The 3rd party prompt today needs this shot from my high-tide evening swim.
I think I am largely oblivious to what freedom means to me, because I have always had it, and I am lucky enough to have never got close to losing freedom because of my individual life choices or those of World Powers.
There were very differing opinions on Britain’s place as a Nuclear Power among the swimmers and bobbers at Tranquillity Bay last night.
Freedom to have differing opinions is a wonderful thing.
If I ever had a career plan, I almost certainly didn’t stick to it effectively. Now I am officially post-career I could retrospectively chart my career in a linear way that might, quite falsely suggest that I had followed a plan or pathway. This morning I had a blogging plan, which did not involve using a 3rd party prompt. But that blog proved to be a little unwieldy. Instead of blogging, I set out to do an early dog walk, ponder my pondering and hopefully return home with a blog in the bag, so to speak.
A chance encounter with a friend, who was talking on his phone inspired both this blog and my 3 hours of mindful painting that was planned for this morning. And I could use the 3rd party prompt which burnishes my algorithms. What woman would not want enhanced algorithms.
A five second conversation.
” Juliet, you’ve inspired me to start writing again”
8 words.
He inspired me with that lovely comment.
What was inspiring me in that moment.
I wanted to explore the 3 colours + white of the Wisteria I had walked a few miles to see yesterday.
Blue,pink,green +white.
Why mindful painting? Just 3 colours mixed any way filling predrawn spheres. Easy to do while my mind and nattering were certain to be running away with me.
One Thursday a month I meet up with a group of creative makers and artists. We create, chatter and drink coffee. I try to always take something to do that I can do, while fully participating in the swirling conversations that fill the airspace over our creative table.
The subjects of conversation today were-
1. An upcoming exhibition
2. A Tree Festival ( hot💥 topic in Plymouth, for all the wrong reasons.)
3. The history of the Merkin.
4. An alpha male in an art group that most of us belong to.
5. To have,or not to have, a second coffee.
6. Spanish rescued dogs.
7 Brixton SW9 ( London).
8. The pleasure of seeing foreign servicemen in uniform.
9. How much free parking do people have left.
10. When will we next meet.
Looks nothing like the Wisteria that inspired the colour choices.
But playing around with the colours will certainly help when I do the actual painting. Below, tweaking saturation and black point, making the whole thing a bit zingier.
Overlaying these 3 pictures.
Gives me this interesting piece.
My career plan was, pretty much, to not plan. Just like this colour exercise this morning. Lets just see where we end up, and if I inspired anyone along the way that was a bonus.
Careers like life should be a journey not a destination.
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.
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.
#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.
I love a discussion that takes me somewhere interesting. Either in real life or in an inner monologue journey. There is a load of stuff that doesn’t interest me, but if someone speaks interestingly about something I have no interest in then it is the style of discussion that becomes the thing of interest. Sometimes the route I take in discussions is almost inexplicable even to me. But that is a sign that I have not been bored. Boredom in conversation is the worst. Boredom comes in all shapes and sizes, all of them human. Oh, I wish I was better at handling it. I’m never bored in my head so I get no practice. I know it is good manners to listen and I am a very very happy listener but not to boring people. I am in absolute awe of people who can tolerate bores and continue to look and sound interested.
The pictures in this blog come from a frequent family discussion that I was aware of at the age of five and in some ways continues on 60 years later and illustrates the twists of an interesting topic that involves boredom at an early stage. My grandparents had a relation who they kept in good contact with but rarely met. He worked at the Dungeness Power Station and lived somewhere near. He sent post cards of his Kent home. My grandparents who lived in the rolling, beautiful, Essex country side thought his landscape was boring.
In the seventies I loved the work of a punk/ Gothic film maker and Artist Derek Jarman.
In the early 2000’s I moved to South London and my nearest coast was Kent.
Derek Jarman had a home on Dungeness.
Prospect Cottage
I was living a day trip away from somewhere my grandparents thought boring but that fascinated an artist I admired.
And so a discussion that I have been part of for 60 years with huge gaps, different people and for a variety of reasons just keeps going and I never know where it is heading.
That is something worthy of discussion.
If only magic realism was a thing. Or Time Travel. I could take my grandparents to Dungeness and show them how fascinating other landscapes are. We could pop in to see Lionel, the relation or Derek the artist or even Marianne and Gill in their campervan. Or maybe a Dungeness discussion of the future!
When is the last time you took a risk? How did it work out?
Don’t we all take risks from time to time? Carefully judged most often but sometimes not thought out at all. Yesterday, I was tired after a few hours of computer work. I decided to sweep the yard, clearing all the moss dropped by nest-building birds. In doing so I knocked some rotting wood from a raised bed, full to the brim with these small rocks. Should I remove all the wood and accept the consequences?
Several hours later and many many shovels full of these rocks I unearthed a perfectly acceptable concrete seating area.
Currently not a thing of beauty but nothing a power washer can’t sort out. I am somewhat perplexed as to why anyone would turn this into a stone-filled raised bed. But my tiny bit of risk taking paid off. I don’t even want to know what the concrete is hiding. We will sit here in the sun oblivious to the mystery.
The Buddha with the fractured skull seems very happy with the new location.
So now to dispose of many bags of grotty old rocks…
theoldmortuary.design 