Seven Things You Never Knew You Wanted To Know About Me, Or maybe Not.

The delightful Christine, who plays with the seasons and much else in a most erudite, gentle and delicious manner at  Lockwood , on the other side of the world to me, has seen fit to award the Versatile Blogger honour to my humble blog, for which many thanks. I know I have this great, unfriendly and stand-offish sign installed in my comments box, which says "Keep out,  I'm busy",  when it comes to awards, but sometimes, much against my will, the kinder, friendlier side of my nature takes over; it has done so on this occasion and the credit is all yours, dear Christine from Oz.

Nothing comes for nothing, there are, of course,  rules attached to this award, but I am a rule breaker by nature - as well as unfriendly and selfish - so I will choose that part of the honour which allows me to indulge the 'me-me-me' side,  and throw the other rule open to the four winds, namely: anybody of the many blogs I follow with such great pleasure may appropriate the award and do likewise, i.e. inform the blog world of seven things about themselves, which they haven't already shared with the rest of us. If you could make it sensational, that would be good. Go on, I dare you.

one

I was expelled from my first grammar school - probably because of my parents' political activities - and accepted by a more academic school, which caused no end of trouble.

two

In any kind of social event (here at Valley's End) I gravitate automatically to groups of men rather than women. I don't choose to do so deliberately, it just happens. Sometimes wives throw a cautious look in my direction. There's absolutely no need for them to do so.

three

I am literally terrified of loud noises and men or women fighting. I will never ever stand and gawp in a crowd, but run as fast as I can from any trouble.

four

I have a photograph of me standing next to the President of India in his state apartments, and while I'm showing off . . . . . .

five

. . . . .  I might as well tell you that I have had a very jolly and animated conversation with the Prince of Wales on the lawns at Buckingham Palace.

six

I haven't sung for years. When I married Beloved, who got paid for listening to and accompanying the most perfect voices on earth, I felt too embarrassed to sing in his hearing. Before then, I sang anywhere and always.

seven

My favourite books are the kind which describe gloomy, dark and bleak lives. Scandinavians, for preference. And not just the thrillers.



Some of these might repay further attention; come to think of it, do I see a blogpost or two coming on? As I said earlier, if any of you whom I follow would like to accept this award for your blogs, please do so. You don't even have to refer back to me.

While I'm at it in a sort of general way, I'd like to address several of my commenters who do not leave a forwarding bloglink and also belong to the no-reply-emailers. Sometimes you leave such sweet comments that I'd like at least to thank you. Unless you make yourselves available digitally, I can't do so. If you read this, know that your comments are appreciated.

Miscellany - In No Particular Order

Benno is totally confused once again. It happens twice a year, when humans take it into their heads that they must change all the clocks of the land. When it's a question of getting his five meals a day an hour early, well, he can cope with that. Come wintertime, though, they make him wait an extra hour for each of them. It's enough to make a dog weep.  And messing about with walkies too? What's that all about?

"What have I done to deserve that?" You can see in his eyes how hurt he is.

In case you're wondering about the five meals a day: he has a delicate stomach and needs his food divided into small portions, at regular intervals. He said he wouldn't mind a continuous drip feed, a kind of doggy feeding assembly line. He thinks it would make life easier for all of us.

This heron is standing in his very own assembly line of food, silently, infinitely patient, almost trancelike.Very occasionally he shifts position and, with great deliberation, steps sideways, like a stilt-walker, for a better vantage point.  Every so often that sharp beak stabs down and brings up a tasty morsel.  I stood and watched him for a long time; a perfect tool for meditation.

From The Heron by Theodore Roethke


He walks the shallow with an antic grace.
The great feet break the ridges of the sand,
The long eye notes the minnows hiding place.
His beak is quicker than a human hand.



I have recently been honoured with not one, not two, but three awards.  It is time I displayed this honour here and now.  

Herrad at her blog Access Denied - Living with Multiple Sclerosis
gave me the first one.
I am one of those moaning minnies who frequently whine and complain - well, we should all go and see what this patient and brave lady has to cope with, her unfailing humour and courage in the face of
this beastly disease is an example to us all.

Val of monkeys on the roof gave me this one.
I have only recently discovered Val, who lives on a Nature Reserve in South Africa.

I understand that internet access is  only so-so; in spite of it she manages to post fantastic posts telling us about her world and the world of the animals who share it.

Val's blog is better than a nature program on TV; her stories are instant and immediate, they talk about yesterday and today, rather than what happened last spring.

Jinksy of napple notes is a long time favourite.
Or she would be, if she didn't take the mickey so mercilessly.
Usually in verse form!

Anyway, she took it upon herself to design, execute and hand over this award for me and me alone - I am saying this here, Jinksy, so you can't change your mind and distribute it amongst all and sundry -.



Thank you all very much.

Awards And Other Follies

Mark Kerstetter whose blog The Bricoleur I admire tremendously, gave me this very prestigious award a week or two ago. Mark received the award himself from  Linda at Leftbrainwave, a blog for 'proper writers'; I think if Linda knew that Mark has passed it on to me, she'd be sorely tempted to cashier him.

Mark's blog is a work of art, literally; not only does he write the most elegant prose, compose poetry that compares favourably to the best around the blogosphere, he is also a painter and sculptor. As if that weren't enough, I also consider him a philosopher, so how he came to think of me on this occasion is a mystery to me. Still,  I hereby accept the award publicly and noisily, just in case he changes his mind.

Thank you Mark.

These things do not come without strings attached. I am meant to 'do something creative' in return for the honour. Well, therein lies the rub . . . . 

However, Bonnie of Original Art Studio recently asked me, when it was that I first discovered poetry. It seems to me that poetry has been a part of my life forever, but Bonnie's prompt reminded me of a particular teacher at my Grammar School in Germany, who, perhaps more than anyone else, was responsible for awakening my interest in lyricism. Miss Baumgartner was a young woman teacher, not long out of university and training college, pretty raw and clumsy, a little abrasive and unnecessarily strict. 

Sadly, nobody liked her much, the other teachers considered her lazy and arrogant, an opinion which soon filtered down to the pupils.

Strangely, I did not share the general dislike. Miss Baumgartner was not at all attractive, in spite of her slim figure and soulful brown eyes, her dark shoulder-length hair and white skin. It must have been her clothes, which were drab and dowdy. and her dour manner, which made her appear unlikeable.

Miss Baumgartner taught German, my mother tongue, and she had a great liking for, and understanding of, German literature and poetry. She was neither inspired nor inspiring, but, somehow, she spoke to me directly. Perhaps she realised that I was not as hostile or dismissive  as almost everybody else in the class

was, perhaps I was someone to hold on to in her undoubted misery as a failing teacher; anyway, I did my essays diligently, learned the poems she set us and generally behaved well in her class.

Yet, without intending to do so, I succeeded in making her an object of ridicule on top of everything else.

I expect the same applies in all schools, wherever they may be, that pupils are called to the front of the class to recite a poem by heart. On one occasion, Miss Baumgartner  allowed several of us to recite a poem of our own choosing; I was very pleased, I had just been given an anthology of black poetry in translation, probably the first in German ever. I was very proud of this book, read the poems over and over and had started to memorise  some of them.

The poem I chose to recite was by Countée Cullen, called

For A Lady I Know

She even thinks that up in heaven

Her class lies late and snores

While poor black cherubs rise at seven

To do celestial chores. 

The second I finished, there was a stunned silence, then loud, raucous laughter erupted, lasting for an eternity. I stood there, hoping for the earth to swallow me up, while Miss Baumgartner's face turned bright red. When the class was finally wiping the tears of laughter from its hateful collective eye, she turned to me angrily, saying : "you will go home, learn every word of Schiller's Glocke (an interminably long ballad) and recite it here at the next lesson".

The mother of one of my class mates was a teacher at our school. The episode did the rounds of the whole school, the teachers' common room included, within hours. I was the hero of the school. Miss Baumgartner had been made a fool of, "serve her right", was the general opinion.

I was mortified. I duly learned 'Die Glocke' and recited it, or part of it, during the next lesson. Miss Baumgartner interrupted me after several verses and I returned to my seat. 

And then Miss Baumgartner did something unexpected: she pulled out from her bag a copy of 'Black Orpheus' , the very same anthology I so proudly owned. There were only two other pupils in the class, whose parents had a copy, but soon enough we were all reading and exploring black poetry from the Americas as well as Africa.

Miss Baumgartner mellowed, her dress sense improved by and by, she became less awkward in her manner and she won over a number of other pupils in her class. She forgave me almost immediately, no doubt she realised that I had committed an innocent blunder rather than a deliberate attempt to ridicule her.

She and I learned to recognise each other as kindred spirits and I enjoyed her lessons enormously.

A tag for a rainy day

Wipso of A Stitch in Time has given me the task to come up with 'seven things I have but don't need' and 'seven things I need but don't have'. After much head scratching I've come up with the following:

I have but don't need

too many years on my back

dog hair on the carpet

a garden full of stones

slugs in the hostas

summer rain

dust on the bookshelves

politicians

I need but don't have

more energy

more time

a toy boy (part exchange possible) for use with the above

a haven of culture and shops within 10 minutes walk and 100 miles away

a free season ticket for the amenities of the above

the ability to indulge my taste buds without increasing my waistline

the technological know-how of a ten year old.

Just Seven?

Looks like I'll have to do what's expected of me, thanks to Snailbeachshepherdess; I've been doing the rounds, and found many of you had come clean already.

Like Fennie, I chickened out of making up my own mind (sorry, Fennie) and decided to ask My Beloved, children being unavailable and probably far to cruel-minded to leave a good hair on me.

"What do you think I'm like? In seven words, nouns or adjectives. Just off the top of your head, don't think about it".

Beloved stops to think.

"What do you mean, what do I think you're like? You're fine, actually, you're quite nice". (Note the qualifying 'quite'.)

"That's already no good, you left too long a gap, you were meant to react spontaneously".

Then comes the interrogation:

"Well, what DO you mean, why are you asking? I can't tell you what you're like, don't you know

what you're like? Anyway (slightly apprehensive hesitation here), I wasn't aware there were any major questions that needed asking? Everything okay, is it?"

We were never going to get anywhere this way.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, there's this thing doing the Purplecoo rounds and I'm to describe myself in seven words and I thought you might be able to come up with one or two things; you're not usually this slow with the "you know you are very.......... kind of remark".

"Sorrreee", Beloved says.

Disappointed, I trot off, up the stairs, to my study.

Within five minutes I hear heavy steps lumbering up the stairs, Benno first (he usually overtakes Beloved half way up), Beloved next. Both come into my study, Benno lies down for a long session.

Beloved speaks.

"You are open and warm, at least to a husband", (again, note the qualification), "you are a good, tender wife BUT, also likely to withdraw quickly, if you feel the need".

Golly, that man knows how to hedge his bets. Still, I accept that he means well.

He had come to a decision about my character; considering that describing any human being in seven words cannot be more than superficial, here are his (and my) Big Seven:

Independent, in every sense of the word. Never in my adult life have I followed anyone or any cause blindly, never have I surrendered independence of spirit in any situation, although it might have been pragmatic to do so.

Resilient; I've had to be to survive. I have had a very difficult life for long stretches and when it finally got better and really quite easy, I fell ill; three times I jumped off the grim reapers shovel.

Sensible; I wish I could be fluffy and silly and trivial and helpless and all things "little-woman-ish", but in spite of occasionally trying my best, nobody has ever bought it.

Intelligent; again, it comes with the territory, I can't imagine what life might have been like without it. Pretty dire, I guess.

Blunt; It is a long time since I told myself any lies; I dislike people who do so. Facing facts is very important to me, without knowledge there can be neither solution nor resolution. I will always excuse telling white lies to and about others - never wanting to hurt anyone - but that's as far as I'll go. Under this heading I would also include being unable to bear fools lightly; I'll be kind to the foolish one but I'll certainly not make a friend of him/her and try to avoid contact.

Loyal; very important. If you are my friend you can rely on me, in any or all situations. If you need help, you will have mine. I will not betray you. Disloyalty I consider to be one of the deadly sins.

Melancholic; this is something I've laboured under all my life. I enjoy laughter as much as anybody but melancholia is my default state of mind. I'll go for the melancholic poet, the thoughtful read, the soulful music, the sunset rather than the sunrise, the autumn rather than high summer, the racing cloud rather than the cloudless sky, the deep wood rather than the sunny meadow, the rocky shore rather than the sandy beach.

Meme

It's high time I passed on the meme which Francessa so kindly bestowed on me. If my victims don't want to be bothered, or have already received this particular meme in the past, please disregard it and the instructions that go with it.

These are the rules:

- Respond and rework

- answer questions on your blog

- replace one question, and

- tag three other blogs.

These are the questions to be answered:

1. If one song were to describe your life, what song would that be?

2. Which item of clothing do you wear most?

3. When did you get up today?

4. Last thing you bought?

5. What are you listening to:

6. If you were a God/Goddess, who would you be?

7. Favourite holiday spot?

8. What are you reading right now?

9. Favourite Film?

10.First thing you do in Spring?

11.Funniest thing you saw in your life?

12.Who is your hero/heroine?

13.Share some wisdom?

14.If you were a tree, what tree would you be?

15.Fictitious character/s who made a lasting impression on you?

16.Four words to describe you?

17.Why do you blog?

And these are my victims:

Vagabonde @ Recollections of a Vagabonde

Tabor @ One Day at a Time

Robert @ To Navigate through Life