WET

RAIN = GARDENING

Back in a couple of weeks.

NOSE

Inspired by this wonderful woman, I bring you my nose.

I now see I also bring you my wrinkles, jowls and the bags under my eyes.

Hey! W.Y.S.I.W.Y.G!

GREEN MAN

Dusk

is

drawn

and

the

Green Man's

thorn

is

ringed

in

wreathes

of

fog

An Irish lullaby

(find him here)

BOOK PILE GROWS

• Clochemerle by Gabriel Chevallier
• 52 Projects-Random acts of everyday creativity by Jeffrey Yamaguchi
• The Nasty Bits by Anthony Bourdain
• Why am I so tired? by Dr Ginni Mansberg and Dr Anne Thomson
• The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde
• The Eustace Diamonds by Anthony Trollope
• Marley and me by John Grogan
• Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
• Vermeer by Martin Bailey

It is raining and cold ( for Western Australia), the fire is lit and this weekend is going to be a Reading Fest in the herhimnbryn household. Real books. Books that smell of the lives they have lived. Books with old disintergrating paper covers. New books that smell of ink and paper. Books I have already started and not had time to finish. Books that have been in the pile for weeks. Books I will enter and forget time. Books with which I will struggle. Books that will make me laugh and or cry. Books that will confront me. Books that will comfort me. Books from which I will want to preserve quotes. Books that will have me reaching for the dictionary.

There is one book I cannot read this weekend, Untold Stories by Alan Bennett. I bought this book during the weekend of the Black Puppy. Saw it in the bookshop, smiled (as I'd read his book Writing Home), and picked it up without reading any of it (always the sign of a favourite author, you just know you hold a treasure in your hands) paid for it and carried it home.

Back home I opened it to write my name on the title page. The first eighteen pages were missing. Not torn out, just not included in the binding of the book. So, it had to go back and I have to wait two weeks until I can bring it home again. Another book smelling of new ink, new paper and complete........I hope.

BLACK PUPPY

Sunday. Wet, grey and here comes that 'Black Puppy'. I am fortunate in that I have only once been visited by his Sire, the 'Black Dog' (see here AND please click the 'replay intro' button). His offspring, however can sometimes poke his head around the front door of my day. Sneaky and beguiling by turns. Puppy dog eyes watching my every move.

Woke late ( which is never good for me). By 10.30am my shoulders were leaden and my head full of the fog of dislocation and disorientation. 'Black puppy' begins to whine. Ignoring him I get out my laptop and start to write this........................five minutes later the battery dies and I have to recharge it.

Get out vacuum cleaner. Bag full. Lift it out to change it. It tears and the contents go everywhere. 'Black Puppy' is gamboling around the room by now! Swear loudly and in Welsh ( which always makes me feel better) and get back to vacuuming.

Sit down by the fire and write in my Journal. The writing is not my usual italic script but jerky and messy. I whine and whinge about how I am feeling. It does not help!' Black Puppy' curled up on the hearth now.... the sod!

Look out of the window and see sun glittering on Eucalyptus leaves that are elegant with raindrops. Feel the day is brightening.

Fire up laptop and read the daily doings of a 17 century 'Blogger' (see here 12/08/1663). Smile to see that he and his wife decide to be 'kind' to each other and enjoy their new bed! Wonder what he would have thought of the Blog phenomenon?

The Rolling Stones on the radio followed half an hour later by some Handel. Thank goodness for BBC Radio 4 (see here).

Bryn (the real and tangible dog in my life) puts a paw on my knee and I pick up a book of Vermeer Paintings. An hour later the Bear suggests going out to forage in bookshops and drink coffee and eat cake.

'Black Puppy' leaves by back kitchen door and disappears into garden.

Sigh.

'Nothing is worth more than this day' ( Goethe)

COMMENTS

I would like to thank everyone that reads my Blog, whether you leave a comment or not. If you do leave comments and questions, I will try to answer you in the comments window.

BEING (or not)

From SEVEN DUNGEON SONGS (no IV)

I walk
Unwind with activity of legs
the tangled ball
which was once the orderly circuit of my body.

Some night in the womb
all my capillaries were taken out
by some evil will
and knotted in a great ball and stuffed back inside me.

Now I rush to and fro.
I try to attach a raw broken end
to some steady place, then back away.
I look for people with clever fingers
who might undo me
the horrible ball just comes.
People's fingers snarl it worse.

I hurl myself
to jerk out the knot
or snap it

And come up short.

So dangle and dance
the dance of unbeing.

Ted Hughes


Sometimes 'being' in the moment is all there is. Sometimes you are there and that moment is perfect, crystaline and touches your own very being. As I grow older I strive for these times and appreciate it when I find them, often in the process of the everyday clutter of living.

However, today it was hard ( and a lesson learnt). Today I met someone, who in the space of five days was losing her own 'self'. Her fraility, confusion and fear brought me up short in my oh, so happy day.

At the end of my working day, I could leave and walk. Try to think. She was in a place that she did not recognise as her own home. It was home and had been for nearly forty years.