Early morning twinkle, I was almost tempted to go home and get my swimmers on. Skinny dipping is only for dusk not broad daylight.
A full day of sun followed on from my early morning dog walk. Coffee and a bite sized Portuguese Custard Tart. Beer traps that had actually protected my precious herbs and vegetable plants from slugs. All before 11 am made for a very satisfying morning. A bit of work through to 4pm and then a walk on the Hoe and an ice-cream with a small person completed my Tuesday in a most satisfactory way.
Sunshine really is a most marvelous thing. I’m slightly lost for words. I’m all out of pondering except of course that I am not. Sunshine makes everything feel in a better place. Especially the not particularly hot sunshine of May. Unless you happen to be working hard in a white painted yard at midday when churlish as it seems even the May Sunshine can be a little over-warm. Some people are just never happy!
I think it is not what I do in my community but why that is important.
For the record, despite not playing competitive tennis for fifty years I do some admin and Social Media for my local tennis club and host, with others, a regular artists meet up.
I do it because both my mum and her mum were active in their communities. They did far more significant things than I will ever do. Where that sense of community kindness came from I will never know. They both worked to earn an income but also did unpaid work that benefitted their communities.
My grandmother ran a rural pub with her husband and a rural taxi service with her lover. The two businesses and relationships seemed to co-exist and compliment each other peacefully. Who better to drive the inebriated customers home than the landlords wife. Doubling their money.
Being both the publicans wife and the local taxi service gave her an insight into the gaps in her community. She filled those gaps where she could with kindness and help. Lonely or isolated people knew that on a Sunday if they nursed a single pint until closing time at 2 PM they would be invited to join the large family roast dinner that my grandad always cooked and served in their farmhouse kitchen. On Christmas Day so many people lingered that trestle tables were set up in the Public Bar.
My mum was a legal and medical secretary. In her spare time in the early sixties she set up clinics that provided women with contraception and sexual health care. Like her mum she saw the gaps in her community, domestic violence and child poverty and did what she could to help. Ultimately her voluntary role became her career but that was never the plan.
A little bit of kindness is always useful in any community. You just have to spot the gap that suits your abilities and your community.
Getting our backyard into shape after a long wet winter/spring involves little tweaks of DIY and trips to my favourite hardware store. A store that has been in the city since 1927 when Union Street was very posh. The street is a lot less posh now but as I love a bit of faded glamour it is a good place for an urban dog walk when I need to visit the store.
Not all the faded glamour is all that glamorous. This street was once infamous as the Red Light District and bustling hub of the city’s nightlife. The street art in some of the less-than-salubrious nooks and crannies is wonderful though.
And if I needed any illegal drugs this would be just the sort of place to find them.
I just find street art so fascinating. I love this eye because, reflected in it is another piece of local art. A sculpture by Antony Gormley which is at West Hoe.
Look II by Antony Gormley. (Rusty Reg)
While fact checking this blog I was charmed to see that google maps use the ‘ local’ name rather than the official one
In some interesting digital circularity I created this image.
The Buddha I was refurbing*, hence the trip to the hardware store, got a brief moment of wide- eyed giddiness when I superimposed street art and Rusty Reg over contemplatively closed eyelids.
All this arty pondering and I have not mentioned the really puzzling thing about my city walk. There was deer poo on the grass at the back of Union Street. What on earth was a deer/deers doing in the city centre? So unlikely I am at a loss to even ponder such a thing.
Do deers slip into the city to buy illegal drugs?, Do they attend live music gigs? Do they do DIY ?Do they like Street Art?
Do you have a quote you live your life by or think of often?
I could quote something really meaningful here, but to my shame, my often thought of quote is rather passive-aggressive. Rarely said aloud but thought of through gritted teeth while smiling.
” You are mistaking my tolerance for indifference”
These 7 words have a whole scale of thoughts behind them. 90% of the time the response is of no consequence outside of my thoughts, just me thinking that I am a bit annoyed or really annoyed but nothing really earth shattering . But the 10% can be an unexpected fierce retort or worse the icy chill of some final invisible line being crossed.
I hear you thinking what relevance to the picture of Kingsand Clock tower is my admission of passive-aggresive thoughts.
Well, when the sun came out on Sunday we were sat at the bottom of the clock tower basking in delicious sunlight. Coffees in hand and calm happy dogs resting on the beach. The beach was big, as the tide was out, and there were very few people about. I was pondering that our exact position on a calm and beautiful day was sometimes under 40 foot waves as the worst of winter storms hit this coastal village. Images and news article below.
My pondering and basking were interrupted by 4 people and a large dog choosing to sit right next to us. They were not basking and pondering sort of people. Noisy, competitive, faffers without a scintilla of calm about them. With a whole beach to choose why sit next to the only other people sitting peacefully pondering?
I had about twenty minutes of tolerance in me. My coffee was done, and my pondering about massive waves was unnerving me slightly. Time to remove my intolerant self from the location with one of those statements that may or may not have been heard.
” Shall we move on?”
“This is about as relaxed as my bum after a hot curry”
Oh dear!
Proof of how empty the beach was.
A clear case of me hiding a case of grumpiness in some beautiful surroundings. In a world of so many wonderful, positive quotes the few negative ones I hold onto are easier to recall.
Moving on, have you ever seen a more gorgeous village hall.
At no point in blog #900 were we more than 2 miles as the seagull flies from home. But as you can see from this map we live in a complex place water-wise. To cover that 2 miles as non-seagulls involves either a long drive involving a toll bridge. A car ferry or a foot ferry.
When I moved from Cornwall to Devon people questioned the decision but being a woman from Essex I always felt rather more like a Tamar Valley resident than a Cornish one. Cornwall can be tricksy with people not born there. Devon has a more open heart. The small move to Devon was, and is no big deal.
Devon on the horizon, Cornwall at my feet. Sometimes the other way round. Just like Jam and Cream or indeed Cream and Jam
The big deal is of course the way I serve scones.
Geography and Cream. Critical!
If in doubt eat a cheese scone no jeopardy with a cheese scone.
#900, I should write something epic and meaningful. And as it happens I can say that yesterday just like life, was about the journey not the destination. Although the destination was certainly the plan.
Cawsand, as viewed from the round window was the destination, but the weather got in the way. Heavy rain kept us prisoners in the van in a rather dull carpark so we chose to relocate to a car park with views . We had lunch, books and newspapers with us and all the facilities of our campervan. We drove to Maker Church and enjoyed the views. There are footpaths from Maker that link to the nearby South West Coastal path, we have parked there often. But never since we have had a camper van and the luxury to enjoy a lunch with comfy seats and a view. Then the rain stopped. The church and churchyard were bathed in bright sunlight. We decided to walk the dogs in the ancient churchyard.
The old churchyard was full of blue and white bluebells and a smattering of wild garlic.
The fragrance as the hundreds of flowers warmed up, was unexpectedly powerful, not sweet but heady and musky with a hint of garlic. Since I have never heard of a bluebell perfume I assume it is a redolence that is hard to replicate by the beauty industry. I could have rolled around like an excited dog in fox poo. Obviously I didn’t do that but a smell so gorgeous could easily make me do giddy things. What I did do is study old grave stones.
I love this one wearing a spring garland.
If I were ever to write a novel I would search old graveyards for character names. Yesterdays top name for a character was Philadelphia Jago.
Philadelphia Jago
Although unphotographed there was an unusual amount of Samson or Sampsons buried in the old bit of the graveyard. I wonder if that is a Cornish thing or if the name was just much more popular 200 years ago. My son is a Sam but his full name of Samuel means ‘name of God’ or ‘God has heard’ . Had I called him Samson or Sampson his name would have been far more appropriate as that means child of the sun and he, very much, is a sunny kind of person. I wonder how well Samson would have worked for him in the classrooms of the nineties.
Maybe I should finish this 900th ponder with some views from a country churchyard. They were spectacular.
Below is the morning question from my blog host. Is camping only considered camping if an overnight has occured. Yesterday was definitely camping light. Hours avoiding rain in a snug van with enough to read and eat and then much later than planned we arrived at the actual planned destination of the day. But that is a blog for another day.
I am erratically productive. Naturally most productive from 7 in the morning until 3 in the afternoon. Sunshine helps enormously. At 3 I am ready for lunch sometimes the first meal of the day. Then there is a creative hiatus until about 7 in the evening. 7 pm is my creative planning and thinking phase. Unrecognisable to outside observers who might think I am just being a regular human doing regular human stuff, but outside appearances can be deceiving. Inside my skull, all sorts of schemes are being hatched and discarded. Google Research is my friend at 7, both ends of the day if I get the chance.
Colour was my stimulation yesterday. Some Green Man Choir singing is always a good inspiration for some thinking,usually about the patriarchy and folklore. When I got home there was a lovely, accidental, Primary colour placement of some supermarket lemons.
Actually all the citrus fruits were feeling photogenic yesterday.
Ruby Grapefruit masquerading as an orange.
Only purple was missing from the mornings colour ponderings but as luck would have it Facebook had a timehop from more than 10 years ago in my Cornish garden. Obviously, a better Spring than we are having this year.
Creativity is such a strange phenomenon. Trapped by being close to the results/ punishment/rewards cycle of Productivity. Nobody gives credit for creative/productive thinking or experimentation. A huge amount of creativity never creates a tangible ‘thing’. But sometimes intangible things gather together to become something. Sometimes failure becomes success and sometimes the other way round. Sometimes I creatively ponder around in circles.
Not exactly a sunset picture but silky waters and a large cloud. The water was very enticing, on our evening walk, but we knew that it was all a lie by nature. Two hours earlier we had had one of our chillier swims of the winter/spring season. 5 bobbers bobbed at 5 pm, and for some reason it was unexpectedly cold. We have low expectations, which were exceeded. The coldest month in the water in Plymouth is March but I suspect our lack of any sustained good weather has kept the sea temperature low and there was a very brisk wind as we swam and chatted.
Hot tea and chocolate biscuits sorted us out as we dressed and caught up with each other’s news. I don’t expect any of us to have achieved much on our Friday evening after our swim, but not achieving much could be considered an excellent way to end the working week.
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