Pet Pride Teething

I think Frodo may have been a dentist or a doctor in a previous life as he is always the first dog to fuss over ailments in any of the animals in his family, including the humans.

Lately he has been paying a great deal of attention to Gus's mouth which Gus has thoroughly enjoyed.

As soon as Frodo stops licking Gus paws at his nose to ask him to resume!

Frodo usually obliges!

Oh, bliss!

Thank you to Bozo and his human for organising and hosting this meme. To see more wonderful pets please click here.

Today's Flowers #77

My flowers today are not real but representations. My mother was a skilled needlewoman and produced many lovely things in her lifetime.

The first photograph is of roses. There was quite a lot of gold thread in it; metallic threads are very difficult to work with - they twist and knot, or separate, and it is hard to create even stitches.

The second photo is a close-up of three of the roses.

The third embroidery is bright and cheerful. My parents loved gardening and their garden was always filled with colour and interest which attracted birds and insects.
Thank you to the Today's Flowers team who work so hard to organise this weekly meme.
To see more flowers please click here.

Camera Critters #95

This morning I noticed what looked like a dried-up leaf in the small space between two cupboard doors. However, there was no possibility that any plant had been anywhere near these particular cupboards so I resisted the impulse to remove it and looked a little closer. It was a moth.It was beautifully marked and soon identified as an adult Angle Shades (Phlogophora meticulosa) The adults usually fly between May and October but can be seen at any time of the year. It is quite common in the south of Britain and can often be seen resting on dead flower heads, fences or walls, where its camouflage makes it inconspicuous. The larvae live on plants like Berberis, Hazel, Oak, Silver Birch, Hops, Geraniums and Chrysanthemums. They will also feed on docks, nettles, chickweed, ivy and brambles.
Its main predator is the ichneumon wasp (Ophion luteus)
(This is my 500th post!)
Thank you to Misty Dawn for hosting this meme (hope you're feeling better soon!) To see more Critters please click here.

Today's Flowers #76 Tulips again!

The tulips I bought last week - and photographed so hurriedly - have opened and are now dropping their petals. Barry took macro photos of the anther and stamens of each remaining bloom and it was interesting to note the difference in the anthers.

I don't suppose it signifies anything?

Thanks must go to the TF team for their continued hard work in organising and hosting this pretty and popular meme. To see more beautiful blooms from around the world please click here.

Hair Affairs #2 and other ramblings

Chris from 'Life on the hill' told me how her twin brother cut off one of her plaits – just one! How cruel! Did he cut off the first and immediately regret it? Did he think the reprimands would be only half as severe if he left one plait in place? Perhaps Chris ran away. You will have to ask her! It woke distant memories of which only one is really related to hair.

My brother is six years older than me and occasionally he would be obliged to suffer my company; at such times our views on life showed marked differences. If we played cricket in our long narrow garden I was always the batsman so that he could practise his bowling. Pleased to have his attention I stood for what seemed like hours trying to hit the ball and generally missing.

I enjoyed writing and boasted one day that I could write about any subject – oh, the conceit of youth! Brian then said, 'Write about nothing' and I was completely stumped. What should an eight-year-old know about such a concept? It was an effective way to shut me up for I was a chatty child while he, from a young age, was introspective.

Sometimes Brian would be forced to entertain me at weekends to give my parents some time to themselves. 'Let's imagine' was my favourite pastime and I would appoint rôles – 'You be the King and I'll be the Princess.' Some days we were what we then called 'Red Indians'. (Years later my brother worked with the Tsilhquot'in people by which time we had all learned not to insult them so.) He must have been thoroughly disenchanted by the heady imaginings of a romantically-inclined sibling. One day 'Let's imagine I've been captured and tied up in a tower and you've got to come and rescue me' (shades of Rapunzel, I think) must have irritated him inordinately because he tied me to a drainpipe by my plaits and wandered off to follow more interesting pursuits. Caught up in the game I waited patiently for his return but it was my sister, fifteen years my senior, who rescued me.

While my brother quite understandably seemed to resent spending time with me, my sister loved to take me out. We would go shopping on a Saturday morning, spending much time in W.H. Smith where I would select a book and read as much as I could before we had to move on. Before we returned home on the bus we usually went to 'Lyon's Corner House' for refreshments, another little treat I really appreciated. I'm sure those trips were the basis for my life-long fascination with stationery. I find it difficult to resist the lure of little notebooks with pristine pages and neatly packaged pencils and pens. Envelopes, files, folders and note paper always draw my eye. Coloured paper clips, especially the ones in the form of miniature clothes pegs, and drawing pins in their neat little transparent boxes are irresistible and I can even rhapsodise (almost) over packets of elastic bands and the variety of staplers and drawing pins. A new book of plain pages is to be savoured before being despoiled. The first mark is carefully made but I'm no calligrapher and my scrawl soon turns the special into the commonplace. I love the smell of ink even though my 'writer's bump' seemed to be almost permanently stained when I was at school.

However, for much of the time I amused myself. I loved reading aloud, often to myself or to whoever would listen and would regularly call into various shops on my way home from primary school to read to owners who were friends of my parents. I read voraciously, losing myself in classics like 'Black Beauty' or 'Heidi' or 'Anne of Green Gables'. I would emerge hours later, sometimes in tears, and immediately turn to the beginning again. My mother understood for she had a similar relationship with books. Words have a profound effect when used to draw in the reader. To this day I cannot read aloud Oscar Wilde's 'The Happy Prince' without tears springing to my eyes. Michael Morpurgo's 'The Butterfly Lion' has a similar effect on me. I always enjoyed reading to the classes I taught – indeed I considered it essential – but frequently I had to stop and explain to the children that I was overcome and sometimes suggest that they should continue to read on their own if they wished so to do. At other times I was overcome with mirth and could not continue.

Almost as much as reading I enjoyed playing the piano – or perhaps that should be playing at the piano. My father was a very good pianist and encouraged me in my endeavours. I could never get to grips with tonic sol-fa so was never able to vamp like he could or change key and carry on. My eyes were – and still are – firmly fixed on the black marks on the manuscript. I had lessons for about a year and then my teacher had a baby and that was the end of my formal training. Nevertheless I continued to 'play' the piano, my fervid imagination conjuring up an appreciative audience for my outstanding performances. I can still play – badly - 'Für Elise' without music and part of 'Moonlight Sonata' (I was keen on Beethoven!) The only other piece I can play without reference to the printed note is the Battle Hymn of the Republic ('Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord' or 'John Brown's Body') The problem with my piano-playing was that I liked to practise in the evenings, quite late, and my parents finally became rather weary of me hammering out Chopin's Funeral March or Rachmaninov's Prelude in C# minor at 11:00 pm. They didn't say anything as far as I can recall but one day I came home to find that my father had chopped up the piano! I don't remember being upset and I'm quite sure they were relieved and looking forward to peaceful early nights in bed.

I also thought I had a dramatic flair and would perform on top of the coal bunker, which became a spotlit stage in my mind. Despite never having had dancing lessons I attempted to tap and twirl as I sang. We didn't have many neighbours which was probably fortunate. We did have a garden wall, however, which became my trusty steed. I desperately wanted to learn to ride – I did eventually, when my own children were little and learning too. Thank goodness my parents didn't have a video camera or its early ancestor. By the time they had a ciné-camera I was older and had grown far too self-conscious to do more than grin, chimp-like, in the general direction of the device.

So, although I spent a good deal of time on my own I was never lonely and rarely bored. I am grateful to my parents for actively encouraging me – and my siblings – to find pleasure and solace in books and in so doing to develop a life-long passion and desire for the printed word.

Just for fun . . .

Susannah sent me this link  - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9f-6jygRJk - to a YouTube video clip. I defy you to watch it without smiling!

Twelfth Night or What You Will

In our garden

Twelfth Night, 6^th January, marks the Feast of the Epiphany. The Christian church celebrates the arrival of the Wise Men in Bethlehem who had followed the bright star in the east to bring gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh to the baby in the manger.

It is thought unlucky to leave decorations in place after the Twelfth Day of Christmas. Accordingly, though I am not superstitious, I always ensure that all seasonal ornaments are removed and put away. ('Putting away' means that the components are placed in a box and left on the landing beneath the loft, occasionally usually for an entire year!) By the time January 6^th dawns I am more than a little tired of seeing bright cards, decorated greenery, coloured lights and angel chimes and simply want to bring some order normality back into our lives. 'Order' is entirely the wrong noun to use in connection with us!

It is ironic that as we reach the end of the festive season and take one last look at cards depicting robins in wintery scenes and snowmen sporting woolly scarves and hats in deep snow which we did not experience here in the South that now snow is falling! It started yesterday around 6:00 pm and continued throughout the night. It has carried on today and the sky still looks full of it. Schools across our county and neighbouring counties have not opened and the roads are strangely quiet apart from children relishing an extra holiday and discovering how deep the snow fall is. It is approaching 30 centimetres (12 inches or 1 foot)

Now it may seem strange that everything grinds to a halt when bad weather strikes. It is not entirely unheard of for snow to fall in winter, particularly in the northerly parts of these islands. However, the roads cannot be salted if stocks are not readily available. There are only three salt 'mines' in the country so replenishing supplies can involve drivers travelling for several hours to their nearest depot to fill their gritting trucks. Once there they face a wait of six hours or so as the queue is long and then they make a return journey of many more hours. Meanwhile council spokesmen speak in interviews of being 'let down' by their suppliers though they acknowledge that the contractors are doing their best to satisfy everyone's requirements. Why are there only three salt dumps? It seems that contractors and local councils could not agree a price for providing more storage sites which begs the question of what our local councils actually do for their money. No doubt many of our councillors are worthy souls, working hard for the good of the community. The leader of our council earns is paid approximately the same amount as President Barack Obama. Mr Obama represents or answers to over 303 million people from widely differing locations and with complex and sometimes seemingly insurmountable problems and requirements. Our local council serves around 160,000 people in a largely affluent area where employment is high and poverty and crime, though present, very low. Local councils are not responsible for supplying gas, electricity, water or sewage. The services they administer include police, fire, educational institutes, refuse collection, social housing, parks and open spaces and libraries.

Furthermore, 20% of the local council taxes we are obliged to pay go into the pension fund for these civil servants. The councillors may choose to retire on full index-linked pension at the age of 50, ten to fifteen years before the normal retirement age. So, I ponder again what these folks do. I just looked on the website and there is no contact email for 'snow clearance on roads' – that figures!

Happy New Year!

There's a pond under there! Last night Gus practised a little ice-skating out there. I just hope our fish are surviving but the pond has plenty of deep water for them to swim in and there are air holes - I think!