Journeys

                                                                     Kilimanjaro
 

 

Dear Reader,

 I put this poem on the blog this week to remind me of the many journeys I have taken in my long life and now, sadly, can no longer enjoy except from the sitting room sofa.  My most favourite travel experience was going to Marrakesh in the 1970's.  It was just so different from anywhere I had ever been.  I went to school in Paris as a teenager and stayed in Gibraltar with an aunt and uncle in the 1950s but had never seen anything like the colour and wonder of Marrakesh.  I went with my first husband who was very handsome, blond blue eyed and tall.  And he was followed everywhere with promises of exotic times with the young boy's mother, sister, aunt,  themselves.  I didn't count at all.  I loved the golds, yellows and all the rich colours in the Sioux, and seeing camels trotting down the streets was so exciting to me. I think of that holiday with lovely memories, it was so different from Europe.

 

       

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Francis has been in hospital this week again with the dreaded UTI  (Urine Tract Infection).  It is a beastly disease and apparently very difficult to get rid of and he has been very unwell.  I had it too and am not sure it has entirely gone even with the help of anti-bio tics.  I hate pills and frequently think they do more harm than good with the side effects.

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from Gerard Manley Hopkins    May 3rd  1866 in Oxford

Cold.   Morning raw and wet, afternoon fine......Cowslips capriciously colouring meadows in creamy drifts.  Bluebells, purple orchids.   Over the green water of the river passing the slums of the town and under the bridges swallows shooting, blue and purple above and shewing their amber-tinged breasts reflected int the water. 

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Journeys

 

Young,
we fly to distant places,
walk the Silk Road,
swim in the Nile,
climb Kilimanjaro,
sail the great seas,
picnic in the desert
under the stars.

 

Middle aged, with children,
we travel to Europe,
walk in the hills,
ski, surf board, visit museums,
exclaim at the Eiffel Tower,
swim in rivers,
raid the High Streets.

Grandparents, and old now,

we travel all over the world,
enjoy lions in Africa,
natives dancing in Bali,
big white whales in vast oceans,
and explore National Parks

while drinking cups of tea,
preparing for the unknown

and longest journey.

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Cardigan

 Dear reader,

 

The Wind in the Willows is almost every bodies favourite book and story.  It certainly is mine.  Wouldn't it be lovely fun to visit Mole in his underground house full of sardine tins and dust. But so wonderfully cosy and endearing. And then Mr Toad was a character wasn't he?  I am not sure that he isn't a bit like Donald Trump, full of threats and arrogance.  Still I feel fond of him.  Ratty of course was wonderful, witty and sensible and protected Mr. Mole who was less so, but sweet and lovable.  Their adventures were edge of the chair especially in the Wild Wood.  Well if you didn't read the book do go out and buy a copy.  it should entrance you.

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I had a horrible infection which is only just going.  I sometimes think that the pills to help get rid of it are worse that the infection its self.  Getting old is such a bugger, as King George V might have said.

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From Dorothy Wordsworth     April 29th   1802   Westmorland

A beautiful morning - the sun shone and all was pleasant.  William lay, and I lay, in the trench under the fence- he with his eyes shut, and listening to the waterfalls and the birds.   There was one waterfall above another - and it was a sound of waters in the air - the voice of the air.   William heard me breathing and rustling now and then, but we both lay still, and unseen by one another; he thought that it would be as sweet thus to lie so in the grave, to her the peaceful sounds of the earth, and just to know that our dear friends were near. 

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Cardigan

 

Why is it that it makes

me feel safe?

 

I ease myself into it

do all the buttons up,

am encased in warmth

and love and security,

it envelops and hugs me,

the cardigan is my shell.

 

What is it about my cardigan

that makes me think of

honey sandwiches,

daisies in a china vase,

a curled up dog in basket,

doves cooing on the roof,

Ratty, Mole and Badger

and possibly Mr. Toad?

 

The cardigan is safety,

reminds me of nanny,

her ponds face cream

her lavender water

her loving arms and

her kisses.

 

Cardigan, the forever garment of love.

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

 

 

 

Sorry No Blog this Week

 Dear Reader,

 

Have not got over my infection yet so no energy for blog this week, I apologize.

 

Have a good and happy week and take my best wishes with you,

 

Patricia 

Quickening

 Dear reader,

 

Cherry blossoms, or sakura, are deeply embedded in Japanese culture with a history spanning over 1,000 years, symbolizing transience, beauty and renewal.   Originating as a way to predict harvests, hanami (flower viewing) became popular in the 18th century, representing samurai, honor and ephemeral nature of life.

According to HuffPost it is widely held consensus that the origin of the first cherry blossoms happened somewhere in the Himalayas, Eurasia, but scholars posit that the blossoms may have reached Japan around several thousand years ago.

Cherry blossoms mark the arrival of spring, a season of new beginnings and rebirth.   Their short life span, blossoming for just a couple of weeks serves as a powerful reminder of the transience of life and the importance of cherishing every moment.  It is said that the oldest cherry blossom tree is between 1,800  and 2,000 years old.

 

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From Francis Kilvert    April 18th  1876 in Wiltshire

'This morning I married John Knight and Elizabeth Austin at Langley Burrell Church.  It ws April weather with showers and gleams by whiles.....Rice and flowers were showered upon the bride in the porch and churchyard.  There were three carriages, with greys and postilions in Scarlet. '

 

From Samuel Pepys   April 22nd  1664 in Kent

'I was called up this morning before four o'clock.  It was full light to dress myself:   and so by water against tide, it being a little cool, to Greenwich; and thence only that it was somewhat foggy till the sun got up to some height, walked with great pleasure to Woolwich, in my way staying several times to listen to the nightingales. 

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Quickening

 

 

 

 

I want the pulse of life that has been asleep

to wake, embrace me, put on the light.

To hear the thrush, song-repeat, to keep

my trust in God to hurry icy winter’s flight.

I want to glimpse, under sodden leaves, green shoots

to announce life’s circle, its beginnings, have begun.

I want to run barefoot, abandon boots,

to walk through primrose paths, savour the sun.

I want to take off winter’s dress, change its season,

to see the coloured petticoats of spring, bloom

and show us mortals nature’s reason

to start afresh, admire the peacock’s plume.

Cellar the coal, brush the ashes from the fire,

I want to intertwine, my love, quicken, feel desire.

 

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 I have been doing a few sketches on Instagram which you might like to see.  I just did them for fun because I haven't been feeling very well lately and they make me laugh and cheer me up. Perhaps you will enjoy them, I did them with my daughter Jessica and my two grandchildren.

 

 

 

 

With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

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The Date Jar

 Dear reader,

 

Marmalade originated from ancient Greek and Roman quince pastes, with the name deriving from the Portuguese 'marmelada.'  In the 16th and 17th centuries this firm, sugary, fruit paste formula evolved in Britain into a citrus preserve using imported Seville oranges, becoming a popular quintessential British breakfast staple by the 18th/19th centuries, largely popularized by Scottish commercial production.

The tale that Mary Queen of Scots ate it when sick, supposingly sparking the name "Marie Malade", is generally considered a myth.  Modern marmalade has existed since the 1700s when the Scots added water to marmalade to male it less solid than before.

James Keiller founded the first marmalade factory in 1997, so the story of the Keiller Dundeed marmalade is difficult to avoid.  The myth goes that marmalade was invented in Dundee by the wife of a grocer named James Keiller after he bought a loaf of discounted and unsalable oranges from a storm blasted cargo ship. 

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Toast, butter and marmalade make for me, a perfect breakfast or supper.

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From Dorothy Wordsworth    April 6th   1798   in Somerset

'Walked a short distance up the lesser Coombe, with an intention of going to the source of the brook, but the evening closing in, cold prevented us. The Spring still advancing very slowly.  The horse-chestnuts budding, and the hedgerows beginning to look green, but nothing fully expanded.'

From Gilbert White    April 8th    1770 in Hampshire

'No birds sing. and no insects appear during this wintry sharp season. '

From Gilbert White   April 11th  1790 in Oxford

'Thames very full and beautiful, after so much dry weather wheat looks well; meadows dry, and scorched; roads very dusty.'

 

                                                                               

The Date Jar

(after cancer operation)

 

On the breakfast table I noticed

the date jar, 

hiding a little behind the cereals,

the milk, the marmalade, the sugar bowl,

and a small jug full of early daffodils.

 

The date jar?

 

My throat constricted.

It was the thought he had had,

laying things out,

that I might like a date,

that touched the chord.

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

Absent

 Dear reader, 

 

Lawn daises or "day's eyes" are native to Europe and have been used for centuries for their medicinal properties, folklore, and as popular lawn decorations.

Originally used by Romans for wounds, they have evolved from a traditional spring herb to a widely recognized often tolerated component of short-mown turf, particularly in the UK.

In the 14th century they were used in ointments for gout and fever.  Henry VIII reputedly ate them to treat stomach ulcers.

Daisies symbolize innocence and purity.  In Norse mythology they were sacred to Freya, the goddess of love and fertility.   In Celtic love they represented the spirits of children who died in infancy.

While treated as a weed in pristine, modern chemically treated lawns, they are also recognised as important early season food source for bees and as an alternative to bare soil.

 

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From Gilbert White   March 31st   1768 in Hampshire

'Black weather.  Cucumber fruit swells.   Rooks sit.  This day the dry weather has lasted a month.' 

 

From Gilbert White   March 31st 1771 in Hampshire

'The face of the earth naked to a surprising degree.  Wheat hardly to be seen, and no signs of any grass: turnips all gone, and sheep in a starving way.  All provisions rising in price. Farmers cannot sow for want of rain.'

 

From Richard Jefferies   March 3lst  1880 in Surrey

'Rain at last after weeks of the driest weather. Rain in night and early morning.' 

 

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Absent

 

In this spectral place
there is a sense of desolation,
of God not being here
that strikes icy cold.
In the dank, dark nave
lies a decomposing owl,
a cobwebbed confessional, worn rotten
and on the battered altar
a smashed wooden cross.

Long ago, did sunlight venture through
the cracked, ruby-stained glass window?

Were bread and wine transformed
into Christ's body and blood?
Did young men, expectant, marry
young women, kiss and breathe in
the churchyard's sweet summer air?
And did tears blow away unseen
in the southern mistral winds,
after a service testifying that life was here
in the absent place?

 

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Walking in woods in France I came across this church and felt very sad.

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

 

 

Small moments of warmth

 

Dear Reader, 

 

Great Yarmouth is a seaside town which gave its name to the wider Borough of Great Yarmouth.   Yarmouth has been a resort since 1760 and a gateway from the Norfolk Broads to the North sea.

Through the 20th century Yarmouth boomed as a resort with a promenade, pubs, trams, fish and chip shops, theatres, the pleasure Beach, the sea Life centres, and a Victorian seaside Winter Garden in cast iron and glass. 

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From John Ruskin  March 28th  1886   in Lancashire

 'Softest quiet poised clouds, calm lake in sunshine,  the sound of steams from hills, and the sense of peaceful power in all things.' 

  

 

 

Small moments of warmth

 

 

 

 

I remember a little warmth,

Joey trotting the family through Norfolk lanes,

the small yellow trap swaying in the sunshine.

 

I remember picnics on Yarmouth beach

with enough blue sky ‘to make a sailor’s trouser’.

We ate cucumber sandwiches, Penguin biscuits.

 

I remember dark evenings,

the small warm flame from a Tilly lamp

lighting the kitchen, and sometimes for supper

we had chicken, chocolate mousse.

 

I remember a warm holiday in France

squeezed into the back of a car,
singing old thirties love songs.

 

But will these small moments of warmth,

at the end, be enough to heat and split

the heavy stones that circle the human heart,
allow salt tears to trickle through the cracks?

 

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia 

 

 

 

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