What is your favorite holiday? Why is it your favorite?
An evening walk at a marina gave me the perfect image to describe a favourite type of holiday. And I am not a boaty person, but the name says it all.
Not just holidays though although I may have to google the word holiday.
Holidays are just an extension of ‘ moments’ or ‘taking a break’ Periods of life that differ significantly from the mundanity of the norm.
I had loads to do yesterday but the two big dog walks of the day gave me the chance to take two mini coddiwomples. The one in the boatyard and one in a city park.
The city park, courtesy of Victorian municipal planning gave me quite the tiny coddiwomple in bright April sunlight. From a shady English Woodland…
To the fiery colours of Far Eastern Azalea bushes, simply by turning my body 90 degrees.
Two unknown destinations when I set out on my mini coddiwomple. A tiny holiday from the days admin.
When I discovered Venn diagrams at Primary School I became a little obsessed and created intersectional circles as doodles when I should have been doing something more meaningful in class. I would create figures and shapes with intersecting circles filled with words and thoughts. This image popped up yesterday on a science website and it just makes me smile inside at my much, much younger nerdiness.
The more mature me loves the associated word, Intersectionality which is most commonly used to describe the less admirable facets of society.
But Venn diagrams and Intersectionality can also be a way of quickly identifying positive and joyous connections in the world and are really useful in decision making and design. A Venn diagram is fabulous for colour mixing too.
John Venn has a fabulous alternativeblue plaque which also makes me smile.
Wikimedia Commons
Which neatly brings me back to the first diagram.
A man who is an acknowledged Logical Thinker is also an Anglican Priest. That’s a whole new Venn diagram for me to ponder over.
Spring is not just ‘in the air’ she is on the ground and surfing the sea. My winterphobic bones are enthusiastic and ready to gad about a bit.
Two solid days of sunshine puts gallivanting back on the daily schedule.
Not that I was ever brave enough to quit my job and go gallivanting around the globe.
I am a small ‘g’ galivanter. Almost certainly because of my family circumstances.When I was at the peak big ‘G’ gallivanting stage, I needed to be responsible and stick around because my mum developed an untreatable neurological condition when she was in her mid 40’s.
As it turns out having to moderate youthful big ‘G’ gallivanting taught me to really max out on small ‘g’ gallivanting. A useful life skill I think.
A collection of Galanthus gadding or gallivanting about.
Perhaps most regular readers were out loving life rather than reading my words, which is much the better option.
This morning brought me a Wazz baffle from The Londonist. One of my favourite reads.
Wazzbaffles have long intrigued me. I worked in the City of London for a long while and Wazzbaffles were quite the thing as an architectural feature. Similarly, opposite our home in Cornwall, the local church has wazzbaffles in the architectural corners between the church and the local pub.
Wazzbaffles were a large part of a conversation I had a few weeks ago with a group of friends who had never realised that historic parts of most old towns and villages have these things.
The point of today’s blog is twofold. I can natter on about a weird little fact and hopefully whoever I was talking to will see this and realise that I wasn’t talking nonsense. Because I have forgotten exactly who I was talking to a few weeks ago.
Low stats and forgetting the exact members of a conversation three weeks ago are linked.
I mever know, exactly, who reads my blogs and that is actually a huge part of the joy. In real life I sometimes forget who I have had which conversation with. I take no joy in this and see forgetfulness as an irritation and a disservice to my friends.
But how lucky am I to have so many conversations in different formats that they get jumbled, misaligned and partially forgotten. Even more lucky because I consider myself to be not the most outgoing person in any room.
Anyway non-outgoing me is dipping my nattering toes into Substack. Every now and then I will ponder my ponders. Nothing much to see there yet but here is the link.
Today was the first time I heard the word sunsetting to describe something being cancelled or discontinued.
The context was President Trump ‘sunsetting’ Equality, Diversity and Inclusion legislation and the consequent race by business leaders to ditch EDI to gain favour with the new president.
Even in writing that sentence it was easy for me to write the more common word ‘ditch’ for ending something. I could have used ‘dump’.
By using the word sunsetting are the president, big business and the reporting media polishing a turd.
Sunsets and therefore sunsetting suggest a gentle transition towards the bible-blackness of night. A benign feeling of anticipated change.
Unexpected change doesn’t quite fit the sunsetting phrase either.
No lover scorned is ever going to suggest that they were sunsetted.
Words are a constant source of fascination. I love them and sunsets.
Life rather joyfully overtook the plans for a De-Christmas of our house.
Significantly I remembered that I had also Christmassed up the Tennis Club Clubhouse. She who puts it up inevitably has to take it down, so my morning was spent removing twinkle and baubles from a community space. This led to many lovely conversations with people, both familiar and unfamiliar, around the club.
What I did not achieve was any sort of real Christmas progress at home.
But I did remove one set of lights from a live tree and reposition them in old turquoise coloured glasses to give our whale some greenish winter lights for his shelf unit.
The live tree needed to be settled into the yard . Which required more footling about, which took time .
Then planned friends came round ,and still the actual Christmas Tree stands resplendent in baubles and red lights until 4pm arrived and we had to go out.
Definitely a day when procrastination and circumstance won. I have decided that De-Christmasing is actually a whole weekend project.
I am not a habitual list-maker. There is a constant rolling list of lists in my head and there are random notes in a paper diary.
Midway through December the paper diary becomes more and more two diaries, both bulky, that need to be referred to.
A morning of admin both personal and Tennis Club has required the two diaries, my smart phone and my laptop. 4 things ! Plus my brain.
Seasonal lists will start to appear in the 2024 diary in the run up to Christmas. Whilst walking the dogs at lunchtime I will consider which lists need to be transcribed onto paper from my swirling thoughts later this afternoon.
And so on to J on 26 Days to Boxing Day.
I rather like the letter J. It may be the first letter I learned to write as it starts my first name.
Both my children have a J. Jays encourage a flourish. Jays feel like happiness they make me smile. Some lovely words start with a jay.
English was my favourite subject by a long way. I went to a very normal State school with an excellent English department. The staff there encouraged my natural love of creativity and communication using language.
In this week of a puzzling, to many, decision by nearly 51% of the American electorate to give Donald Trump a second crack at being U.S President, I was sent a copy of a letter by an old school friend. He is equally obsessed by English. Below is his letter to The Age, an Australian Newspaper.
In the Charles Dickens novel Martin Chuzzlewit, (1843), one of the characters asks,: “f I was called upon to paint the American Eagle, how should I do it?” His companion replies,” Paint it like an eagle, I suppose.”
“No that wouldn’t do for me. I should want to draw it like a bat for its short-sightedness,, like a bantam for its bragging, like an ostrich for its putting its head in the mud. And like a phoenix for its power of springing anew from the ashes of its faults and vices and soaring up into the sky.”
While the American electorate were acting like bats and ostriches, Donald Trump somehow managed to transform himself from a bantam into a phoenix. Except as everyone but the American people know, the phoenix isn’t real it’s a myth. Meanwhile the American Eagle’s future is more uncertain than ever.
David Pullen
Martin Chuzzlewitt, fictional character created by Charles Dickens could have made this observation yesterday. From abroad it feels like a cousin ( The U.S) has entered into a relationship that outsiders can see is not healthy.
Is the last line of a poem that has shaped my thinking ever since I first read it.
The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost.
I have always known that any decision taken, sets me on a certain path. There is always an alternative.
Poetry resides in Autumn for me, possibly because of this poem. A Yellow Wood speaks to me of Autumnal colour changes.
This poem suggests that free will and decision making go hand in hand. That is not always my experience. Pragmatism is often the path of choice. No matter how verdant the alternative seems. Regardless , right now I have chosen the path of more poetry. Two books, quickly reserved on my Library App.
A poem or two before bed will be my new Autumnal habit.
A classic ponder for a Friday. Covid has darkened our doors this week with 50% of the human household out of action sequentially. 100% in total. So not a huge amount of out and aboutage for us. I have chosen not to walk the dogs locally as it is impossible not to meet someone to talk to. I have not been alone, an autobiography of Adrian Edmondson and a biography of Alexander McQueen have kept me occupied. Both creative. interesting and somewhat troubled men at times. On a brighter note the David Austin Rose catalogue popped into my email, this is the inspiration for todays blog.
I chose a climbing rose for the yard and have ordered a bare root to be delivered in November. I chose it on sight and smell. The name in my opinion is rather ugly.
Unknown to me Crepuscule means sunset in French. Living in the west of England I have learned to love a good sunset. Where I grew up in the flat East of England sunsets were something that happened elsewhere.
Sunset over Plymouth Sound.
Just a little googling found an even uglier word for something quite so lovely.
Sunnansetlgong was the term for sunset in Old English while the word sunset meant West.
Both perfectly understandable. In looking this up I got the usual targeted online advert. My answer would be
theoldmortuary.design 