That July and My Husband and Other Men

                                                                          

 Dear Reader,

I have put on two poems today because one is very short.  Short but to the point.  Geoffrey and I were staying in Marrakesh, North Africa on holiday.  We had a small room and bathroom in the grounds of the hotel which were cleaned by an African woman who spoke no English.  However she and I became friends and I was always delighted to see her when she came in the morning.  We just spoke in sign language and laughed a lot.  I think she came from the Berber tribe that lived in the mountains behind the hotel and went back there in the evening.  But the point of this tale is that Geoffrey couldn't understand how I became friends with someone who couldn't speak the same language as me.  Easily, I told him, it is the way we smile, use our hands, hold our bodies, cross our arms and so on.  We hugged when I left, and I was sorry to say goodbye.

 

                                                                           Marrakesh

                                                                                   *

My sweet peas are coming out now but not in profusion.  I remember as a child visiting a friend's house and seeing in amazement rows upon rows of beautiful sweet peas, smelling delicious.  How do I get mine to come out as I remember in my youth?

                                                                                    *

From S.T. Coleridge  July 25th 1800 in Westmorland

'We drank tea to-night before I left Grasmere, on the island in that lovely lake; our kettle swung over the fire, hanging from the branch of a fir-tree, and I lay and saw the woods, and the mountains, and lake all trembling, and as it were idealized through the subtle smoke, which rose up from the clear, red embers of the fir-apples which we had collected:  afterwards we made a glorious bonfire on the margin, by some elder-bushes, whose twigs heaved and sobbed in the uprushing column of smoke, and the image of the bonfire, and of us that danced round it, ruddy, laughing faces in the twilight; the image of this in a lake, smooth as that sea to whose waves the Son of God had said Peace!

                                                                                    *

That July

we planned to walk
along the river bank,
play bridge,
stay overnight in
a superior hotel,
eat in a white dining room,
exchange gossip, news,
make jokes.

But someone-other
planned other-wise.
No river walks, or talks,
or jokes.
A fatal illness struck,
marked "no reprieve",
with no allowance
for two days under a sunny sky,
our special summer treat,

that July.

                                                                                *

My Husband and Other Men

My husband is from heaven
well, he is close to God;
but goodness me, even so,
I do find men are odd.

                                                                                  *

With very best wishes, Patricia

Sleep Snare

 Dear Reader,

I have always had much difficulty in sleeping and often wake up twice in the night.  I go downstairs and make myself a cup of tea and that usually allows me to go back to sleep after a little while.   

I thought it would be interesting to read a bit about sleep and here are my findings: around 400BC it was thought that the drop in the surface temperature of a sleeping person was the cause of sleep. But it was in 162 AD that Galen identified the brain, rather than the heart, as the seat of consciousness.

Much like breathing and eating, sleep is a natural function.  There are several theories as to why we need sleep.  One of them suggests that rest became a survival adaption that allowed creatures to become quiet and still when they would be most vulnerable.  The second theory suggests that sleep allows living beings to minimize their energy, especially if food sources are scarce, since your metabolism slows down when you are asleep.

Researcher Roger Ekirch points to evidence that segmented sleep patterns were common during the Middle Ages and Renaissance. During this time it was considered a regular habit to have a first and second rest period during the night while experiencing a peaceful wake time in between.

                                                                                    *

From Gilbert White  July 20th 1778 in Hampshire

'Much thunder.  Some people in the village were struck down by the storm, but not hurt.  The stroke seemed to them like a violent push or shove.  The ground is well soaked.  Wheat much lodged (laid flat).'

From Francis Kilvert  July 22 1873 in Cornwall

'Today the heat was excessive and as I sat reading under the lime I pitied the poor haymakers toiling in the burning Common where it seemed to be raining fire.'

                                                                                      Sleep Snare

I lie awake and hear
the clock strike three,
and wonder how to
snare elusive sleep,
how to capture it,
how to find
its hiding place
and coax it back to bed.
I might entice it
with crimson berries,
or butter croissants
then pounce on it,
and let it loose
inside my head.
But sharp is cunning sleep
it knows the tricks,
is bored of counting sheep.

I must fly northwards
to the moon
and let sleep take me

soon

                                                                                                  

                                                                                                             soon

 

 

                                                                                                                        soon

     

With very best wishes, Patricia                                                                                

A Table for One

Dear Reader, 

The strange windows in the photographs are "witch windows" mostly found in old farmhouses in Vermont,USA. Tilted sideways at 45 degrees from vertical walls they can confound architectural aesthetics, discombobulating the eye.   Folklore says that they were designed to prevent entry by witches who were believed to be unable to fly their broomsticks through crooked openings.

                                                                                *

I understand that there are mice at Buckingham Palace, trotting about where they will.  The Palace is a very old building and is exposed to a variety of pests. The house mouse is generally a nocturnal animal, although it can be active in the day time during food shortages. Apparently Barack Obama didn't tell his wife, Michelle, about the mice when they spent a night there, as she is terrified of mice.  

Mice moving around rely on their speed and agility to remain unspotted and escape predators.  The only purpose they travel is to get food and while mice are timid, they can bite.  They eat anything they can lay their paws on including their own droppings. They are sensitive to bright lights and have poor eyesight but survival instincts cause them to avoid larger animals and being active at night helps them avoid being seen by predators, as well as people. 

I have had mice in every house I have ever lived in and they terrify me too.

                                                                               *

From Gilbert White, 1786, July 15th in Hampshire

'Made jellies, and jams of red currants.   Gathered broad beans.....The cat gets upon the roof of the house, and catches young bats as they come forth from behind the sheet of lead at the bottom of the chimney.'

From Samuel Pepys, 1667, July 14th in Surrey

......in the cool of the evening all the way.....We had the pleasure to see several glow-worms which was might pretty.'

                                                                              *

A Table for One

The woman sat alone
in a corner
at a table for one.
She ate slowly
sipped from a wine glass.

I guess she was middle-aged
or a little older,
an ordinary woman
who seemed immensely sad.

She started talking to herself
he mouth making silent words,
took a handkerchief from her pocket
and wiped her eyes.

What was her story?
had she been to this hotel before
with a lover who had left her,
did she come back to this place
to grieve each year?

I don't know her story
but she touched my heart.
I longed to cheer her,
speak to her but I said nothing.
I often think of her,
wish I had been braver.

                                                                                *

With very best wishes, Patricia

Emma Alpha Plus

 Dear Reader

                                                                                     Emma and Sam

Dear reader,

I can hardly believe that Emma, my granddaughter, is now 26 years old.  I am often awake in the night and think about my life and where it has gone.  I think about Emma and remember her as a little girl and then a teenager, university and then work in the big wide world. Grand children are such a blessing they keep us oldies up to date with the latest fashions and fads.  Emma took me to the Soho Farmhouse for lunch and I was astonished and amazed.  The whole concept seemed more like Hollywood than the Cotswolds but I was very impressed and had a lovely time.  

But one thing struck me of course.  There were no poor people there.  This is a place for the rich and sometimes, famous.  I read in the paper that Victoria and David Beckham dive in for lunch sometimes and I saw that Harry and Meghan visit when they are nearby. The car park was full of Mercedes and 4x4's, not a Mondeo in sight.  I thought you need to be rich to go to exotic places but Emma has just come back from South America where she had a wonderful time going everywhere by bus.  

Next week I will be back to the cafe in Witney, not exotic but cosy and familiar.

                                                                                       *

From Dorothy Wordsworth, 1802, July 7th in Westmorland

'In the morning William nailed up the trees while I was ironing.  We lay sweetly in the orchard....The orchard full of foxgloves.   The honeysuckle beautiful- plenty of roses, but they are battered...Walked on the White Moss.  Glow-worms.  Well for them children are in bed when they shine.'

From John Ruskin, 1847, July 12th in Warwickshire

'Much struck......in coming from London by the lovely green of everything; certainly England gains more by summer or rather loses more in winter than any country I have seen in both seasons.'

From Samuel Pepys, 1667, July 13th in London

'Mighty hot weather, I lying this night, which I have not done, I believe, since a boy, with only a rug and sheet upon me.'

                                                                                    *

Emma Alpha Plus

Emma
the little one
frightened to be left
at night
shared my bed
snuggled up with me
listened to nursery rhymes
on an old tape recorder

we went to the swings
sat on a bench
ate crisps

she grew and we went to
the Wildlife Park
stared at the monkeys

we watched Maisie Mouse
over and over again
and in her teens
The Sound of Music

she worked hard at school
had problems with her
heart over beating and never
complained

She went to college
got a distinction
will go to Brighton to study
in September next year

She is helpful, enthusiastic
puts her all into everything
is engaging and funny

She is alpha plus

I loved her and looked after her
and now she looks after me

                                                                               *

With very best wishes, Patricia

                                                                                         

Spaces In Betweeen

 Dear reader,

 

Perhaps some of you missed the most ridiculous story I have ever heard in the news last week.  For those of you who might not have read about it or heard of it on the news here it is. Two school girls aged 13, pupils at a school in the south of England argued with a fellow pupil, in the same class and the same age, as this pupil now identifies as a cat.  She is a cat, she says.  The two pupils said that this was nonsense but the teacher didn't agree, and she  then gave them a severe telling off.  If this girl said she was a cat then that is what she was and make no mistake, she said. 

Apparently there are other pupils all over the UK identifying as cats, dinosaurs, and even the moon.  The dinosaur is given strips of meat to eat at lunch time.  The whole gender debate is beyond me.  Surely a woman with a vagina and a man with a penis are a woman and a man, and that is that.  But no I am wrong apparently.  There are lots of different genders, so anyone could be anything they chose including all sorts of animals.  Whatever next?,  I ask myself.  In fact I ask myself whatever next very often these days.

 

                                                                                 *

From William Cowper, 1782, July 3rd, in Buckinghamshire

'I shiver with cold on this present third of July....Last Saturday night the cold was so severe that it  pinched off many of the young shoots of peach-trees....The very walnuts, which are now no bigger than small hazelnuts drop to the ground; and the flowers, though they blow, seem to have lost their odours.  I walked with your mother yesterday in the garden, wrapped up in a winter surcoat, and found myself not at all encumbered by it.'

From Dorothy Wordsworth, 1802, July 5th, in Westmorland

'A very sweet morning.   William stayed some time in the orchard....It came on a heavy rain, and we would not go to Dove Nest as we had intended.....The roses in the garden are fretted and battered and quite spoiled, the honey suckle, though in its glory, is sadly teazed.  The peas are beaten down.  The scarlet beans want sticking. The garden is overrun with weeds.'

                                                                                        *

Spaces In Between

Always full of uplifting music
Mozart, Chopin, or Vivaldi,
soothing sounds amongst
the shelves of books
resting in every cranny,
gentle voices talking quietly
discussing perhaps Jane Austen
or Philip Larkin.
A small white jug full of daisies
roses or sweet peas.

Now the space is taken
with other folk, other types.
Madonna or Guns and Roses
belt out noisy music,
croissant and pain au chocolat
are served with lattes,
eggs are fried, burgers eaten,
talk is of themselves,
their lives,
and no flowers in a small white jug.

Same space, different time.

                                                                                *

With best wishes, Patricia