The last of summer?

Summer is over and last night saw me shed a tear as I cleaned two pairs of school shoes rather than three for Tom is at college now and no longer under the school uniform cosh. The last time I cleaned just two pairs was before Lula started school and suddenly the tears welled. And so time moves on and childrens' cherubic, kissable limbs lengthen into teenage sinewy elegance.

The guilty parent!

The school summer holidays roll on & tumbleweed blows around my blog. I've been doing that 'being busy but seemingly achieving nothing' thang that parents know oh so well.

Ellie has begun to ask me for memories of the Brood as babies & toddlers, but I haven't yet dared to confess that so much time passed in a blur of nappies, feeds, washing machine loads, post-natal depression and then full blown bipolar, that my recollections are faulty & a little blurred around the edges. This feels me with guilt - it's as though the absence of memory represents a form of neglect! After all, wasn't it my intention to be a fabulous parent and to bring something fresh & vibrant to this child-rearing lark? I was going to do things differently - why I even had delusions of perfection! Well ha ha, the joke's on me - the grind got to me and I am instead a faulty, guilt-ridden parent. But they're loved, adored & cherished and I feel ever so certain that they know this even in their bones.

Of course the idea of being a perfect parent is a mirage - the only thing you can realistically hope for is to be, what John Cleese & Robin Skynner described in their excellent book, 'Families and How to Survive Them' 'a good enough parent'. So as this imperfect parent didn't manage to keep her baby books & photo albums in pristine, lucid order, the wannabe good-enough parent is going to trawl through her diaries, journals and notebooks in order to find the notes & scribbles she dashed off about her Brood.


A six month old Tom in diapers & dungarees - scribbles dashed off in between his cries and mine!

I thank Lord Dodo of Dodo Towers for his gift to the busy family of the splendid five column Dodo diary - without the help he's given us during these past years I wouldn't be able to rummage through old diaries and find the landmark dates that Ellie wants me to remember. Ah yes, Ellie's first steps. Wow, I actually remember that day!

Happy 1st Birthday Gussie!

Gussie (on the right) has gone from this...

to this...

to this!

Happy First Birthday Gussie!

Book review, blog love & a patchwork chair!

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that my stress levels were on the increase again & that my brow was settling into a state of permanent furrow. I guess I could have solved this with industrial strength wrinkle cream & a chill pill, but instead I reached for a new book, 'Drawing Lab for Mixed Media Artists' by Carla Sonheim. Oh boy - THIS IS FUN! This book is packed to the brim with imaginative ideas designed to help you to learn how to develop your drawing skills & broaden your creativity. It's not a stiff drawing course - it's a lavishly illustrated fun factory, full of experiments & prompts that will inspire & feed you. It's so full of juice that I defy anyone not to find something that inspires them & sends them scampering off to gather up their favourite art materials. If you're in a drawing rut or feeling artistically blocked, then this book may well be able to coax your brain cells into exciting, exhilarating action again.

This isn't a children's book but I'm very grateful to have discovered it prior to the start of the long summer school holiday. There are ideas aplenty for each member of my Brood, whether it be creating imaginary creatures with 10 year Lula, developing illustrations & collage with Ellie or looking at life drawing with 16 year old Tom. I'm going to pack 'Drawing Lab' in our holiday luggage so that we can take it out sketching with us when we're out on the prowl in Devon & Cornwall.

As this book explores creative thinking in tandem with drawing matters, I think Carla's book will empower me to delve deeper into my imagination. It will be interesting for me to see anything 'rubs off' on my jewellery!

Carla's blog can be found here. Another art blog I'd like to recommend is UK artist Sarah Wilde's 'Curious Crow'. Sarah is another summer holiday saviour as she is currently on Day 17 of a Sketchbook Challenge which is so fascinating that the Brood & I are going to trace her journey as soon as they break up from school. Don't forget to check out the sidebars on Sarah's blog! There you will find links which will take you to her sketchbooks & art journals - I find her Non-Dom Hand Sketches both mind-boggling & enthralling! Go, see, enjoy :-)

Can I squeeze in a quick mention of a blog that sees me through moments of stress? Henrik Edberg's The Positivity Blog is a little gem that dispenses sensible advice that's easy to read & follow. It's neither preachy nor sanctimonious - I heartily recommend it!

And now for the chair....

Dear James,

Oh husband of mine! I know you won't probably won't read this, but if we win the lottery, please could I buy the stripey Louis patchwork chair for my Shack? If I had this chair, I would curl up in it to read & you wouldn't see me for hours. Just think - you'd have the kitchen to yourself & be able to make as much mess as you desire whilst cooking. This chair by clever Kelly Swallow would keep me out of what's left of your hair ;-)

With love,

Your Shack Hag xox

New pen!

I'm not seeing eye to eye with photography at the moment so alas, I cannot bring you a picture of the iolite & amber necklace I've made which features a pendant by Kristie Roeder of Artisan Clay and a beautiful focal bead by Sarah Hornik. In the days of yore, I used to take photos in a tent-like set-up in which I could manipulate daylight with the magic of mirrors, but this voluminous rigging takes up a lot of room and there are currently too many demands on my workspaces for me to contemplate erecting a campsite on one of them!

I'm not as organised as I once was because I've filled life up with other things during my spell adrift from the world. There's my mark-making for one thing. I prefer not to call the mess I make 'drawing'. I LOVE to make marks, but as I don't want to make myself bitter & resentful for not turning in the perfect, presentable work I think of as drawing, I stick with mark making & my search for that one perfect, zen-like line that we can all achieve every now and then. It happens. And when it happens, it feels remarkable - all puns intended!! It's why I enjoy blind-contour drawing - the pressure is off and that line you've been longing for, seems to offer itself up much more readily when your eye's on the subject and your hand is freed from the judgement of your ocular article.

This week I've been making marks with my new Pentel Pocket Brush Pen which is used to extraordinary effect by such wonderful artists as Roz Stendahl. I've used brush pens before ( hello Sakura), but this is a real wayward beauty which offers a different experience to the others I've tried. I love it for it's a real Zen pen but it's going to take some time to get used to it.

Here's me struggling with my new pen, trying to get to grips with Gussie, our border terrier puppy.


What's with the neck?

Going loco - I backed myself into a corner & ran out of paper!

Forgive me for slipping in a ghastly old photo of a pastel of mine from days gone by, but for the sake of family record, I can't have Gussie in this post without also including the best friend a lass could ever have had. A beautiful girl - no longer by my side, but forever in my heart!

Gorgeous George

Ellie ...in the blink of an eye!

Just when did she go from this to this?

I turned my back for a second and my baby's been & gone & grown into a woman. Just how did that happen?

Rosa & Co

Rosa & Co

With birthday week coming up ( Lula is ten on Wednesday, Ellie has an honourary on Thursday and Tom hits the big one six on Friday) I'm living in a flurry of wrapping paper. Having tussled with a sellotape dispenser that is refusing to dispense, yesterday I allowed myself time off for good behaviour and did a little light stringing. The result is 'Rosa & Co', a sweet little combo that would flatter any one's skin tone. I've added some blush pink Murano glass cubes & lashings of silver from Shiana to a truly delicious set of beads by the UK artist, Beverley Hicklin with the results you see before you.

Marghanita Laski's book is available from Persephone, one of my favourite bookshops. Jewellery and a good book - what more could one ask for on a Saturday afternoon? A working sellotape dispenser - that's what!!

Why There's a Mug Shot of the Nativity Donkey!

This photo of the brood exhibits a fine replica of Milady Lula's normal facial expression.

This mug shot doesn't. Let me tell you why.

Actually, looks are deceptive. As Lula is obsessed with animals, she was delighted, not only to be picked as the donkey in the Nativity play, but also to be put in charge of all the other animals. She has no time for the sheep - they are 'thupid'. There were some pigs & mice as well - I won't quibble about mice being present in a stable, but I don't recall a swineherd in attendance.

Her new sense of responsibility did go to her head a little. As - obviously - the donkey's part is a non speaking role, everyone ( especially her teacher, hence the high dudgeon exhibited in the mug shot) was rather surprised to hear the donkey shouting 'GET A MOVE ON!' at Joseph & a heavily pregnant Mary. I don't recall this incident mentioned in any of the carols I've heard - have you?

What to do with a wine rack when you've run out of wine...

My brain is more sieve-like than ever at present - could the changing season be affecting my cells?

I forgot to share a Lulaism - what a heinous crime! Here goes...

The ever inventive Lula has come up with a new use for empty wine racks. On a recent visit to pastures new, it was noticed that she was rather intrigued by the built-in wine rack adjacent to the washing machine in a friend's kitchen.

Now, Lula is not a tidy child - far, far from it. Her wardrobe is the floor. What is clean or unclean can only truly be determined by the sniff test. For any of you who haven't come across the rules of this particular 'snifter', you gauge the cleanliness of clothes by the smell of how much fabric conditioner you can detect. Play safe when you have a cold & are looking for dirty laundry. Stop. Desist. Leave all clothes on the floor. Nurse your cold & leave the offspring's clothes to fester. Rely on their embarrassment about the state of their garments instead.

The above only applies to children of a relevant & youthful age. Leave teenagers to make their own arrangements. If Tom's clothes don't make the journey from bedroom to laundry basket, I'm not bothered. Girl power will exert its influence soon & when it does, I shall be waiting for him by the washing machine along with a words-of-one-syllable guide to how to use the washing machine & dryer. If he masters these, I'll point out the ironing board too.

Where was I?

Lula's interpretation of the wine rack wasn't noticed on the first day nor the second. Daylight dawned on day three when she was spotted carefully inserting her socks & knickers into one of the holes of the wine rack. Careful investigation brought the other two sets to light. 'I fought you put your knickerths in there becoth it'th next to the washing machine. We don't have one of thesths at home. It'th very clever.'

So if for any reason you don't store wine in your wine rack, why not use it as a handy knicker or sock store? It's sure to be a talking point when you're next entertaining!

Cathy & The Oracle

For a long time, 'Learn how to use Photoshop properly' has been on my 'To Do' list. During the past two days, I've given it my best shot. I wanted to design a magnificent & theatrical logo for an award that some of you may not be familiar with. Despite reading two manuals and having lessons from Tom, Ellie & Lula, I failed to learn anything relevant to my project. I do know how far I can throw a Photoshop manual because there's one close to the bottom of our garden. The fox can read it. Despite my love of foxes, I refuse to make friends with this one because I suspect that he or she is responsible for the sudden disappearance of the partridges.

Accidents have been happening in Beadland. Miss Margot & Cathy of Aardvark Art Glass fame are nursing injuries - I wish both of them swift & speedy recoveries. Miss Margot's got a slinky dress to slide into for her birthday celebrations - I hope her wrist dressing can disappear in time ( STUPID BACON!)

Cathy held a high speed meeting with some stairs. Since my own tussle with a door & floor, I have been sporting some rather charming bruises in an array of fetching colours. I was quite proud of mine until I heard about Cathy's accident & saw what a real humdinger of a bruise looks like. Hasten over to 'Bloggidy Blog' & see the Oracle for yourself. You will then see why I felt compelled to give Cathy this award. I wanted it to be an exotic & flamboyant award but Photoshop & I just don't see eye to eye so the logo is as humble & modest as me ;-)

More Postcards for the Annals!

Greetings from a chalky ridge somewhere in Hampshire - très dull! The island of Baltrum does not suffer from this problem - isn't it stunning?

The glass artist, Elke Szeklinski lives here and she has very kindly sent me some postcards. Zip over to the Postcardian blog where you can see her lovely postcards, two of which feature her delectable beads. You will also be able to check out my dodgy German - please accept my apologies for any mistakes.

I've also added another message of love & gratitude from me. I will NEVER forget the Postcardian experience!

As yet, I haven't found time to start work on the 'Annals of The Postcardian Quest' which is rather frustrating. Various workmen, aided & abetted by OMD, have moved into the central part of our house & they are pulling it apart. Add three children on their summer break from school & you've got a recipe for chaos in your hands.

When they're ready to rip up the floor, I'm going to lock up my Shack & study & head for the moor.

Man + hammer = stress! Man + pick axe = panic attacks!

The Paul Klee Guide to Child Management

Add the school summer holidays to a 13 year old chap who doesn't care for sisters (especially as there's a large age gap,)plus an 8 year old blonde & peachy party girl and a 7 year old tomboy who worships her brother and what do you get? Chaos & frequent cries of 'What can I do?'

One can arrange trips, treats & 'let's get the modelling clay out', but ideas to cover the fifteen minutes or so before they remember something more interesting to do, are harder to deal with. I used to read books - around the age of 10 or 11, I spent one summer holiday reading the complete works of Agatha Christie. 'Why?' I hear you ask. I hereby confess to being a sucker for 'who-done-its' & remain so to this day. Give me a P.D.James, pat me on the head, & you won't hear a word out of me for the rest of the day.

The brood don't respond to the 'read a book' suggestion. Indeed they look at me as if I'm an idiot for even proffering this as a idea. Their life is full of electronic paraphernalia - I do sincerely worry about their respective carbon footprints - and these thrills & spills dominate their lives.

I do however, manage to inject a large wedge of art & craft time into their lives, but I can't wave a magic wand & produce a table laden with projects in an instant. Harry Potter has led them astray - I can't perform magic.

Today Paul Klee helped me out - I'll bet he never envisaged helping a mother out of a sticky moment during a school holiday! I managed to capture 15 minutes for Ellie by us taking a line for a walk. It worked - and we're going to do it again.

Paul Klee's work, be it art or words, has always held me in its thrall, but I've even more reason to be grateful to him today.

Downcast!

It had to happen. I do not dazzle. I do not have Margot Potter's wit, glamour, sex appeal & lustre - she's darn intelligent too & was born to write as well as sparkle. I'm not jealous because I love Margot - she works SO extraordinarily hard & when she's President, everyone in the States will surely sing with delight!! But she is a perminent fixture on Top Momma where as I reside under a stone at the bottom of Blog Land's gadren.

The reason for this despondency: I've been booted off Top Momma because I'm not popular :-(

Woe is me! Woe is me! Woe is me! Woe is me!

I was handed a copy of a new book today: 'The Dialectical Behaviour Therapy ( i.e. DBT )Skills Workbook' - looks good. BUT! The school holidays have begun. How am I going to find the time and peaceful lucid moments in which to work on this?

I mean no disrespect to people without children, but why do some of them assume that children play happily together & do not need tending & that processing laundry for two adults, two children & a Lula is a mind-numbing activity which shrivels your brain to the size of a walnut. Brothers & sisters hate each other at the top of their voices during the day, but glue together at bedtime & refuse to be parted. There's also the matter of trying to keep a household running in a building site. We've had one wall removed & another is partly built - please don't ask. Why did he marry me? What was it about me that attracted a man who would eventually fall in love with a mallet?

I squeeze in as much work as I can, but nevertheless, finding enough quality time for work is a problem.

I tend to work at night, even though it breaks my doctor's cardinal rule about a regular sleep pattern. If I work until four in the morning, I can take full advantage of a head that clears at about eleven at night. I can survive on short bouts of sleeps for quite a long length of time, but eventually I pay for it.

What a dull & dismal entry too - how bored you must feel! When you have such feelings or think you are approaching the end of a nappy soaked road, have a go at what I occasionally do. Try it for one minute & progress as required. Pick up or pluck someone ( or something) & pretend to waltz around the room with them. Do not attempt to do this in a supermarket though - the management will not comprehend.

When the brood are whining that I haven't done this or that or are in ' full-on whinge & whine mode', I announce that I'm a mere human being and therefore fallible. A short silence ensues during which, they try to work out what fallible means. Eventually they walk away muttering rather than whinging - I can cope with muttering - and then they start to murder one another again. The 'good enough' idea is a superb piece of advice which I gleaned from the excellent, helpful, and comforting book called ''Families & How to Survive them' by Robyn Skinner % John Cleese. The idea of being a 'good enough' parent is manna!. It's pointless trying to be a perfect parent with a perfect child - these parnerships do not exist. Why not experiment by aiming to be a 'good enough' parent for a while- it cures some of the wilder guilts that afflict a parent.

A gold medal for a lark!

This morning Lula announced that she couldn't go to school today because ' I have lothd my memory.' OMD was lightening fast & said she'd probably left it at school so she'd better go & look for it there.

This was a good effort on Lula's part, but I think James deserves the gold medal for his demonstration of mental agility at a quarter to seven in the morning. I rise from my bed at this time, but I don't actually wake up until the clock has struck nine. Indeed I have been known to sleep walk until ten!

Needless to say, I'm an owl!

Fodder for your Inner Jewellery Hunter

Flower Power Bracelet

This blog is like my life. Full of promises to do things which I run out of time to do! I promised an 'Inner Jewellery Hunter' puzzle which I will do when I've squeeeeeeeezed time for assembling jewellery into my week/fortnight/month.

I didn't finished 100 things about me either- I got stuck. I don't do anything & am utterly uninteresting. I'm like a hamster - I rarely look up & connect with real life. I troll from my bedroom to my study to my Shack & back again. I can do this & completely ignore the house because each of my rooms has a door to the garden. I like to keep the brood on their toes so trying to find their elusive mother is a teeny tiny challenge for them. Just so you don't worry about my cleanliness, I have a wet room so I'm not in need of a good scrubbing, unlike Lula whose face is a grime magnet. As soon as she steps out of the bath, her magnet attracts all manner of grubby things & they cling on no matter how many Wet Ones I use. (This may not be enviromentally friendly, but my mother was a fiend when she had a wash cloth in her hand & I can't bring myself to scrub my daughter red raw! )

I cannot complain. I occasionally played with two little girls who were always band-box fresh & whose socks stayed dazzling white no matter what we were doing. As I spent a lot of my childhood up a tree reading a book, no matter what I did, I went back home at the end of the day with ripped clothes, twigs in my hair and mud & lichen in all manner of places. On one notable day, my mother lost her temper & rounded on me demanding to know,

'Why do you always come home in such a mess? Marilyn & Nicola never do!'

To which I replied in gnomic fashion,

'If I'm dirty, it means I've had a good time. If I'm clean, I haven't.'

This remark is now entombed in family lore & I still adhere to this prinicple, though when we're in company, Wet Ones keep Lula in a reasonably presentable state.

Oh boy, I really am the Queen of Digression.

I have found a website which is tailor made material for your 'Inner Jewellery Hunter'. Check out Klimt02 Community

What they don't tell you!

Leather Garland Necklace

I have a question. It's a topic that no one addressed in any of the child rearing manuals that I poked my nose into when coping with Child Number One. ( When I finally realised that children don't always do what the books say they will, I threw away the earnest tomes thinking that this might help me discard the 'Bad Mother' label that I'd cemented around my neck. Only after I read, 'Families & How to Survive Them' by Robin Skynner & John Cleese did I finally quit the road to perfection & embrace the more realistic goal of being a 'good enough' parent.)

Rewind to the question. My children love painting, making, shaping & decorating things. They have a large craft cupboard (handing over the largest cupboard in the utility room was one of the most sensible decisions I've ever made) in which all manner of fascinating things are stored. I enjoy a good rummage in there - I think anyone would. Pipe cleaners, sequins, Mod Podge, googly eyes, foil, stickers, stamps, multicoloured ink pads, ribbon, beads, buttons, wool, art straws - I think it's one of the coolest cupboards in the land! BUT!

In England, the architects who designed the majority of the housing stock in our shires would appear to have shared the opinion that people can live in a house without ever wanting to store anything for a reasonable length of time. I lie. In theory, there's the possibility of storage space in a loft, but gaining access to one of these can usually only be achieved with the help of two strong men & a very long ladder. There's also the drawback that the hatch to the loft is usually smaller than any cardboard box you might want to stow up there, so let's just agree that the only things you can sensibly store in a loft are your Christmas decorations.

Most modern houses now assume you wear clothes so a built-in wardrobe is likely. An understairs cupboard is a possibility, but once you've got an ironing board, a vacuum leaner & room for the gas & electric meter reader in it, the storage space it offers is fairly limited.

Are you beginning to wonder if I'm ever going to ask my question?

Children throughout the land make things. Miriam Stoppard & Penelope Thingy urge parents to encourage the creative juices which are rampantly flowing through their children & quite rightly so. Parents & grandparents love seeing rockets made out of plastic bottles, masks from paper plates, cars out of boxes & strange animals if you're a Lula. Clay platters, paper flowers & newspaper trees are tenderly handled & admired by proud parents everywhere. So...here comes the question that the architects plus Dr Spock & his progeny do not address.

Exactly where are we supposed to store all these things?

The Barbara Hepworth Memorial Hole

I've just posted a scan of this postcard on the 'pursuing the art of curiosity' blog & it's reminded me of one of the early disasters which occurred whilst remodelling, re-roofing, rewiring, blah, blah, blahing our house ( it's only taken seven years or is it nine? This year should be the last - I'll believe when I see it. Change that - I'll believe it when I'm in Italy next summer. Every holiday has been consumed by our house, but as soon as it's finished, I can go 'home'.)

OMD decided that he had sufficient experience to remove a wall light in the sitting room. To this day I don't know exactly what went wrong, but we ended up with a large hole in the wall. The plasterer was on holiday & had a number of other jobs to slot in before he rejoined us and so we had to live with this 'exciting' new feature for quite some time. I nicknamed it 'The Barbara Hepworth Memorial Hole' and stuck a make-shift plaque underneath it. It's not the only 'art installation' that we've lived with during all the renovation work that we've done over the years, but it's the one that has stuck in my mind.

the bad news & the good news

Prom Queen I

I'm going to go all literary & pretentious on you - you have been warned :-) So that's the bad news done & dusted!

The good news is that I'm not going to ask you to read my own poetry - that would be too, too cruel. Something else that will bring you much relief is that I'm not going to unveil any of my own weedy works of 'art'. I'm not a sadist. In fact I'm really rather kind. Whilst all others are swatting & missing wasps, I'm the one that gently encourages said jasper to leave via an open window or door.

(Note to self - I must remember to tell everyone about my maternal grandfather who completely lost all composure & decorum whenever a wasp was in the vicintity. Neither must I forget to relate details of the day when a wasp had the temerity to approach when afternoon tea was served and Grandfather, armed with a rolled up copy of the Telegraph, swatted & flailed like a thing possessed. Unfortunately he only succeeded in shattering Grandmother's tea service, scattering shards of porcelain, Proustian madeleines & almond wafers in his wake. Another of Grandfather's party tricks was the skim-whack. The Telegraph would past so close & at such speed that the hair on your head or arms slightly bristled. This was usually followed by a sharp sting from the wasp that Grandfather had irked. I cannot recall any occasion on which Grandfather was himself stung, but the rest of us certainly suffered on his account. )

(Further note to self. You are a fool - you've just told them all about Grandfather & his battle against the mighty wasp!)

(Final note to self - I quite like talking to myself when I should be blogging. I hope this is a sign that I'm on the road to fulfilling my ambition of becoming a member of that happy breed, the great British eccentric. As I've always said, I want to be Margaret Rutherford when I grow up.)

To go back to wheresoever it was that I started, it's my intention to add a poem & picture each month to this docu-log. There may even be the odd quotation - I love a good quote & in my opinion, Dorothy Parker is the Queen of Quotations! In Cyber Land one can, to an extent, be whomsoever one wants to be, so I've decided to be the curator of a vast gallery & library. From this massive resource, I want to select a few of the things that I love & wish to share. It's just a little thing that I want to do. It might seem self-indulgent & pompous, but art & literature are my two of my favourite methods for dealing with:

"A poor life this, if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare."

Whatever you are doing, I hope you can find some element of fun in the doing of that thing.

how to embarrass your grandmother with William Blake.

Foxglove Necklace

My dear friend Jean has urged me to relate a story from my childhood, but before I begin, jump over to Jean's blog and have a good wallow in her wonderful words. Amongst other things, you can read about The Ruse, Paul Yates, scuba diving, divine jewellery and on 8th April, 100 things to know about Jean. Jean is very kind to me & she's encouraged me to write a list too. My brain is so tiny that it doesn't have room to think of too many things at the same time so given this limitation, I'll have to lay my facts before you a few at time.

1. I once kissed a man who told me my hair was the colour of a tawny owl's feathers. I believe that men who come up with compliments like this should be encouraged.

2. Eleanor Romy was named after Eleanor of Aquitaine ( my heroine), my step grandmother, Ella & my mother, Romy. These are sensible reasons.

3. My daughter Lula was named after a dog & my son's favourite teddy bear. Indeed 'Lula' was his first word. Loopy's real name is Georgia Alice ( which she hates) and in her case she was named after my dog, Georgie Girl. These are not sensible reasons. To avoid confusion between Georgie Baby & Georgie Dog, we decided that we would give the babe a nickname. This seemed a reasonable solution. James & I couldn't think of anything suitable but when Tom suggested Lula we cheered because it suits her perfectly. BTW Tom's intuition was spot on. I have never met anyone who is as Lulaish as Lula.

4. I embarrassed Ella with the help of William Blake. I was always allowed to rummage through my grandmother's library of books. I fell for 'Songs of Innocence & Experience' with my favourite poem being this. I knew it off by heart. When I was circa nine, I was allowed to attend one of my grandmother's afternoon tea parties. She asked me to recite a few lines of poetry to her friends. She'd been reading Walter de la Mare, John Masefield & Tennyson to me & was probably expecting a few lines from'The Lady of Shalott'. But OH NO!! Ms Dangerfield gave a perfect rendering of 'The Sick Rose' instead. I was still allowed to read any book I liked, but it was decided that I needed fresh air when my grandmother was entertaining so no more poetry recitals for me!

4. I am not ticklish.

5. I know a lot of gossip about the Pre-Raphaelites. In my opinion, a man who has his wife exhumed because he wants his poems back, is not fit for polite society. I would tell you who this was, but I fear that I have bored you so much that you're probably asleep by now. I don't want to disturb you whilst you're slumbering so I'll save my tittle-tattle for another day.

Sweet dreams!

So which one of us had the bird brain?

Diving Belle Barbed Bracelet

I had a strange encounter with a bird today and cross my heart, I swear it is true. It was a beautiful hot day & since my room is the coolest ( it's cool in all senses of the word, but I would say that, wouldn't I?) in the house, I decided to work on the bed. (Actually my bed is one of my favourite places to work as I can spread all my kit & caboodle out, plus I'm extremely fortunate to have the luxury of a panoramic view across the valley & the golf course. I wonder whether other jewellery designers have a favourite place in which to work?) Lifting my head ready for a daydream at the view, I found myself staring into the eyes of a partridge. I haven't been sleeping too well recently so my first thought was that my mind was performing some kind of pirouette. The second thought wandered down the avenue of, 'Why is a partridge sitting on my window sill?'

A pair of pheasants & a pair of partridges have sensibly escaped from the land belonging to the local shoot & have taken up residence within the shrubs & brambles that separate the houses from the golf course. They're very fond of our garden - there's bird food around & the canine guardian's only concern is how many flies she can bark at - she ignores anything larger. So I'm used to seeing these birds amble around the garden although last week, I was a little surprised to find one of the partridges sitting on the terrace just outside of the sitting room. At this point I should mention that our house is built on the side of a mountain. OK, it's not a mountain but it is a very steep chalk ridge so we have 'terraced down' from the top of the drive to the bottom of the garden - our plot is a testament to the strength of reinforced retaining walls. Everybody else in Treble Close needs crampons to traverse their own properties.

I digress. The bird & I stared at one another. I felt slightly uncomfortable because it reminded me of a social encounter with someone who you think you know, who seems to know you, but whose name or any other useful information have deserted you. I slowly looked away, but I carried on looking at the bird out of the corner of my eye. There is no doubt in my mind that the partridge was convinced that I was the alien.

After logging this experience in my mind as memorable, I got fed up with being stared at by the bird (I now know what it's like to be a budgie) and carried on with my original objective of casting a dreamy eye over the golf course. And lo, I spotted the reason for my 'Close Encounters of the Bird Kind'. Juno, our well padded border terrier, had commandeered the bird bath & was lying in it. The partridge wasn't interested in me or my family sized bed. The temptation was clear - she wanted use of my wet room!

The facts are true but the conjecture is the result of an over-active imagination!

© Jennifer Dangerfield 2007