Oh Sweet Poppy! You augur the coming of kinder climes. I can almost feel the light mild breeze, The clouds sweeping by overhead, the sun sporadically showing itself, throwing off a little heat. Dear Poppy, I long to see you back in our garden again this summer. Til then, my friend, adieu
This is not an uncommon scene the morning after a party in our house. all evidence is on the table as to the goings-on of the night before. It was far from innocent. What’s that Bobby Hat doing on the table? And let’s count all the wine bottles. Don’t forget to look in every nook and cranny
Early one morning during one of the summer months when all the house was asleep except myself I went out into the garden to look around and lo and behold a fox came across the field. He (maybe she) didn’t stop until he was right up to me. I panicked of course and found the first thing I could find which happened to be a ladder and put it between me and him for some sort of protection. He wasn’t afraid of me in the slightest. On the contrary, he was almost cheeky or maybe emboldened by starvation or thirst or some ailment. He kept on coming at me and I kept on poking him with the ladder, scared out of my wits. A wild animal attacking me!!!
Anyway along came Sweep, the dog, and that fairly got the fox moving. He sped off and I quickly took a hold to sweep (who hadn’t even noticed the fox) and brought him in the other direction. That was it. I never laid eyes on him again. I do hope he got something to eat or drink or that he got better of whatever it was that was bothering him.
Although I didn’t take this photo it reminds me of him. He almost looked like he could be a house pet.
I just came across this photo right now and thought it deserved to be put out there. Made by Mauricio, it’s one of two. The other went all the way to Chile over to his mother. This photo was taken when it was recently made but its still out in our patio 6 or 7 years later and looks almost as new. (It could do with a little cleaning!!!)
Three weeks has been long enough. It was fine in the beginning because it was something different not having you around but that started to lose its power. The whole house is in an uproar. You’d better get home quick.
The frying pan is beginning to burn everything. I guess it misses your sunny-side-up eggs. There is a gap between one side of the bed and the other and it’s getting vaster and vaster each day forming a bottomless pit. The kettle gave up whistling about a week ago as if to say “what’s the point”. The fire is a little dull in itself and refuses to give warmth to the house. The computer and photocopier have started an all-out strike. That once eye-catching coffee table in the living room has lost its lustre. The cats are shedding theirs hairs at an enormous rate for the feeling of loss. Sweepy, even though he doesn’t have a tail, would not be wagging it anyway. He just sits and moans on his pillow from morning to night. Miguel drags his feet to and from school every day and seems to have become very sullen. The sound system must have joined the computer in its strike as it just doles out dreariness and drudgery, and one would be better off not to even go near it. The workshop is like a disaster area, the cold and misery has penetrated its walls, even the slate is missing your love and attention.
There’s a woman in the house and she feels like a child, waiting by the phone, checking her emails every hour for news from over there, counting the days until you come back, trying to fill in her days with chores to keep her busy but it isn’t working. You’ll just simply have to get home soon. Next Monday is too far away.
It’s a serious business, this being told a secret and then being told, upon peril of your life, not to reveal it to a living soul. It puts a huge weight on one’s shoulder.
Not that anyone has told me a secret that I must guard viciously. No, I’m completely without that ball and chain around my neck. I don’t have to look the other way when I see someone coming towards me who might detect that I’m hiding something from them. I can hold my head up and look them straight in the eye.
But it must be awkward at times, holding this precious information tightly and securely within yourself. Just say, for arguments sake, that a friend or an acquaintance has told you that he/she is having an affair and you know his or her partner who you meet quite often. Wouldn’t it be kind of weird not being able to tell him/her that the other half is sleeping with someone else? Not that I’d know about this awkwardness. I’m not weighed down, not me.
So if any of you friends out there feel like sharing a secret with me, I’m sure you won’t hesitate to do so after reading this post!!
yours truly
Can you see it? A hand right in the middle of the mirror? Guess whose hand it is!!!
Down on my knees scrubbing our very dirty kitchen and hall floor today I can’t help remembering back years ago during an introductory course to Shiatsu where the couple giving it were macrobiotics and they extolled the virtue of floor scrubbing claiming that it was very good for the mind, soul and body. That is probably so but I find in recent years what’s very good for my mind, soul and body is to drop my standards way down because to try and keep our floors impeccably clean would mean an end to my sanity. I have a bunch of lads (my kids and husband) coming in and out of the house all day with muddy shoes on having been down the woods or in the garden, and following behind, hot on their heals, a rather dirty muddy mess of a dog who thinks it’s his god-given right to come and go as he pleases and who thinks that by following someone or other he will eventually get a walk or a treat or a bowl of food.
So while I have found my floor scrubbing today very worthwhile and yes, I do feel good inwardly and outwardly right now, wait until the stream of muddy shoes and paws come in and go out and come in again and drag in every last bit of mud from Charleville Forest into the house. Oh just wait for the cursing and the giving out, and the neurosis building up inside me and I’ll vouch that I won’t clean the floors in a hurry again, at least not for another while until the feeling of hopelessness and helplessness wears off.
Mad not because she’s mad but because she’s mad, you know, angry. And actually she is a little mad too, as in, crazy. And why is she “mad” ? Well to whoever out there who doesn’t know or recognise the term “missus”, or “mrs.” for short, it’s the term given to married women. It they’re not married they’re called Miss and if they don’t want to share that information they can call themselves Ms. Men only have the one term – Mr. So a young boy of 12 has the same title as a grown up man. How come woman get categorised into married/not married and it doesn’t matter in the case of men
So that’s why she’s mad. So are there any other mad missuses out there?
Now you might think that being a craft worker is a glamorous type of job, that it’s fulfilling to work at what you’re passionate about. While it is true to a certain extent, when it comes to working with slate it couldn’t be further from the truth.
What’s so “glamorous” about using an angle grinder and generating a whole load of dangerous dust. The grating noise would get on your nerves if it weren’t for the ear muffs. The word “fulfilling” isn’t coming to mind when you’re up to your ankles deep in muddy water after power washing the slate. And as you chip into the edging on the slate, your hands are barely functioning now because of the cold and you’re not smiling. Oh no, no smiles at all on that bedraggled face, no whistling emanating from that frozen mouth, only curses.
But at least you’re safe with your mask (for the dust), your ear muffs (for the excruciating sound), your visor (for dangerous flying particles, your steel tipped boots (for any heavy thing, ie slate, that might fall on your foot), your rain gear (for all that dampness you have to put up with being outside to do all that dirty work). The only thing keeping you from going insane is the thought that at least tomorrow you can come indoors and do the more “glamorous” side of working with slate, the colouring of gold and bronze on the slate , the hand painting of the clock hands, the mounting of the picture frames, the cutting of the mirror to size, the making of the pendulum swings for the pendulum clocks, the making up of the boxes and the list goes on and on. You won’t have to set foot outside for at least another week.
So put on your superser gas heater and relish in the heat and safety of indoors for the next few days!!!
Heartworks Slate 