Thoughts on a rainy day

 A day of storm, wind blustering wild around this old house, and rain spattering on the windows, clouds and fitful gleams of sudden light.

It recalled to my mind this song that I loved so much as a teenager – one of those I listened to over and over and over again, until it fused with the substance of my soul.

The sentiments it expresses are fundamentally at variance with my own these days, but it still tugs at my heartstrings, and I still find it beautiful.  Paul Simon is a superlative musician.

I don't miss my youth.  So much depression, so much sorrow, so many difficulties.  Impossible world.  In middle age, I have found peace, though about old age I feel apprehension.  But listening to this connects me up again to my 14-year-old self as if the years between had melted away.  "Like the rain" indeed.  

Busy day tomorrow.  Someone is coming to interview me.  I have no idea what they might ask.  I'll tell you tomorrow.

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365 366 Day 67 Wednesday March 7^th     

(if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see here) 

The second of the two cat toilets.  Freecycle flourishes in our town, and is much appreciated because many people live in significant poverty here.  I love giving things away.  It has the same joy as when I was a small child, sitting on the sandy beach at Scarborough, taking handfuls of the sand and enjoying the feel of it trickling away, watching its falling grains, their stream arcing with the wind current.

Famous books that could have been written by minimalists:

Goodbye To All That

Bleak House (a tale of Bitter Experience from those who overdid it)

And Then There Were None

To Have And Have Not

All Quiet On The Western Front

Grime and Punishment

Gone With The Wind

The Way We Live Now

Scoop

Things Fall Apart

An Artist Of The Floating World

    

We have a kitchen

So, finally, our kitchen is finished!

It looks like this.

We got the adequate space we wanted for the washing machine in the end.

Our things fit right in and look pretty on the shelf.

We have a new cooker - a small, inexpensive sort that works properly.

There's somewhere to sit and eat lunch.

Perfect.

When we moved in, it looked like this:

 I feel very pleased that we don't need all that storage - though we do have a secret weapon.  Just through the doorway from our kitchen is the understairs cupboard, footprint about 3'x3', which we use as a pantry.  It looks like this:

My apologies if you feel five photographs of the inside of a pantry seems a little obsessive.  One of my keenest interests is in small space / simple living, and I feel carried away with joy when I behold the successfulness of my pantry, which has got everything in it BUT all visible and accessible and easy to clean.  I clasp my hands and gaze at it like a hamster.

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365 366 Day 66 Tuesday March 6^th     

(if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see here) 

I resemble a nurse from the Crimean War in this hat.  Not a success, that one. 

Studio and sewing

A few days ago on Facebook, Anna asked to see some photos of the new sewing corner Alice and Hebe have included in the studio.

As you can see through the window, the woodstore has no more logs in view on that side - we've burned most of our winter stash now.

Hebe made that toasting fork hanging up.  It's really handy because it has those delicate tines.  

At the moment the sewing corner still looks very tidy! I wonder how long that will last?

In case you’re wondering what the things on the window sill are, one is a statue of St Francis that came to us when my Mama moved to an apartment with no garden.

The other is a small figure of Venus made by Alice as part of a series of figures inspired by netsuke.

The rest of the studio is not so tidy but very interesting.

This is Hebe’s banker for standing the stones on for letter-cutting.  The Badger made it for her.

This is a monstrance base she’s been making for a Catholic priest.

And her preliminary drawing.

I like the studio.  It’s full of interesting things Hebe and Alice have made.

There’s a fab new glass panel, but I must ask Alice’s permission to show you I think, as it’s a commission.

Oh - and the kitchen is coming on!

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365 366 Day 65 Monday March 5^th     

(if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see here) 

The Wretched Wretch is growing up!  He drinks from a proper cup now, and has no truck with such as these!

    

Zzzzz . . .

Long day, so very tired - somewhere about two hours ago my battery just died and I rolled into bed and crashed out.  I think maybe I will spend a while watching some of Into Great Silence, which is the ultimate tranquillising shot of comfort.

Night night dears. 

I wrote this yesterday, but my internet connection was also tired and crashed, so it wouldn't let me post it.

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365 366 Day 64 Sunday March 4^th    

(if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see here) 

Ah – I have this all wrapped up to give to my friend Rosie Humphrey when our paths cross at Spring Harvest Christian conference in April.   I really love this ceramic sculpture, and I haven’t had it very long.  There’s a new tiny shop opened in an out-of-the-way part of town where previous businesses had failed.  This one is called “A Flock of Crafty Birds” and is selling all kinds of artefacts made by local craftspeople as well as bright and cheery vintage pieces of furniture and other household items.  One time when I’d just been paid for some writing, I wanted to buy something from this shop to encourage other people engaged in freelance creative work, so I got a lovely colourful sweater for the Wretched Wretch, and this ceramic piece.  I think it’s so beautiful, but we have a number of other beautiful objects, and too many just begins to form into clutter.  So with regret I chose this one to pass on, especially since unlike some of our other things it has no history making it dear to its owner.

    

Oh, please don't tell us your dream . . .

I am hoping Buzzfloyd will read this and send me the text of her poem (a villanelle, I think) Oh, please don’t tell us your dream, because it is very hilarious, I have lost it, and what I am about to tell you immediately brings it to mind (if she does, I'll add it on to the post).

All my life (since I attended school) I have had a recurring type of dream.

In the dream I have some kind of school obligation looming that I cannot fulfil.  Sometimes I arrive at a new college and have to attend a seminar (or, more usually, an exam), but I do not know the building and cannot find the way and get more are more miserable, panicky and despairing.

Sometimes the dream is that I have an exam coming up (usually that day, and I am going into college to sit the exam) for which I haven’t prepared whatsoever and simply don’t have the necessary knowledge to tackle it.

Sometimes I dream my coursework has to be handed in and I haven’t done it.

These dreams sufficiently resemble my actual experience of real school to be very compelling.  In them I am always wretched and terrified, feeling doomed and trapped and not knowing where to turn.

But the last two times I dreamt along these lines, a sea change has manifested.

The time before last, I dreamt I had to go into college for something completely beyond me, I can’t remember whether an exam or a tutorial or what, but it was too difficult and too much, completely beyond me and I had not the wherewithal to fulfil the requirements.  But this time, instead of panicking and feeling frightened and trapped, I just made a decision: “I think I’ll drop this course.”  And I did. 

Last night again I dreamed that I was at school; and began to feel uneasy that I had done no maths work at all that academic year – had no maths tuition or assignments.  I began to suspect that something was wrong or had been overlooked.  I felt concerned that when a maths lesson did come up I would be unprepared and out of my depth.  I began to wonder if “They” had elected to group all the sciences together so this term would be all arts and next term would be the sciences, more difficult for me and too much to manage.  The usual anxieties began, but this time I made a decision: “I think I’ll drop maths”.  A counter-argument began, that They wouldn’t let me, that without maths I’d be sunk, that maths was essential.  “Yes,” I thought: “but I think I’ll drop it anyway.”  And after that I felt fine.

It seems I finally feel free to decide for myself.

One day, maybe I’ll dream I’ve graduated; but by then I’ll be very old perhaps.


OK, here we go, this is Buzzfloyd's poem - she reminds me that it is in fact a rondeau redoublé, which poetic form you can read about here.

Rondeau redoublé – An Anecdote Unwanted

Please don’t tell us your dream.

As you bend my poor ear,

I’m trying not to scream.

Nobody wants to hear!

I wonder why I’m here,

Watching you fondly beam.

We could be stuck here all year –

Please don’t tell us your dream.

As you warm to your theme,

You then shift down a gear,

Detailing every scheme

As you bend my poor ear.

Please let the end be near!

I see how your eyes gleam

While mine threaten a tear;

I’m trying not to scream.

Did this, at some point, seem

Relevant – the point clear?

This is a mutant meme

Nobody wants to hear.

Please don’t tell.

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365 366 Day 63 March 3^rd    

(if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see here) 

 Oh, these are good!  Two work boxes.  Why did I have two?  Well, I ordered one at a very good price in a sale, and the firm who sells them sent it off to me to my previous address way up country miles away in Aylesbury (they had the new address and it appeared on the invoice, but Bill hadn’t spoken to Charlie or something and the despatch guys got it wrong).  They said they’d send me a replacement, which they did.  Meanwhile my champion friend Rosanna who lives in Aylesbury said she’d go and enquire at my old address if perchance they had the parcel and had not yet returned it: which turned out to be the case. Not sure what to do as I had two now (though it would be honest to say I had both, it does not always help large organisations if you mess up their systems with unhelpful honesty), I opened the Aylesbury parcel when it came, only to discover that the workbox had been shoddily put together and was not fit for sale anyway.  If I sent it back I’d have to pay postage and point out that it was in effect broken and they’d have to bin it (and probably get confused and send me another).  So since it was their error in the first place, I just kept it and the Badger took it to bits and fixed it.

These workboxes went to a friend who teaches Godly Play and is also a Colour Consultant – both occupations generating a lot of bits and pieces urgently needing storage!

    

Dogs books and people

Yesterday for half an hour I was a Writer, talking about my books and what’s in them, answering questions about being a writer and being treated as if I were important.

The people in the group were elderly but reasonably well off, and I did a good discount on the copies I’d taken along, so lots of them bought books. 

Partly they were encouraged to read them because my friend Pearl had come along, and at the end of the question time she surprised me by launching into an impassioned recommendation of my books – telling the people to read the pages of endorsements at the beginning to see how wonderful they are!  That was nice (and it seemed to work)!

Anyway, I’m glad I had the money from selling books because on Facebook I saw a photo of this little dog waiting in a cage. 

 He had been taken from the streets by the authorities in whatever US city he lived in, and was being kept for a week or so in a cage.  Unless they raised $250 dollars to take him to a rescue place, he’d just be killed.  There were lots of other dogs too, but this one looked so patient and so sad.  Not a young dog.  I get so fed up with the human race sometimes.  But Pearl saying how wonderful she thinks my books are meant those people snapped up discounted copies meant I had something in the bank to send this little dog in America meant he didn’t have to die after all.

Then today I was not an important person any more but back to life as normal, using crumpled kitchen foil and left-over carpet cleaner to try to restore our grill pan to the condition I think of as “clean enough”.

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365 366 Day 62 March 2^nd   

(if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see here) 

Sometimes I do question my sanity.  I got this fake ivy at Christmas, thinking it was just the thing for parts of the house where insufficient light makes it impractical to ask plants to grow.  Why?  Why did I ever think I wanted artificial ivy? For heaven’s sake!!

    

Permaculture inspiration!

So impressed by this! I would love to have the initiative and confidence to launch on out and do this kind of thing. That is so cool!

And what about this, hey?!?

Well, today (March 1st but much later, it's only a quarter to two in the morning right now - must go to bed!) I am the speaker for a group of ladies.  I can speak about anything I like.  Though I can prattle on happily to the Badger for hours and have plenty to say to my family and a bad habit of interrupting at meetings, I confess I have No Idea what to say to these ladies.  I mean, who are they?  What do they want to know?   Strange thing, being A Speaker.  Still, it doesn't happen to me very often these days.  "Come and speak," they said, "we need a Speaker."  

"About what?" I asked.

"Anything you like," they said.


Update.  Now, at breakfast time, having woke up with the sun and pottered about on Facebook for a while checking out Innermost House and various friends, I have discovered that this very day is World Book Day.  Relevant, right?  I'll let that be a starting point.

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365 366 Day 60 Thursday March 1^st  
(if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see here)

Well, I have a funky little needle-book (A what? This kinda thing) that I got from Made In Hastings where I store all my needles and pins, so I no longer really have a need for a pincushion.  Every now and then this would’ve come in handy, but I’d rather have the space.