Trying to think calm thoughts

 After an unsettling incident in Arundel this morning, I am trying to think calm and peaceful thoughts. I don't want to rush in with my first feelings, and so will allow my head and heart rate to lower before talking about what happened.

So here are two pretty previously written poems that I have read several times whilst I try to calm myself down.

Mermaids Purse 

Slowly striding

Eyes downcast

Over the pebbles

To find at last

The object subject

Of my hunt

Crunching footfall

On my town seafront

Travelling free upon the tide

She sometime spins off course

A building wind sweeps wide

With every irresistible wave

Her path is further lost

A deep sea shopping day

Hampered at every turn

Seaweed catches in her hair

Wave on wave she’s tossed

Her little purse nipped away

As stormy seas collide

Out of reach and no return

Tiny black purse

That held her fare

Torn from her hand forever lost

Now its mine

I stoop down like a fool

It lays thrown up upon the beach

Held in finders keepers rule

Though I have in my hand

Her tiny empty purse

Does she watch me

From her watery place

And wish I’d give it back

A longing look lights her face

The mermaid in the sea

 

Wishing Well

A strange little thing to bring home for me

At the usual time he came back for his tea

It took me quite by surprise that day

I knew not for a moment what to do or say

Nothing I had said had expressed that need

A mystery as someone not given to greed

He’d bought an antique stone wishing well

Chose not to keep it in the warehouse to sell

I had beavered away on a garden transformation

A patio preferred to the little ponds stagnation 

Thus far he had not shown a mind to interfere

With my plans with secateurs and garden shears

He helped clear the pond wall brickwork away

But left new plans for me to have full and final say

My main thought was to make the work easier

More clear space a little bright and breezier

Myself no more enjoying the first flush of youth

Seeking more simple gardening work is the truth

Plain simplicity is at the base of my adaptation

From hard work my plot to ease is my translation 

When the scheme was more or less completed

The scene hoped for was not the view that greeted

Too pure and straight the lines that took the eye

It was not after all surrounding the palace at Versailles

It lacked a point of interest around the bird feeder

A plain wall there seemed to be the eye leader

Intuitively sensing a wife’s disappointment

He sought to remove this fly in the ointment

In answer to my need for some new inspiration

Thus far lacking in my quiet supplication  

He presented the rugged little story tale piece

Suggesting it might the formal symmetry decrease

Building it up gradually to show at its best

A smile spread on my face as I watched the rest

Sloping roof fitted on and a handle and winder

My postage stamp garden an Olde England reminder

Where water once was is now planted with flowers

A dainty touch to the garden where we spent idle hours

The tiny wishing well to ponder in times of recreation

The choice to wish wishes wishing in moderation

 

 

 

 

An Orderly Life

We go shopping every day, my husband and I and because of this, the fridge in our kitchen contains very little. My husband likes to do all of the cooking and most of the shopping. I hate shopping. He only wants to buy fresh food, bought daily and I never tell him what to get for dinner. That would be looking a gift horse in the mouth. I can cook, and reasonably well, but it’s a chore and I have other things I like to find time to do, whereas he loves cooking, does it extremely well, and he enjoys it.

So, when we go to the supermarket, I leave the food shopping to him, whilst I am, it seems, qualified to buy ordinary household items. As we stride briskly around; this is something else we have in common, we do not wander in a daze, waiting for items to find us, there is a list and purpose to our shopping. We do glance into other peoples baskets and feel a little smug when we see people with a trolley containing alcohol, canned or frozen food and little else.

The last item on my list, is my daily fruit requirement.

On weekdays, we do not take breakfast of any kind and only eat fruit during the day.

My man, is not trusted to choose my fruit for me, so that makes us somewhere near quits. 

The other day when I approached the salad and prepared fruit stand, there was a tall stocky man standing exactly where I wanted to go to select my fruit snack. He was looking at the selection as if he had just arrived from Mars and never seen anything like it. I had to break his reverie with a polite ‘Excuse me please’.

 

He stepped slightly back and to the side, moving his basket to the other arm, a charming smile was spreading across his face. I started to sort through the fruit selections, checking first for the ones with the longest sell by date, then ones that looked most fresh. In both hands, I held a clear plastic pot that the label claimed to be- ‘Luscious, sweet and juicy berry medley’ in the 'Love Life' range, One of your five a day it pressed.

“They look nice” the tall man said, stepping a little closer, “Fruit’s supposed to be good for you isn’t it?” Blue eyes twinkling now.

“It’s not, ‘Supposed to be’ ”, I said, “It is”. I’m thinking to myself; do I remind him of his mother or is he actually flirting with a seventy six year old lady.  He continues chattering and I cut him off as I turn away to go, and offer, over my shoulder, “Look, if you’re looking for advice” I say pointing to his basket, “Put those doughnuts back”. 

I met Steve at the checkout and he checked the date on my berries. Marked 29th February when it was only the 26th then. There is surely no way the Blackberries and Strawberries would last four days without going soft. That was just daftand anyway I would eat then all during the course of that one day, Blackberries first, there are always four or five, then later on, the Blueberries, a lot more of those, later I will go back for the few Strawberries and lastly pick at the grapes later in the afternoon. All very orderly. No wonder people think I'm nuts!

The Quangle Wangle

The day starts for me and my husband/best friend Steve, at about 5.20am when our alarm goes off, this early, so that we can get our daily bit of training in before the normal day starts at around 9am.

I make Steve a cup of tea and a coffee sweetened with a spoonful of Manuka honey for myself. We sip our first drinks of the day and watch Sky News. Then we turn to an American news channel and see what they are up to. Well, it’s the same as it is here, dominated by the political issues; speeches, forums and interviews. You tend to actually laugh out loud at some of the outrageous things that are being said. Well, when you first hear them that is. Then after a while, I am reminded of what parents used to say the children when they were cheeky or had misbehaved. “It’s not funny and it’s not clever”. I’d like a pound for each time I have heard that expression in the course of my life. Actually some of the things that are being said, and shown on our TV sets and without the slightest hesitation and certainly no apologies, are not funny. The whole scene right now is not funny, and I wonder who can possibly think that they are clever. 

Yesterday I was starting to clear some clutter out of our little back room when I found a paperback book jammed behind some other things that had dropped between a desk and a bookcase...... Housework is not my life’s mission. The title was; One Hundred Favourite Humorous Poems. When I picked it up, it had a postcard used as a marker in it. I opened it at that page. When I read it, I did laugh because I thought it sounded as if it was a spoof reference to Donald Trump. Maybe it’s just me. More than likely.

 

I have copied here the first and last verses. The rest of the poem refers to a variety of colourful visitors to his world and again it reminded me of Mr Trump. Sorry.  

The Quangle Wangle’s Hat

By Edward Lear 1812-1888

1

On top of the Crumpetty Tree

The Quangle Wangle sat,

But his face you could not see,

On account of his Beaver hat.

For his hat was a hundred and two feet wide,

With ribbons and bibbons, on every side

And bells, and buttons, and loops and lace,

So that nobody ever could see the face

Of the Quangle Wangle Quee. 

VI

And the Quangle Wangle said

To himself on the Crumpetty Tree, ---

‘When all these creatures move

What a wonderful noise there’ll be!’

And at night by the light of the Mulberry moon

They danced to the Flute of the Blue Baboon,

On the broad green leaves of the Crumpetty Tree,

And all were as happy as happy could be,

With the Quangle Wangle Quee.

First Light

First Light

The Chichester Festival Theatre programme of productions for the summer festival 2016 plopped onto my front door mat yesterday morning.  Within its pages, one finds a set of two page spreads about the plays and musicals that will form the summer festival and the stars appearing in each of them.

If you become a ‘Friend’ of the theatre, at a bit less than the cost of one ticket, there are some benefits. The reason I do this myself, is not, in all honesty, to be friendly in any way to this, my, really, truly, madly favourite (twin) theatre(s). No. It is because it is almost impossible to get my favourite seats in my favourite theatre, unless you have forked out the £35 smackers to be a ‘Friend’.

The icing on the ‘Friends’ cake, is not the discount, but it is very much, absolutely even, the brief priority booking period, lasting but a few days, that is the main benefit in my eyes. Even then you have to be quick off the mark. Flipping through the booklet before I even sat down comfortably, I realised that this was going to be expensive summer for me because I want to see pretty much every production this year. I opened it up to the first production in the Minerva…. The place that is the closest spot to heaven in my stupid, theatre buff heart. I must see that one. The next two in the main Festival Theatre…. Ooooo must see that, and that. Then I will be back in the Minerva for a new play ‘First Light’,  by Mark Hayhurst. That is a ‘must see’ for me. This is set in the First World War. The Battle of the Somme. I’m going to try to calm down now and stop gabbling at this point before I have a seizure.   

When joining my husband on work trips through France (we have a small antiques import/export business near Arundel), we have driven past this now peaceful place on countless occasions. We usually stop for coffee and a few moments of reflection.  The main noise is now, is just the squawking of ducks and geese.

We have also in out travels spent time in Poperinge in West Flanders, Belgium where the battles also raged on bloody, muddy fields.

Below is a photo of the execution post in the centre of the town where deserters would meet the firing squad. And following that my poetry about seeing that place.

 

 

The Post 

A post, plain iron,

Juts heavenward

From the stone cobbles

In supplication to a deity

Once more offering a son. 

The courtyard is elaborate in style;

Compared to the post. 

Behind the post

A monument;

An image depicting sandbags

Their purpose

To absorb deaths bullets. 

Rising six floors, a narrow round tower

Crowned, church like with an iron finial.

Shamed by the military operation

Performed at the base. 

Bright morning light heralds a new day

Seemingly oblivious

To the figure;

A young soldier

Takes his last breath

Then slumps

At the execution post. 

Shot at dawn.

 

Albert Bottfield 

Twenty eight years old

And found himself at war

Expected to be brave and bold

Midst all the mud and gore. 

Just a private in the army

Huddled fearful in a trench

Explosions driving good men barmy

Trembling held with jaws that clench. 

Terror mounts with each grenade

See good friends ripped apart

Each command must be obeyed

Horror, in his head and heart. 

Another blast, so near this time

Weakening as all valour fades

Endless conflict crouched in grime

Remembered jokes from lost comrades. 

On that early autumn day

As battle raged no end in sight

From his post he ran away

Confused and damaged out of fright. 

Remembering his oath of duty call

Returned from where he fled

A coward held by a prison wall

Shot at dawn, he fell and bled. 

Executed for cowardice. 18^th Oct. 1916 5.50 am

 

 

An Evening of Puccini

Jonas Kaufmann: An Evening of Puccini

Live from La Scala, Milan (In a cinema near you) As the poster states.

 

It must have been a few years now since my husband Steve and I first went to the cinema in Chichester twelve miles away, for one of the exciting new, ‘Live from the New York Met Opera House’. The poster tempted the small time bathtub aria singer with the wording, ‘Direct to a cinema near you’. I seem to recall that that first one was presented by Renée Fleming who spoke of the story, orchestra, famous conductor, cast, set designers and the costumes.  During the interval there was a tour backstage. We thought at the time that it would be an idea that spread as easily as a child blowing the seeds from a dandelion clock. 

What a wonderful concept that was either a clever, cunning or generous concept. This was a way that ordinary people, who had never been to any of the world’s fantastic opera houses, would be able to, not just see inside, but be part of the audience. Apart from experiencing the next best thing to an actual visit to a world class venue, but to smile quietly because the extra thrill was, that you did not have to be rich and famous to buy a ticket since the normal cinema price was only raised a little bit above the normal entrance cost. 

Since that time, we have caught many of these huge treats for ordinary folk, who would never in a million years be able to afford to go to an actual live performance. One has to think that the first one was just an experiment to answer a number of questions from the board of directors. 

Was this a way to make a lot more money to be sunk into future productions?

Would it encourage more people to see if they could learn to like opera?

Would it allow ordinary working people to enjoy opera without the huge cost that is normally attached?

Would cinemas around the world be brave enough to try it? 

Many more questions must have been asked back then before the first bold step was taken. The first time we went, the very first time, the cinema was packed for that one live performance. Now, a new idea has fallen successfully into its natural place, the encore has arrived. Recently the little art house cinemas have joined in the game finding equal success when showing the big productions on two or three dates and various times slots to suit everybody. 

Our most recent tickets were bought to see Jonas Kaufmann in An Evening of Puccini from La Scala, Milan. I have no idea how many hundred euro’s one would have to fork out to go there. Flights, hotels, transport and of course posh clothes, there would be no turning up in jeans and a shirt there. 

We just had to drive eight miles to the Connaught Theatre in Worthing. There was a delightful and informative interview with Jonas before the filmed live concert started. Then alternately there was an orchestral piece from the simply massive amount of musicians or an aria from Jonas. 

I think that opera came to full bloom with the wonderful Maria Callas, Luciano Pavarotti, Plácido Domingo, José Carreras, our own Bryn Terfel and so many other greats, but, I feel that with Jonas Kaufmann we have a new hybrid, a new form, a new breed. This man is something more special even that those former opera greats. Even whilst performing music, one aria at a time, plucked out of the middle of an opera, he can plunge himself into the heart and soul of that character in that opera with such skill that it takes your breath away. He is as great an actor as he is a singer, and heart meltingly handsome. I hesitated before saying that because it sounds a little wet, but its true he is very presentable indeed, every bit the leading man he is playing.  The ultimate in operatic performance.

Culture vulture

 Monet and Shackleton

After just a couple of hours work in the morning that placed us well to take the rest of the day as a jolly, we had an excellent day in London yesterday. We parked in the nearest NCP to the Royal Academy in Piccadilly. It was a simple walk around the block to the entrance where we soon discovered my big mistake of the day.  I had seen a post somewhere on the internet for;   The Modern Garden: Monet to Matisse.  At the RA and also on at the same time was Shackleton’s Antarctic expedition that was on at the Royal Geographical Society. I had checked opening times and such but the error was that I was absolutely sure in my own mind that the Royal Geographical Society was on the left hand side of the courtyard on entering to go to the RA. No it was not. THAT was the Royal Geological Society. I went all around the courtyard a couple of times because I could not believe that I had mis-remembered so badly. Thankfully Steve is a very easy going man and did not get cross about it but instead just laughed at me which was bad enough. Where the other exhibition was on, was a couple of miles away and in London traffic that is far enough.

Since we were at the RA we thought it best to change the order of events and go in there first. This did however involve a long queue where we stood for getting on for two hours. 

We had both been to Monet's home in Giverney where many of the works displayed, were painted, so we were certainly up for this exhibition. I was glad when we finally got inside after standing in a long queue for nearly two hours. I was frozen...Didn't have a coat, just a gillet.

Once into the exhibition it was very crowded but still well worth braving the chilly queue for.  

 We crammed in the Royal Geographical Society's Photographic exhibition of Shackleton and Hurley's Antarctic exploits around 1914-.1917. We both found this display very moving indeed, the photographs were superb and the photos had caught the risky to downright dangerous situation with such feeling, and artistry, even though the working condition’s  were so difficult.  How remarkable that they almost missed a whole war, being so completely out of touch. There is an old film of the Endurance in its death throws that had me transfixed with my hands over my mouth watching a ship being so cruelly crushed by nature. It’s hard to believe that they all got home at all, every last one of them with few of them suffering varying degrees of frostbite.

Famine to Flood

Famine to Flood 

Funny how it life goes isn’t it? We don’t go out as often as a lot of people do but maybe we will go to a movie once a month or so, and usually more evenings out during the summer months. This week though, is more than a bit giddy and we have outings booked five days out of seven and no idea how it happened that way. Sometimes it seems that there is not a movie or show that we fancy for months. Yet last Sunday night we went out to see comedian and west end star Brian Conley, performing less than ten miles from our home at the Pavillion in Worthing with the tour start of his new show ‘Alive and Dangerous’ and yes, we nearly split our sides laughing.

Our next outing up, is a drive to London to the Royal Geographic Society for their Antarctic Legacy of Ernest Shackleton and Frank Hurley, now known I think as The Endurance Exhibition and then straight after that, stepping directly next door to the Royal Academy for the  ‘Painting the Modern Garden: Monet to Matisse.  The on to visit friends on the way home. Such excitement in one day!

Then, on Wednesday evening a movie that we had missed when it was newly released, The Danish Girl, we’ll be going to that with my daughter Jacqueline, who is also on catch up for that. This one is at our local Windmill Cinema in beautiful downtown Littlehampton. Well anyway, at the beauty spot where the River Arun flows into the English Channel.

The following night’s delight is one of those, ‘direct from the opera house to local cinema’ performance by our favourite operatic tenor Jonas Kaufmann in an Evening of Puccini and for that we will troop in to the Connaught theatre cinema, where my mum used to work as an usherette when I was a child. Of yes, I was a child once! The week will be rounded off by a dinner with friends for a birthday celebration. We will need three weeks rest to get over all the excitement.

Stunningly for me and my easy going husband, this February week has gone not from Flood to Famine but quite the opposite; From Famine to full blown Flood.

Variety is indeed the spice of life.

Rest Day?

The weekend for us is not a lazy time as it is for many who take a few hour hours extra sleep and think that it will benefit them in some way. Instead Saturday and Sunday are often days when we have a little more time to enjoy our sport. I find it interesting and quite telling that within our circle of friends, who also enjoy keeping themselves as fit as they can, that a good number of them serve as fire or police officers, as well as quite a few for work in the medical profession as nurses, doctors or paramedics. They need to be fit and strong for their lifestyle that involves helping people who have not taken care of their own health. Why do so many other people not see the benefit of a little training as an aid to their general health. Its a most enormous mystery to me, totally baffling. We are surely all responsible for ourselves, our safety and our own health. The other day I saw a sign that read 'There is no elevator to success you have to take the stairs'. Well that goes for your health and fitness too surely; you have to make the effort or pay the price.
The following are about my training for my sport of triathlon. Sometimes it is not easy but I do it anyway for the long term aim but other days it is simple fun or sheer joy. 

Not Thinking in Water

 

Moving well within my comfort zone

Strokes fitting my normal breathing pace

All muscles relaxed yet still in tone

Falling through thoughts unknown

Like floating off into deepest space. 

Swimming seems so natural and calm

Warm up pace, steady, slow, not in a race

A physical offering like a quiet psalm

Dreams of Hawaii and a swaying palm

Leave concentration and with peace replace.  

From all work and duty a mind is thrown

Moving so calmly in a state of grace

Out of muscle memory ease has grown

Seeds so long ago were casually sown

Of starting struggles there is no trace. 

Over time these movements became balm

Practice worked out what faults to efface

Water slips over a mouth and thinks no harm

Silken movement the body doth becalm

Pleasures repetition; sense of touch embrace. 

Breathing’s normal rhythm unthinking known

Hands skilfully hold the water to displace

In peace, with nought for which to atone

Just a swimmer swimming slowly all alone

No wrong to right or satisfaction chase .

 

Turning, Turning

Turning legs in circles riding a bicycle

Layers of clothes yet feel like an icicle

Stationary though with the TV on

Bed vacated and all sleep gone

Six o’clock on a winter morn

In December that’s still short of dawn

Better than road riding in the dark

Jack Frost has big teeth like a shark

Oh please God will you make it warmer

Can spring be around the very next corner?

 

Running for Reward 

Every weekend in the morning on our day of rest

We get up quickly and don a light running vest

We drive a few miles to the usual place to meet

Sun glasses on our face and trainers on our feet

Two start earlier than the other friend

Tortoise and hare we play until the end

We all stretch our bodies chatting one to another

Soothing out muscles to help us recover

Virtuously exercised and scenery well noted

We then take turns to see which tea shop is voted

Which of the pleasures is greater we ask for a lark

The coffee house visit or the run in the park?

 

 

 

 

End of the dark days

 When Steve and I left the house at 6.15am this week for our thrice weekly early morning swim sessions, there was just the tiniest hint of pre-dawn light edging into the sky to the east. 'So what', you might be thinking. Well, it made me smile, and the reason for that is, that a find the long dark nights and the short days of mid winter very trying. Much as I do try not to wish my life away, considering that time starts to pass very quickly as one grows older anyway, but I find the winter hard and miserable and never ending. This is why I love our winter holiday in St Moritz where the tourist office claim that they have well over three hundred days of sunshine per year, as opposed to the storm after storm, after storm that we have suffered in the UK. Imogen, being the last named storm at this stage and that made her, (Little Madam) number nine.

I wrote this light hearted piece sitting by a sunny window looking out toward the mountains in the Engadin Valley in Switzerland.

The Shortest Day 

The shortest day

I have to say

Pleases me

Because you see

Dark is still here

But it is with sheer

Delight to me to know

Short days will slowly go

One by one they’ll fade

To long winter, put paid

The long journey of the sun

Is now over and done

The solar ticket is paid

Return not to be delayed

For very much longer

My heart already stronger

My spirit lifted high

My relief heard in a sigh

Wicked winter half way gone

Spring will soon be upon

Us all with flowers bright

But more importantly,

With LIGHT!

 

Recent travels

Recently I have gone along with my husband Steve on some work trips again. I used to nearly always go with him both to help out and for company on long trips. That came to a halt during the last few years of Steve's mum's slow downward spiral when I stayed home to be her prime carer until her death in December 2014. There was a lot to take care of after her death due to the fact that she had kept every birthday and Christmas card, every invoice from every store she ever telephone shopped at since the flood. Going through a departed persons belongings is not something that can be done quickly. It has to be done carefully just in case there is something important in amongst all the papers that have been tied in bundles, carefully wrapped, placed in an outer bag and tied again. Most of it does get burned as its sorted. Bank statements going back to wartime and all sorts of useless documents. Letters sent and received. EVERY letter ever received. Some charming loving letters from wartime and a few sweet letters from her nephew Michael when he was at boarding school, writing to ask his aunt and uncle to send him some sweeties. Every photo ever taken. You would not believe how tightly and cleverly all these items can be hidden away.
Even though I am the daughter-in-law, it is still an emotional job and after plodding away at it for a month or so, I had to slow it down to a measured amount a week so that I could return to some sort of life of my own. It is now fourteen months since Caroline Mary Belt died at the age of 94. I have nowhere near completed sorting out her papers that were so tightly stored away. Now, I just take a handful out every few weeks and hope to eventually get to the end.
Even though we were not always on the most friendly terms, I was for sure the one she would call when she felt unwell or when something private needed doing. I may not have been her number one loved one, but I know for sure that I was her most trusted and dependable choice of person. Still after all this time I find myself close to tears writing about all this. One can only do ones best and plod on day after day through whatever life throws at you.

So now and again I can now drop everything and join Steve on a work trip because I do not have to make any complicated arrangements to leave home any more. I am more or less free again, to be my own person and a wife/companion once more.

Last week our work travels took us from our business premises and off through the channel tunnel in one of our work vehicles. Karlsruhe in Germany and on to Markdorf close to the border with Switzerland for deliveries. It was Fasching in Germany so that was quite fun to see all the people dressed up in a variety of costumes for the traditional pre-lent fling and I would say more than a little over indulgence.

From Markdorf we drove back into the Black Forrest for our second overnight stop near Hinterzarten.

Thick snow fell during that afternoon and into the night to leave a foot of snow. Thankfully the road for cleared for us to start our journey the next day. The one place we had to pick up goods was a scrap metal yard in the flea market of Saint Ouen in Paris, very close to where the recent terrorist shoot out was that was the main news item a few weeks before. The last delivery due to an unexpected change of plan had us driving back toward and a little beyond Bordeux before we were finally able to head along the long road home.

 

To make the journey pass quickly we take several audio books with us and that is a help and a half with the endless motorway miles. My husband and I are best friends as well as husband and wife and love to be together and so the work trips are improved with the company of one to another, sharing a coffee, a meal or an overnight stop. We both love to travel together and are both Cartophiles which is a name we use to describe people who, like us, love maps.

Yes, it is nice to get home again and sleep in our own bed, but we both enjoy travelling even when it involves work.