I'm all ears...

I am fur-deep in working on a psychotherapy assignment due to be handed in at a time of year when I should really be snoozing, and perusing my last bits of Christmas thingummy-bobbies I need to get hold of, to stop my head from falling off with blind panic!

December's also the month of my Birthday, with GJ's big Five-O milestone Birthday coming up in January - For which I've got a party planned - Eek!

I'm meeting one of my bessie mates from Uni on Thursday for a decadent and languid lunch at a beautiful spot in the Cathedral City of Durham. 

I've had to postpone a visit from a kitchen designer in order to honour my prior appointment with her - We've now known each other for thirty years, which is frightening when you think of it.   Her son is my godson, she has a lovely older daughter too, and I love them dearly although I probably only catch up with her about twice a year if we're lucky...   More's the pity.

I'm terrified at what the kitchen is going to cost me, though - And I wonder if any of you can make any recommendations for reasonable priced stuff, as my builders favour Howden's and I don't believe for one moment they're going to be as cheap as chips!   My existing kitchen was thirty years old and dilapidated when we first moved in almost ten years ago, so we're desperate for a functional kitchen that we can sit and eat in - Well, blog in, in my case!

On Saturday I had the pleasure of marrying a delightful couple who were only in their early twenties, just as I was when I married GJ twenty-five years ago!   One of the registrars referred to them as "bairns".   And I thought, yes they are, and I was!   Next weddings for me will be in January, so we might get some of the anticipated awful northern British winter away before then...   We've a smidgeon of snow on the hills as of this weekend.

December just seems like the kind of month where you have to squeeze a pint pot into a half!   We're off to see Lindsey Buckingham in the middle of the month, just before my birthday and I'm also hopeful of the promise of a late lunch with some ladies who are regulars from our local pub, who fancy a bit of a "do" at a posh Italian restaurant nearby.

Suldog asked me last post whence came the expression - "I couldn't give a flying kipper's fart!"

I thought I must have picked it up somewhere on my travels.   Turns out it's mine, I think.   I googled it and found no result except on my blog - Skrikes, I'm off again!

And so, if I don't see you through the week, I'll see you through the window, mes bloggy lovers!   Ciao bellas!

This fantastic image of the atmospheric ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle in December by photographer Guy Edwardes.   Stunning.   PLEASE CLICK FOR MORE ABOUT GUY.

And I'm just going to leave you with this beauty from La Bush:

The Art of Just Being...

One of my favourite works of art (among many, I might add!) is this sculpture by Albert Toft called The Spirit of Contemplation.

She sits, somewhat overlooked by her modern counterparts and the rush of the new, in the Laing Art Gallery in Newcastle upon Tyne.

I've known her for over thirty years.   We are old friends, she and I.

When I first caught sight of this life-size bronze, I thought her impossibly beautiful and unattainable.   I wanted to be her.

I might have spoken before about my aspiration to have been an artist's inspiration.   His muse.   I think the time for that has fled.

But the spirit still gazes unseeingly out at an unknown future, lost to contemplation and reverie.

Who she was to the artist, Albert Toft, I do not know.   I can find little about him online.

The shock of the new.   L'Art Nouveau, as it was at that time.

And this leads me to ask, what time do any of us take for contemplation in this day and age?

Most of us run from task to task;   from work to home;   from bus to tram to pounding the pavement;   from thought to fleeting thought, to ennui...   From one demand on our time to another, in fact.

I am asking you to take a few moments out today, mes muses, to just sit and be.   Not to do.   Anything.   Other than breathe...   I am asking for just a few minutes of your time.

Spend them in contemplation, as I will do.   Observe your thoughts as they pass though your mind, but do not allow them to derail you from just sitting and being.   Concentrate on your breathing.

In.

And out.   Focus on the out breath.   The exhale.   Make it as long as you can and feel those tense muscles across your back, chest and shoulders begin to loosen.

Let those thoughts go.   There will be ample time to attend to them when you cease your contemplative moment.

Merely sit and close your eyes to the world.   Still the mind.

Breathe.

And be...

For, after all, we are human Be-ings, as opposed to human Do-ings, non?

Tell me how it goes for you?!   Do you feel a little less fraught?   A tad less anxious?   I hope it for you.

A la prochaine, mes bloggy blackberries - Well, we're in October already, non?!   Blackberry time.

See you in the hedge-rows!

Famous last words...

These words from Amy's own sweet cupid's bow lips...



p.s. I am away, but I've left a few petits morceaux for you while I am gone - Hope that's okay with you?

Mwah!

Back to Black...

During my quiet time away from the Interwebs, I was rocked by two news items...

I mainly gain my news via the Internet, so I did miss it when I could not, but with 24 hour rolling television news stations, you're never too far away from a story. Or so it seems.

I was in tears at the news of the terribly early death of lovely little Amy Winehouse.

I know her story has been everywhere, but I could not let it pass without saying that I feel so strongly that she should not have died.

How can someone so young, so pretty, so talented, so bright, have burned out at such an early age?

I loved her music and felt she harkened back in some ways to a sweeter, more innocent era in some respects.

Unfortunately, the lure of drugs is never innocent. Or sweet.

Suffice it to say, she has left a little legacy of treasure.

I really feel for her loving and long-suffering parents and family. And Amy herself, who seemed to me like a little girl who was afraid to grow up, and who seemed not to be able to love herself enough.

Now sadly she never will...



The second story concerns our neighbours in Norway.

I mourn for your tragedy, my friends.

I am so sorry for your grave losses.

I mourn your country's lost innocence in some ways...

Life will never be quite the same again, I fear...

So much talent. So many beautiful and bright young things.

Lost to a right-wing madman.

I am so sorry for what path your lives must now run along, my friends.

Such treasure now stilled...

May you all find peace in time.

I wish this for you, along with love.

Legends...

Today, I am taking a half-day from work. I haven't taken much time off in ages, other than at Christmas, of course, but that doesn't count!

Today, I'm going to a concert with GJ, and it's one that he's been looking forward to for ages. We're seeing Richard Thompson on his Dream Attic tour.

Tomorrow, we are sadly at GJ's Uncle's funeral. He passed on, in a hospice last week, near midnight Wednesday.

I had chosen long ago to call his Uncle, The Arthurian Legend... He was such a legend. I never told Arthur. I wish now I had.

Warm and witty, olde worlde charming and very much alive. A tumour robbed him of his wit and wonder. I shall hold on to his great warmth, and his last hug forever.

Dream on, legend...

Photographic Artist Shayne McGuire CLICK HERE

And, if you're curious about Richard Thompson, and have never heard of him, rather than me post a video here, check out Youtube, starting HERE - In spite of Chairman Bill's advice on how to make the video not eat up most of my page, I repel technology!

What's on Wednesday??!

Well you've been so wonderful to me, thank you so, and Monday brought me the delights of a day to myself in the city...

Feeling stronger, but colder in the still winter-tinged air, and open to new experiences, I met my friend, Pamlette for brunch, and she regaled me with the detail of her wonderful life without the constraints of work, and she listened to my woeful history of late, which you've all been very accommodating of recently, mes braves...

Then, I wandered comfortably amid the delights of our Victorian art gallery, the Laing, and found copies of sixteenth century French maps of the city now languishing in the British Museum; Georgian watercolours of what was, and what now could never be, and Victorian watercolours painted by the architects of the majesty of our northern city, once built by coal and industry - The imposing station with its columns and freezing air, a former impressive town hall glistening, now sadly demolished; Galleries to swish your crinolines in; Light-filled shopping arcades that once echoed with laughter and gaiety, and the ghosts of what our city might have been had not our Twentieth Century modernistic forefathers in the Sixties demolished all that was good in their wake, in favour of glass and concrete and progress and multi-storey, poverty-filled despair...

And then I encountered the one in a million that is Sara... Fab, feisty and fifty she may be, but she'd pass for just over half of that, bless her cotton socks... She can't see this herself, bien sur...

What is there to say? Beauty and wonder and the frisson of feeling like you've known this bloggy friend all of your life, while only knowing them but a year in Blogland...

What can you say about one's strength and power, energy and radiance, experiencing the magical Rufus Wainwright, songsmith of our lives, and the short life of the honourable architect of our soot-dappled city, John Dobson...

On this, whole lives have been built...

Be thankful, friends, for beauty and wonder in your lives, in spite of the broiling maelstrom of la vie quotidienne...

Marken in the Netherlands... Life and happiness.

One of the most blissful moments of my recent holiday was spent here at Marken in the Netherlands, with my fuchsia-manicured, glistening toesies dabbling in the waters of the IJsselmeer...

Seated beside my darling son, who also had his long, bare feet troubling the waters, and with dappled sunlight winking on the gently lapping waves of what was once an island in the sea.

Marken in its time was a bustling village of fisher-folk and tradesmen, before the Powers That Be made the coastal location no longer, by draining waters and building polders, all for honest, economic reasons.

Marken makes its mark and captures your heart with its soul, its light and its beauty...

Thing is. Time was... Things pass. All must change. The beauty of life for me is captured in such moments. Fleeting.

Blink and you miss them.

Happiness to my mind does not stay long in the corners and recesses of our lives, waiting to be drawn upon, sucked in on a dying breath. Neither is it something you can rely on, rest your laurels upon, set any store by...

I believe you must grab it by the handful, and see it for what it is. Brief treasure.

Please gather it where you can.



p.s. Please double click through to the bigger picture, if Blogger cuts it off in its prime...

It will give you pause for wonder this morning, mes bloggy Speculaas (spiced biscuits!)

Come meditate in my field full of Northumbrian poppies...

Take time out to enjoy flowers...and my beautiful county...

How beautiful is it where you live, mes Bloggy Petals?!

American Beauty...

I hope you might enjoy this snippet, mes bloggy chums, for I am at the 'orspital today, having me liver scanned for signs of anything that oughtn't to be there, before (somewhat reluctantly) returning to work tomorrow...

I adore the haunting, mystical quality of Antony and the Johnsons' rare music. They are on tour in Britain shortly, and I have missed the chance of a ticket, because I was afraid to book it only to not be able to go because of my back issues at the time... This happened to me last year and I wasted a small sum of money on a beloved artist that I was unable to go to see, sadly... John Smith, in fact, I spoke of him earlier on in my witterings... He's playing Glastonbury this year, so hopefully greater recognition lies around the corner for that guitar man...

And, here is dahlink Antony, for your delight and delectation... Enjoy every bitter-sweet moment, mes petits petals de rose, and know that you love and are loved... I hope you like the music. A toute a l'heure mes amours fous...

...Antony and the Johnsons is a Mercury Prize-winning music act from New York City. Born in Chichester in England in 1971, Antony Hegarty moved with his family to Amsterdam in 1977 for a year, before settling in San Jose, California in 1981. As a teenager he was influenced by British synth pop of the time – particularly emotive singers like Marc Almond,


Alison Moyet
and Boy George.



His musical style also appears to borrow heavily from folk artists of the mid 20th century, such as Lou Reed, and The Velvet Underground.

Antony and the Johnsons' musical style has been described as Dark Cabaret, and Antony has been known to perform on stage in total darkness... The band's 2005 album, I Am a Bird Now, won the UK's prestigious Mercury Prize and was called Album of the Year by Mojo magazine.






In his song, The Lake, Antony used elements from the 1827 version of The Lake by Edgar Allan Poe, here are the lyrics...

In youth's spring, it was my lot
To haunt of the wide earth a spot
The which I could not love the less
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound
And the tall trees that towered around

But when the night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot as upon all
And the wind would pass me by
In its stilly melody

My infant spirit would awake
To the terror of the lone lake
My infant spirit would awake
To the terror of the lone lake

Yet that terror was not fright
But a tremulous delight
And a feeling undefined
Springing from a darkened mind
Death was in that poisoned wave
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his dark imagining
Whose wildering thought could even make
An Eden of that dim lake

But when the night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot as upon all
And the wind would pass me by
In its stilly melody

My infant spirit would awake
To the terror of the lone lake
My infant spirit would awake
To the terror of the lake

Springing from a darkened mind
So lovely was the loneliness
In youth's spring, it was my lot
In its stilly melody
An Eden of that dim lake
An Eden of that dim lake
Lone, lone, lonely...



Please click to enlarge the picture if you cannot see Antony, who flirts with androgynous beauty and breaks hearts with his moving voice... Sometimes Blogger has the habit of gobbling up me photies!

"I'm a human being," Hegarty says. "I was born out of the earth, made of the same stuff as the rest of the earth, as those things you mentioned, like water and sunlight and elements and dust, mountains. ... Obviously, it's a poetic flight of fancy in a way, but at the same time, it's very much grounded in reality."