Fruit Harvest Time

Mushrooms in hollow trees and as anklets around fenceposts.

 I shan’t be eating them, mind you.

Paul is picking plums.

He doesn’t know about the blog and has no idea

that he is making a personal appearance. 

 

I will certainly eat the plums.

I have already processed them for freezer (in flat packs - some stewed and a few pounds raw, cut in halves) and larder, with just a few punnets left to eat.

My thumbs are sore - and black - from de-stoning them and my tummy is sore from eating too many raw.

Apples next. Most of them are still awaiting processing. They are not very good, the trees are old; I expect lots will go to the birds. Or the compost heaps. But I will bottle the best as stewed apple for winter breakfasts and accompaniment to roast pork.

As every year, Beloved has picked elderberries for making wine. He already has several demijohns on the go . The berry harvest is so great this year that he has decided the birds can spare him a few more ounces and he is busy topping up our supply of gravy wine. I think home made fruit and berry wines import a gorgeous flavour to gravies and sauces. Personally, I don’t drink these ‘wines’, but I always have a lavish hand tipping them into stew pots.

It’s Our World Tuesday again.

This is my world today, for other bloggers’ contributions,

please click on the link.

There Are Changes In My World - Spring Will Conquer

Nine days into the cruellest month

there are no lilacs breeding out of the dead land.

 

At the beginning of April winter still kept us warm, 

covering earth in forgetful snow

feeding a little life with dried tubers.

It was the memory of spring which sustained life.

 But soon spring rains will stir dull roots.

 Lambs defy the chill winds from the East,

and the first rays of the sun melt winter’s cover for the last time.

New life is emerging all around us,

 there is no gainsaying nature's determination to overcome.

Secretive primroses nestle on sunny banks, 

 at noon opening their golden faces to unaccustomed warmth 

and rock cress clings to stone walls,

keeping a precarious foothold in the narrowest crevice. 

(with thanks to T.S. Eliot)

Click on the link for contributions from all over the world to Our World Tuesday

Today - A Meme

Today,

Lorna phoned to cancel our poetry meeting;

I am relieved that I don’t have to go out.

Is this winter never going to accept defeat?

Outside my window 

a scene out of Brueghel, and the leaden sky promises no respite.

Trees bow their crowns before the bitter east wind,

and sleet and snow drive all life to seek shelter.

Even Millie refuses to go out.

I am thinking

of last night’s play, Allan Bennett’s ‘People'

brought to a screen near you by ArtsAlive,

straight from The Lyttleton Theatre in London.

Aston village hall was packed. 

not a soul under fifty.
If it weren’t for people like us,
incomers all,
there would be no art in England’s provinces.


From the kitchen
comes the rumble of the washing machine.
There’ll be a line of laundry
marching hand in hand with poetry.
Otherwise,
all is silence.
Hungry birds came to feed early today.
their busy flights stilled again,
holly hedges and yews their haven from the storm.


I am hoping
stray dogs and rough sleepers
will find a helping hand before nightfall.
That generosity of spirit
will succour those in need.


I am reading
the strange fiction of W.G. Sebald,
the man who described, like no other,
the eternal search of the dispossessed, displaced,
for a place to call home,
a place to belong.
Listen to him,
as he writes about waking up to the sounds of the city
intruding through his hotel room window:
"That then, I thought on such occasions,
is the new ocean. Ceaselessly, in great surges,
the waves roll in over the length and breadth of our cities,
rising higher and higher,
breaking in a kind of frenzy when the roar reaches its peak
 and then discharging across the stones and the asphalt
even as the next onrush is being released from where it was held by the traffic lights.”


I am planning
a simple supper for the two of us.
Some fish perhaps,
a medley of vegetables,
a dish of fruit for dessert.
Elderly stomachs sleep better on light meals.
Perhaps a glass of wine will further aid digestion.


Today
will end in peace and harmony,
if it is up to us.
Music, a book, a poem, a story on a flickering screen,
should there be one to please us both.
And now and then,
a look, a word, a question,
the offer of a cup of tea perhaps.
And as night falls
if we remember it,
we may just breathe a heartfelt sigh of thankfulness.

The lovely Cait O’Connor at her blog of the same name has introduced me to this  meme, she may even have invented it. Cait’s versions are infinitely more lyrical than mine, sheer poetry, but I thought a meme can equally well apply to the humdrum days of lesser mortals, the days when nothing much happens but days which have, nevertheless, a gently poetic rhythm because of their uneventful nature.

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.

Counting My Blessings - Help!

I saw this heading (without the 'Help')  at Freda's of What's the story in Dalamory, who in turn found it on Dianne's of Schmiddleyscribblins;  as my ideas for blogging seem to have dried up completely, I'll make use of it here. If anybody else finds themselves in the same shoes, feel free to do likewise.

Now then,  counting my blessings is anathema to me. I've always railed against it as an occupation I wouldn't even indulge in if I found myself at the bottom of the darkest hole I've ever not looked up out of. It's not that I'm against gratitude, I consider that a definite virtue; but, I ask you, doesn't the mere fact of COUNTING blessings make the counter sound totally pathetic?

Yet here I am, not even in a hole, except blog-idea-wise, counting today's blessings. Seven is the number of blessings I'm meant to come up with.:

1.   I found myself waking up in my own cosy, warm bed this morning, listening to the filthiest,

nastiest morning weather outside;  gusts of rain lashing the windows, gale force winds rattling the gutters, while  climbers, in extremis,  scratched the walls and clung on for dear life.
And why was this a blessing? Because I didn't have to go out in it!

2.   At 9.30, my wonderful cleaning lady, Kelly, arrived. I hadn't seen her since I came out of hospital last week. She is a caring, warm-hearted women, who listened to my tale of woe with lots of "Ah, poor you. Bless. Ah, Bless". She is rather given to lots of Ahs, and 'Bless' is one of her favourite expressions.

It has been known to grate on me in the past, when I've come across people whose empathy finds no other verbal outlet.

Today, it was a blessing to find a simple, kind soul, who sounded as if she meant every Ah and every Bless. 

3.   Kelly cleaned my house, quickly, efficiently and with a minimum of fuss.

If that's not a blessing, I don't know what is.

4.   While Kelly was working, I had a whole morning to clear my desk. It's been weeks since I tidied up paperwork, bills, receipts; at least two months since I last reconciled bank statements and filed other financial letters. That allowed me to rediscover various pieces of information, previously hidden, from societies in which I have an interest. I was beginning to think I'd been taken off their Christmas lists this year.

5.   Lunch was pasta, my favourite. Quick and easy to cook.

6.   Beloved offered to take Benno out for me in the afternoon. It was still tipping it down, with hail blown about by the wind fit to poke holes in the back of your neck. I gratefully took him up on the offer. I was doubly grateful when they came back drenched.

Bless him.

7.   Instead, I managed to write a long letter to a friend in Germany, whom I  have neglected since the summer, when we met by courtesy of Skype. I wrote the last long letter to her at the same time last year; the fact that she hasn't complained  in spite of my cavalier behaviour towards her tells you what a good friend she is. Or is it possible that neither of us is quite as bothered about the other as we were a few years ago? The thing is, I finally wrote, which makes me feel good about myself and gets rid of the niggling guilt feeling I've had for months.

8.   Can TV be a blessing? Maybe not, unless it's your favourite cop show transmitted to your own TV, in your own room, via digital, satellite TV, all the way from Germany to the UK. Sitting with my feet up, watching the box this evening I would even call bliss, rather than a blessing.


It seems that my blessings are all to do with idleness; others might find that quite embarrassing. But you'll never get me to admit guilt for being idle. I like it. Besides, not only did I come up with eight good things happening today, but I wouldn't even call them blessings as such. So, there's even more reason to feel good about myself. Counting blessings? Pah, who needs it!


PS: The picture above is nothing to do with this post. I took it on a foggy day in November in the garden.  What? You didn't really expect me to go out in this weather just to find a suitable picture to head up this post? You did? Dear me.

 

Flight of Fancy

or Fame At Last!

After a hard day's work in the garden, my mac unloved, unused and silent all day, I popped into my study to check for messages, and this is what I found:

The delightful and delectable Bonnie of  Original Art Studio has gone and done it, namely published an interview with me, Bonnie asking leading questions and me answering them. She has even grabbed some of my photos to go with the interview - well, questionnaire really - , the whole thing is tastefully arranged, looks as handsome as everything always does on Bonnie's blog and although it doesn't quite come up to Bonnie's usual high standard of writing and is nowhere near as artistic as her own posts, it is bearable. Trust Bonnie to see to that.

Now you are all meant to go and read the thing; I promise you, I've kept the answers as short, if not sweet, as I can, so you won't be bored out of your mind. Not for long, anyway. Naturally, I also want to know what you think of the thing, so leave a comment here or there, or maybe even both places?

Sorry, I am fresh out of polite phrases, being knackered from the day's work and in a tearing hurry to grab a sandwich before I march off to the village hall, where they are showing Colin Firth in

"A Solitary Man"; otherwise I am sure I would have been able to do full justice to the occasion and

found a suitably refined introduction to the great honour of appearing on Bonnie's blog.

Thank you Bonnie, you are a dear.

And those of you who go and read have my undying gratitude. Well, maybe  . . . . ., depending on your comment, certainly.

A Poetic Meme in November

November Skies

Than these November skies

Is no sky lovelier. The clouds are deep;

Into their grey the subtle spies

Of colour creep,

Changing that high austerity to delight,

Till even the leaden interfolds are bright.

And, where the cloud breaks, faint far azure peers

Ere a thin flushing cloud again

Shuts up that loveliness, or shares.

The huge grey clouds move slowly, gently, as

Reluctant the quick sun should shine in vain,

Holding in bright caprice their rain.

And when of colours none,

nor rose, nor amber, nor the scarce late green

Is truly seen, -

In all the myriad grey,

In silver height and dusky deep, remain

The loveliest,

Faint purple flushes of the unvanquished sun.

John Freeman, Stone Trees, 1916

Photo Florian Werner

And now it’s time to tackle Wipso’s MEME which she slipped into my in-tray at the same time as the Over The Top Award. Why do people insist that I work for my treats? Not only that, but work hard, as in giving one word answers only!

Where is my cell phone? Hall

My hair? Tinted

My mother? Stars

My father Ditto

My favourite food? Chocolate

My dream last night? Flying

My favourite drink? Champagne

My dream/goal? Laughter

The room I am in? Study

My hobby Blogging

My fear? War

Where do I want to be in 6 years’ time? Alive

Where was I last night? Home

Something that I am not? Drowning

Muffins? Maybe

Wish list item? Talent

Where did I grow up? Germany

Last thing I did? Walked

What am I wearing? Clothes

My TV? Off

My pets? Labrador

Friends? Please

My life? Amazing

My mood? Varied

Missing someone? Terribly

Vehicle? Wheelbarrow

Something I am not wearing? Wellington boots

My favourite store? Bookshop

My favourite colour? Sunlight

Last time I laughed? Today

Last time I cried? Today

My best friend? Mate

A place I go over and over? Past

Facebook? No

Favourite place to eat? Kitchen

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.