My little corner of the southwest of England has emerged from a few days of low cloud. Not exactly our familiar greige but just very low cloud, making life a bit damp. Another unwelcome side effect is that all the brightly coloured autumn leaves become a rather dull shade of brown as soon as they spend any time on the ground.
Autumn is a tricksy time for dog owners, hunting a poo, even one done at the end of a lead can be so difficult even in brightly coloured leaves.
This beautiful leaf was in Dulwich Picture Gallery Park. Somewhere I have hunted autumnal poos often. There is a wonderful sculpture by Peter Randall-Page that celebrates doggy defecation in the same park.
Walking the Dog I, II, III by Peter Randall-Page
No chance of missing those doggy dollops. But real life is not like that,so my autumn will be spent peering into piles of leaves. I don’t always find my target, so by way of reparation I pick up a less diligent dog owner’s abandoned poo. There is something slightly uncomfortable about picking up a cold anonymous poo. Community spirit is not always comfy.
Rather a lovely but not interesting answer. My Grand daughters first Birthday. However if we roll back a year my response would be different. The tomorrow of exactly one year ago was my daughters first day of her maternity leave. She was in London and I was as far west as it is possible to be in Devon. My priority for that day was to pack my Nana bag. A bag that would be grabbed some time in the next month or so when I would be needed as number 2 birthing partner.
There was a mental list , thank goodness, because at 2a.m my granddaughter decided to start her arrival. Some of the mental list made it into an actual bag and I made it into London in time for her grand entrance. Despite the A303 doing the overnight closure thing and the London rush hour doing its daytime thing.
So if I am ever asked on the second of October what my priority for tomorrow will be. The answer is likely to always be the same.
A rather strange summer in the UK has created some lovely flowers for autumn.
Which could be considered to be natural schadenfreude. Summers misfortune has made autumn thrive.
Schadenfreude has never been my bag. I really disliked those TV programmes that invited the public to send in videos of people having minor slips, trips and falls. I don’t like pranks or practical jokes. My moral compass doesn’t take any enjoyment from other people’s misfortune. Misfortune falling upon those that deserve it is sometimes satisfying, but no more than that.
I’m pondering this because I heard a sportsman being interviewed yesterday and he was asked if he had Schadenfreude when a team that did not renew his contract immediately hit a period of poor performance.
There was a long awkward radio silence, he then apologised for not knowing the words meaning. After the presenter rephrased her question there was another silence while he considered his answer.
” Why would anyone take pleasure in their friends and former team members suffering repeated defeats ” he asked.
I can only hope the interviewer squirmed at her question. She was clearly working her way through scripted questions, but had not registered that every one of his previous answers had demonstrated that he was a compassionate and thoughtful person.
I was going to ponder a different word today but Schadenfreude pushed Prescient from my mind, I should have realised that would happen!
This is quite a dry ,wordy blog but autumn flowers in cafes are brightening up the look of it if nothing else.
My big problem with schadenfreude is that there is no natural control. I once saw a man slip on a banana skin. It gave me brief pleasure to witness a cliche but ultimately he collided with a hard park bench and really hurt himself.
And so October blows in I wonder where the ponderings will take me.
Farewell September, you were fabulous. Sunshine from start to finish yesterday, so a small road trip on the A38 to harvest Vitamin D on the edge of Dartmoor, at Ashburton. Prompted by my blog of yesterday I remembered to take the pile of stuff labeled ‘ Charity Shop’ actually to a charity shop. Link below to an introduction to Ashburton, a historic town founded in 1305. As with many towns in Devon I used to work there occasionally and loved the vibe of the place.
While drinking our coffee we were involved in someone else’s colour choices for the outside of their home.
Now that is a pretty broad spectrum of colour choices.
Personally my vote was for the really dark blue at the top of this close up picture. In September sun it was the perfect colour. Maybe not so much on days when Dartmoor pulls rain out of the sky specifically to drench anyone who foolishly has to work in the town, and be out and about. Oh Ashburton I remember your rainy days…
Another wall was in need of some tlc.
Delivering stuff to charity shops obligates a bit of a ruffle about in the stock already on display. I have a fascination for the artwork on Album or LP covers. Charity shops are a rich source of the albums that no contemporary vinyl collector would ever be interested in.
We also found a graveyard for figurines at a very reasonable price.
September is also the time of Harvest Festivals , we caught a flower arrangement on the move.
All in all a very colourful day finished off with a late afternoon swim still in sunshine.
I nearly did. Why do the months I love most travel at the National speed limit, and the ones I don’t care for much just linger .
At some point in September I was planning to blog about ‘Second -hand September’
The second to last day of September is hardly going to spread the word but this blog is almost a confession. For someone who fully embraces the second hand world of Charity Shops (Op shops) and EBay my September has not seen me set foot in a Charity shop. On instagram I follow a woman who writes great wisdom about fashion and second-hand purchasing and the effect the fashion industry has on the planet.
I set up this Instagram page a while ago . Uncharted waters to do something that is not art or blogging related. As you will see there is not a single post but before September is done I will start the second-hand ball rolling.
My second-hand win of this September is a worthy starting story.
A long time ago I bought two new dresses from Toast. They are simple throw on dresses that can do a day at work or nighttime galavanting. They are still fabulous despite doing loads of twirls in the washing machine. The black one has been redyed twice. I thought they would be with me until the end of time.
Having lost my sense of taste and smell I am losing weight. Most clothes just fit me better but because of the low backed design these two dresses just hang off me, my shoulders are more out than in.
Intermittent browsing on Ebay paid off a few weeks ago. A smaller size blue dress appeared and I successfully bid on it, and am very happily wearing a perfect second hand version of a dress that I have loved for many years.
Not that the new instagram account will be all about clothes. It will be the perfect place to tell all the stories of my second hand shopping and non-shopping . Sometimes items on the shelves tell fabulous stories but are best left on the shelf…
Second-hand September, but only just.
P.s oh the reality, I realise that today not a single piece of clothing is second hand. One piece is very old and one new. Thank goodness I am sitting on a chair that was made in the 1960’s looking at a sideboard from the same era.
What aspects of your cultural heritage are you most proud of or interested in?
Being British is to be curated from a culture that has always been a multicultural stew. As befits a small island nation that has been the subject of invasions and conquests. We also have a history as colonisers which has many negative connotations but has boosted the multicultural character of Britain. It is multicultural Britain that I am most proud of, it is my cultural heritage. Maybe I should do a genetic test to see what heritage my genes are sourced from. That question is easily answered. But where do my cultural interests come from. I honestly have no idea. I am a magpie for the cultural experiences that living in an ethnically diverse community brings. I used the word magpie advisedly; just like a magpie I see/ hear/ taste/ experience something intriguing from other cultures or heritages and immediately research/ steal the idea from any source to pop into my mental resource to be utilised later when and if appropriate. No shame.
Waiting for Agnes. Storm Agnes is on her way, but early this morning there was a bobber in the water. Taking a dip before the storm disrupts our coastal life.
Just one bobber and a buoy
Just like a storm the subjects for this blog are blowing around in my ponderage. 4 possible subjects all of them small. Struggling to find a common theme and realising that with forbearance and some imagination the link might be the sea.
Tasks for the day
Chores
Dog walks
Make new necklace out of three old broken ones
Sketch a merwoman/bobber taking a strong pose
Dog walks
Chores
Lets not talk about the chores but the first dog walk found a familiar bobber bobbing in Tranquility Bay. Which for now is still tranquil.
I have been holding on to three broken necklaces for some time. I moved them to this house in bits two years ago. Today was the day that I actually reused the best bits from all three. The link to the sea is tenuous but the new necklace is made mostly out of artificial pearls.
My other slightly sea related subject is a new to me accompaniment for toast.
Fishy, salty and lemony it is the perfect wake up for my post-covidly pathetic taste buds. I tried Gentlemen’s Relish but it seems my tastes are more towards the criminal than the gentlemanly.
And so onto the sketch of the day. It seems only appropriate to name her Agnes.
What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?
Bobbing and the bobbers are a rich source of advice. So much so that isolating the best piece of advice would be foolhardy. But the wittiest piece of advice I gained from the big bobbing trunk of advice is really rather useful and it also makes me laugh out loud whenever I hear the first sentence in real life or on the radio or TV.
” Well, the ball is in their/his/her court” says the protagonist, following a disagreement or differing opinion on any number of subjects. This suggests to anyone who is listening that a point of understanding or neutrality has been reached after a period of tentative discussions or slightly uncomfortable negotiations.
The protagonist is suggesting that the next move is entirely up to the person or organisation that they have had a disagreement with.
A Bobbers additional sentence takes all illusion of control away.
” But the bat is up my arse”
Removing any scintilla of doubt as to where the real power lies.
This patch of England has been my home since 1988, it is far from my place of birth and in that time I have not always lived here. But it is where my soul has its feet under the table. This morning for no reason in particular I wondered why Plymouth Sound was a ‘Sound’. Geography had the answer.
Yesterday we were at the far west reaches of the Sound, at Kingsand and Cawsand. The furthest point seen through the circle is, I believe, the far west point of Plymouth Sound before it becomes the Atlantic Ocean.
Conversely dog grooming occurs on the furthest easterly point at Wembury.
Yesterday I was able to take a photo of Both the easterly point and the most westerly with a wooden tall ship in the middle.
The Pelican of London had just left Plymouth and was taking quite a buffering from the wind as it sheltered in Cawsand Bay. Madness to think that a tall ship moored here would, in the past, have been ripe, low hanging fruit for the smugglers, pirates and wreckers of all the places we love to walk our dogs and enjoy gorgeous scenery.
Bigger than a bight and wider than a fjord . Packed with history and landscape. 99% of @theoldmortuary blogs occur from here.
The serendipitous aspect of life gives me energy. The saying that life happens while we are making plans is such a sage piece of advice. I am not one of life’s natural planners although I absolutely know that a certain amount is essential to a smooth and anxiety free life. I hide ‘planning’ in the words routine, chores and repetitive. Things that must be done.
Looking back over my week there has been enough space in my routine and repetitive chores to allow some serendipity. The picture above is a serendipitous moment after collecting a parcel from the local sorting office. When this chore needs to be done I always combine the trip with an early morning dog walk to Oreston. The perfect reflection of the sea, boats, sky and buoys was immediately energising, the dogs got a longer walk than necessary and I harvested vitamin D after a few days of dismal weather.
Being with other artists at an exhibition energised me because we are all like little hermit crabs :isolated from one another in our work spaces doing our individual thing. Often having the same stumbling blocks. My artistic stumbling block has always been my inability to follow through with a sketch book unless absolutely forced to by the requirements of a course or tutor. Another artist clearly suffers the same blocks and hesitance but has cured her problem by creating a loose leaf sketch book.
Then there was my night of live music on Friday. Energy boosted and delight overload as the power of music made a whole room dance and jiggle with the glee and bonhomie created by skilled and happy musicians.
Another type of energy comes from meeting people at a birthday party. Random conversations can be scintilating especially if the participants have honesty and warmth. It may not seem very birthdayish but last night I discussed the spirituality of being with someone as they die with women who, like me sit on the atheist/agnostic spectrum. It helped that we all had professional experience of witnessing many strangers deaths but our conversation was based on the deaths of people we loved and it was uplifting/energising because there was an absence of faith muddying our conversation.
Thats enough energy for a Sunday morning!
On reflection.
P.s I forgot about cold water swimming, the best energy generator of mind and body known to this woman.
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