Bessie ( my mothers cousin) as refugees at the beginning of the war and lived with my grandparents. My mother remembered hiding under the kitchen table from the Zeppelin attacks, and Aunt Rose told be the story of her escape from Belgium at the beginning of the war ( see previous post). For me the First World War is not just something to read about in history books but also a collection of family stories

By the end of November the moat will be full of poppies, one for each of the 888,246 British and Commonwealth forces who died. Every evening at sunset the last post will be sounded and a roll will be called of some of the fallen. You can nominate a friend or relative's name to be read out on a certain evening here.

The roll of Honour is read out by one of the Yeoman Warders of the Tower (AKA Beefeaters) and we were lucky to see this one walking through the poppies to check that the set up for the evening was all OK

I very much hope to visit again in November when all the poppies are in place which will be a truly awesome sight both in terms of the visual impact and what it represents.

“In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.”

— John McCrae, May 1915

In the Summertime

“Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon”

— Cecil Day Lewis

You may have noticed I have been missing from the blogging world for a couple of weeks, several reasons for this. Firstly we have had lots of visitors, secondly the weather really has been too nice to spend much time sitting indoors at the computer, and thirdly we are in the process of trying to sell out home of thirty plus years and move to the city for our retirement, which, as many you will know, is an extremely stressful and time consuming activity!

this week I did manage to get ten minutes with my camera between meetings at the beautiful Hilliers Gardens in near Romsey - the English Country Garden, what better way to celebrate summer?

There was plenty of variety to choose from, I loved the soft greens and gold here

and I loved the grandeur of this artichoke flower

There were insects aplenty

butterflies and bees

Plants with defined structure

Plants that blended and melded with each other and the 'art in the garden'

and finally my absolute favourite, the burning pink heart of summer ( no idea what it is!)

Hope you are all enjoying your summer wherever you are!

Strawberry Fields Forever - a Tale of Central Park

“Let me take you down
’Cause I’m going to Strawberry Fields
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about
Strawberry Fields forever”

— John Lennon

Just back from a great trip to New York, several posts worth here I think, but I'm going to start with a story of Central Park. Looking at the map I discovered there was an area named strawberry Fields with a memorial to John Lennon.

it was clearly a place of pilgrimage so we sat for a while and watched as people came and went.

There were people of all ages and nationalities, families, individuals, groups, all coming to pay their respects.

Then there was the music - all Beatles / Lennon songs of course

and the garland makers who worked diligently until they at finished their task,

Then sat and reflected together for a while,

before laying their garland carefully

and making the final adjustments

until it was perfect

“Imagine there’s no heaven
It’s easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...
Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...
You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...
You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will live as one”

— John Lennon

Spring is Sprung

“De spring is sprung, de grass is riz.

I wonder where dem boidies is?

They say the boid is on the wing.

But that’s absoid. The wing is on the bird.”

— Anon

Spring has definitely sprung in my garden and yesterday I went for a walk round to see what I could capture - these are not the only flowers in the garden, but rather the one's whose pictures I liked best.

Pasque flowers are one of my favourite spring flowers. They represent such good value, looking great at every stage of their life cycle from the first feathery leaves that push through the bare earth, to the spectacular seed heads. They're even self seeding and I now have three plants instead of two.

Further on down the garden the first clematis is out, a macropelia of some kind I think; the label is long gone

Surprise flower of the day was this marigold. Self-seeded from two years ago I wouldn't expect to see it before June or possibly May at a push. It certainly makes a splash of bright colour now the daffs are over.

Next up its the japonica, a huge bush. I love the way it starts flowering on the bare stems before continuing to flower against the dark green leaves. Its in the transitional phase at present.

Finally I'm going to share with you my favourite photo from the shoot although its definitely not my favourite plant!

The humble dandelion, growing as usual somewhere it shouldn't, with those pesky long roots that are so hard to get out. Really worth clicking on this to enlarge the image and see the detail - I really hadn't expected it to look so pretty close up!

Thats all for today, hope your garden ( if you have one) has similar treasures, I'd love to know what they are!

Back to Berlin next time!

Photo Heart Connection March

“God’s in his Heaven -
Alls alright with the world”

— Robert Browning

The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in His heaven—
All's right with the world!

Extract from Pippa Passes by Robert Browning

This poem sums up what I feel about this month's Photo Heart Connection. As regular readers of my blog will know I have just returned from a short break in Berlin where we had a fabulous time. There was, however, one defining moment when everything came together to produce a sparking moment of joy and happiness.

I am currently taking James Baraz's course 'Awakening Joy'. A part of this is increasing your ability to recognise and savour joy in the present moment and just such a moment occurred during our trip. We had visited the East Side Gallery of the Berllin Wall ( pictures coming soon) and then stopped for lunch in the Hackescher Markt, a square containing a number of open air cafes and restaurants. We choose one, sat down to peruse the menu and I ordered a glass of Gruner Veltllinger, a wine I really like that not readily available outside Austria and Germany. So we sat there in the warm spring sunshine (you know, the first day when sitting outside is not any kind of ordeal because of the cold wind) in a square full of buzzing happy people and a busker began playing the trumpet (an instrument I love), and I just thought 'It really doesn't get any better then this!'

Little Ladies and Other Animals

Little ladies, white and green,
With your spears about you,
Will you tell us where you've been
Since we lived without you?

You are sweet, and fresh, and clean,
With your pearly faces;
In the dark earth where you've been
There are wondrous places:

Yet you come again, serene,
When the leaves are hidden;
Bringing joy from where you've been
You return unbidden--

Little ladies, white and green,
Are you glad to cheer us?
Hunger not for where you've been,
Stay till Spring be near us!

Laurence Alma-Tadema

I have a tune in my head that goes with this so I think we must have sung it at school! Moving swiftly on, I did not intend to do another post about the snowdrops at Welford Park having majored on them last year. But we went again as I wanted to see them in the sunshine, rather than in the rain and sleet, and amazingly it was sunny last Sunday.

The scent was amazing, so sweet and woody - if you think snowdrops don't have a scent think again!

Snowdrops are not the only thing to be seen at Welford Park though, there are aconites,

bright reflections and Pussy Willow,

dogs,

big and small!

and wonderful wellies!

These were my favourites!

See you next week to welcome in the spring. Yay!

Festival of Imagination

“Can you imagine what I would do if I could do all I can?”

— Sun Tzu

Yesterday I attended an event at the Selfridges 'Festival of Imagination' which is a programme of 'interactive lectures, debates and workshops' held in a specially designed space called the Imaginarium at Selfridges Oxford St store. Award-winning architect Rem Koolhaas created a space full of mirrors and possibilities with a central feature amphitheatre.

The event I attended was 'Eureka! Moments' with Cathy Haynes from the 'School of Life' and was about exploring ways of boosting your creative confidence. The time was short, only 90 minutes, but she managed to pack a lot in.

Haynes discribes a 'Eureka! moment' as being a moment when 'something we couldn't think comes thinkable' or when the 'impossible becomes possible'. She also talks about combination and connection and things not just coming out of the blue. We should use and expand what we have. As an example of this she cites the creative process of the poet WB Yeats in relation to his poem the 'Lake Isle of Innisfree'. You can hear him describe this in his own words and read his poem here. This is a poem I am extremely familiar with, because as well as being in our poetry book at school, we had to sing it!

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15529#sthash.Sc4xr08G.dpuf

“The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not ‘Eureka!’ (I found it) but ‘That’s funny ‘ ....”

— Isaac Asimov

The session was broken up by discussions and exercises to get us thinking. One of these was design your own muse, where you thought of real or fictional figures who have / represent qualities or attitudes you would like to develop and then put them together in a kind of 'mix and match' approach. I'm still working on mine but it's an intriguing concept!

Well done to Selfridges for putting on the Festival of Imagination! I was very impressed when I left, to notice all the shop windows had an imaginative theme like these maraca toothbrushes and punk taps, rather than being stuffed full of things for sale .

I especially loved this plant watering umbrella!

See you next time and happy imagining!

The Glory of the Garden

“And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away ! ”

— Rudyard Kiplling

When I arrived back from Yoga on Thursday the sun had just begun to surface after a shower and everything in the garden was sparkling - it looked quite magical!

It was as though this fennel plant was hung with diamonds

And the seeds looked almost as spectacular, as did a late sprig of lavender with this bee on board

I suddenly found the last to lines of Kipling's poem running through my head "and the Glory of the garden shall never pass away" and went to look up the whole thing, which though a tad on the jingoistic side I do rather like, and wonder if it was inspired by his own lovely garden at Batemans in Sussex which I have visited several times. I am going to quote it in full here.

OUR England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.
For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
You'll find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dung-pits and the tanks,
The rollers, carts, and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.

And there you'll see the gardeners, the men and 'prentice boys
Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise ;
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.
And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,
And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows ;
But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,
For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.

Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made
By singing:-" Oh, how beautiful," and sitting in the shade
While better men than we go out and start their working lives
At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.
There's not a pair of legs so thin, there's not a head so thick,
There's not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick
But it can find some needful job that's crying to be done,
For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.

Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,
If it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
You will find yourself a partner In the Glory of the Garden.
Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper gardener's work is done upon his knees,
So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray
For the Glory of the Garden that it may not pass away!

And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away !

Rudyard Kipling

All of this then inspired me to do the first piece of art journaling I've done for ages

My sparking moments this week literally were sparkling - hope yours were too

Sparkles to Share

Family

This has been a very family orientated week with my niece's baby shower on Sunday and my son's graduation from the University of York on Wednesday ( if the chancellor looks familiar its Greg Dyke). Both were lovely occasions and really made me count my blessings.

Books

A book that I have been reading off and on for a while, and have just finished, is 'Steal Like an Artist' by Austin Kleon. Lots of good stuff here and I have decided to keep a log book as suggested by Austin. This is not a journal but rather 'a little book in which you list the things you do every day'. I kept a gratitude diary for over a year so am hoping to combine the log book idea with this and make sure I capture the 'sparkling moments' in my log book, or in my case log app as I hate writing!

Steal Like An Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told Me About the Creative Life

By Austin Kleon

Discovery

This week I signed up for anew e-course, the Renaissance Woman's Tool Box. I spotted the link on Kelly Rae Roberts sponsor page and before I knew it had signed on the dotted line. I have been majoring on art and photography courses this year so this is something a little different. Starts next week - very exciting!

Photography

I am lucky enough to either run courses or attend events at Hilliers Gardens where as well as displays of plants and shrubs, they also often have 'Art in the Garden' exhibitions. I only had about 15 minutes to nip out and take photographs on Monday but it was well worth it.

I really love delphiniums, but they are a flower you don't see a lot of so I was thrilled to see this display.

Even without the 'geraniums red' they bought this poem to mind - this is just an extract

“There once was a Dormouse who lived in a bed
Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red),
And all the day long he’d a wonderful view
Of geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue).”

— A A Milne

See you next week, and in the meantime do share your own sparkling moments in the comments section.

The Friday Five - Poems

I love poetry though I don’t spend anything like as much time as I would like reading it. So it was interesting that when I thought of choosing five of my favorite poems for this blog post my heart went straight back to a little anthology called ‘a Pageant of Modern Verse’ that I studied at school for my ‘O’ levels. There were just so many great poems in this small volume and even looking just a this book it was hard to choose only five poems.

When I consider my choices I think what comes across is the sense of rhythm and the wonderful use of language used by these five very different poets. I hope you enjoy my selection and it would be great if you could post about your favorite poets in the comments section

The List

‘Journey of the Magi’ T.S. Eliot
‘Tarantella’ Hilaire Belloc
‘He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven’ W.B. Yeats
‘On the Coast of Coromandel’ Observe Sitwell
‘Snake’ D.H. Lawrence

The Detail

The first

"A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The was deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter."
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires gong out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty, and charging high prices.:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we lead all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I have seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

The second

Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of tar?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the vine of the dark veranda)?
Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
Who hadn't got a penny,
And who weren't paying any,
And the hammer at the doors and the din?
And the hip! hop! hap!
Of the clap
Of the hands to the swirl and the twirl
Of the girl gone chancing,
Glancing,
Dancing,
Backing and advancing,
Snapping of the clapper to the spin
Out and in--
And the ting, tong, tang of the guitar!
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?

Never more;
Miranda,
Never more.
Only the high peaks hoar;
And Aragon a torrent at the door.
No sound
In the walls of the halls where falls
The tread
Of the feet of the dead to the ground,
No sound:
But the boom
Of the far waterfall like doom.

The third

The fourth

On the coast of Coromandel,

Dance they to the tune of Handel;

Chorally, that coral coast

Correlates the bone to ghost,

Till word and limb and note seem one,

Blending, binding act to tone.

All day long they point the sandal

On the coast of Coromandel.

Lemon-yellow legs all bare

Pirouette to peruqued air

From the first green shoots of morn,

Cool as northern hunting-horn,

Till the nightly tropic wind

With its rough-tongued, grating rind

Shatters the frail spires of spice.

Imaged in the lawns of rice

(Mirror-flat and mirror green

is that lovely water’s sheen)

Saraband and rigadoon

Dance they through the purring noon,

While the lacquered waves expand

Golden dragons on the sand —

Dragons that must, steaming, die

From the hot sun’s agony —

When elephants, of royal blood,

Plod to bed through lilied mud,

Then evening, sweet as any mango,

Bids them do a gay fandango,

Minuet, jig or gavotte.

How they hate the turkey-trot,

The nautch-dance and the Highland fling.

Just as they will never sing

Any music save by Handel

On the coast of Coromandel!

The Fifth

A snake came to my water-trough

On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,

To drink there.

In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob-tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before
me.

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of
the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
i o And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.

Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second comer, waiting.

He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.

And voices in me said, If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.

But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?

Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him? Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him? Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.

And yet those voices:
If you were not afraid, you would kill him!

And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid, But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.

He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.

And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.

I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.

I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified haste.
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.

And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

And I thought of the albatross
And I wished he would come back, my snake.

For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.

And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.

Taormina, 1923

Hope you enjoyed the selection - don't forget to share your favourites in the comments section!