It has been a whirlwind of family interactions in the last few days. Some planned and some serendipitous. Our dogs love having an increased pack. Yesterday Hugo took a little time out and perched on a small dining chair as if it was the only place he could find a space for a five minute gap.
By coincidence the two British locations our family occupies are represented by these little books in the prayer book shelves.
What have you been working on?
In answer to the above question I imagine Hugo could be wondering where the Little Book of Hong Kong was for him to do research Then he would then fully be able to fall asleep surrounded by books that represent his entire human family.
My dad was occasionally moved to say ” I can read you like an open book, and some of the pages don’t read too well” In life he was far from my harshest critic, and I think that statement could be about right.
The question below was posed by the hosts of this blog. I really have a love hate relationship with these daily prompts and probably respond to one a week. This however is right up my pondering street because I can rant against it .
What’s something most people don’t know about you?
How can I possibly know what most people don’t know about me.
Is there anything to be gained by releasing my unknown nuggets of information to the world. At my level almost certainly not.
Thank goddess, I have largely moved on from the world of formal interviews and these sorts of daft bloody questions.
Where would you like to be in five years time?
Tell us about a difficult situation you handled well?
What is your worst characteristic?
Does anyone ever answer these questions honestly. Imagine a world in which such futile questions were answered honestly by people more significant than me.
And so Mr/ Madam World Leader. What is your worst characteristic? Where would you like to be in five years time? Tell us about a difficult situation you handled well? What’s something most people don’t know about you?
Suddenly with the addition of absolute truth futile questions could become the secret to world peace and effective life management.
As luck would have it my dog walking gives me an actual answer to present. It’s not going to affect world peace
My favourite book is Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Graham. Most people don’t know that. For the last two years my daily dog wanderings have taken me past an insignificant looking coastal cottage called Toad Hall. It is a daily little heart warming moment. Yesterday my heart got a lot warmer. Look what a talented Street Artist has done.
Do lazy days make you feel rested or unproductive?
Another prompt from Jetpack that fires enthusiasm into my soul. Lazy days are the opposite of unproductive and being lazy is one of the most deliberate experiences to allow myself. I find lazy days to be some of the most productive, in terms of creative and useful thinking.
I probably had a lazy day yesterday, no actual commitments but a mental list of tasks that could be achieved with ease and some firm future plans put in place.
There is a car park right in the centre of the city which has broken payment machines. Two hours of free parking at least was the chance to walk the dogs somewhere different. They would be exhausted if I walked them there. Then demand a coffee break. I can’t imagine where they learned that habit. By driving them I could avoid coffee, which might still provoke a whimsical digestive system. I could window shop and visit a market while they were enthusiastically sniffing the urban realm. Everyone was happy.
Lazy days make little things really significant. I popped in to see a friend and her fruit bowl looked simply gorgeous with a cute little gourd posing on some plums.
On a busy day I might not have noticed.
Then a long, lazy walk as the moon popped up, no shops this time just the bay and the squeals of after-work swimmers.
What’s something you would attempt if you were guaranteed not to fail.
An interesting prompt from my blog hosts. One that is easy to answer as my definition of failure is a wonderfully flexible beast. I would buy a lottery ticket for the Euromillions. Knowing that winning any amount of money from the top life altering prize of many millions to the lowest £10 pay out is technically a success.
A £10 win would definitely be the easier of the prizes to receive. No moral conundrum with that amount of money. £10 would very nicely provide post bobbing chocolate for our swimming friends on Friday morning. Bigger sums would give more options and the biggest prize, whatever unthinkable amount of money it was, would give so much scope for thought, philanthropy and fun.
I am not someone that believes money guarantees happiness but it undoubtedly increases the chances of creating happiness and the power to make changes that allow happiness to be an option.
Money, wisely used makes the wheel of life run a little smoother.
When the tourist season releases its grip on the towns and villages of the west country we take off in the van, park up somewhere as pretty as possible and enjoy exploring in the less busy months. Dartmouth was our destination of choice this past weekend.
We arrived by ferry when the sun was low in the sky.
And parked up next to the river.
A domestic admin failure had given us some free hours in the day which gave us the chance to get to Dartmouth with enough daylight to find a sleepy spot for the night and explore the town on foot. We managed more than 10,000 steps in a couple of hours in quiet streets. I have worked in Dartmouth a lot more than twenty years ago and know that that sort of foot work would be impossible when the town is buzzing with happy visitors.
We made it to Bayards Cove Fort. Vital in the defence of the town since Tudor times.
Above: No further than 200m away, wooden ships would have been easy targets. A simple wrought-iron gun, fired a solid round shot weighing about 1.5kg. It could hole a ship at the waterline and create havoc amongst its crew.
The fort wall has II arched openings, or embrasures, each for a heavy gun. Looking through these, you can see that they are angled carefully to cover a particular area of water. The guns would have been fired in turn as a ship moved into the field of view.
The only wooden boat on the water when we were there was little Sparky. We didn’t have the firepower or inclination to blow him out of the water.
Sparky with Kingswear in the background
There was some fabulous rust in the fort. It would have been uncharacteristic if I had not grabbed a photo of it. It is certainly not part of the original structure and was probably put up to keep tourists like me from plunging into the river while taking photos.
Our evening meanderings took us on lovely historic streets that meandered from the banks of the river up the hill towards the top of the valley. We enjoyed the architecture and the dogs enjoyed the smells. To add some authenticity to an ancient port we came across some career drinkers in a piss soaked alleyway. They optimistically offered us the sorts of historic pleasures that it was easy to decline.
The towns pubs buzzed as dusk and then darkness arrived. We were in the town, unintentionally,, during the 62nd Dartmouth Fishing Festival. Saturday was only day 1 with two more days to go, so no celebrating to speak of but tactics and with fisherfolk, the inevitable tales of the ones that got away. The towns bandstand , near our parked van, had been the hub of the day-one close of play meeting. Having only just arrived we couldn’t fathom what we were listening to. As we wandered the streets later we had a bit more understanding, but only a bit. The only fish we saw were in an art gallery.
5 Spratts- Giles Ward. The Rose Gallery, Dartmouth
My weekend blogs were a little sombre but blogging/pondering is only ever a snapshot of a moment. So while the sombre thoughts got a little blogspace the fun stuff was happening . It might take me all week to write about that.
My daytime yesterday was a series of jobs. Intrinsically with not a jot of anything worth blogging about. Apart from the evening which was fab. But sometimes the prompts that my blogging platform puts out each morning hit a nerve. This morning was such a moment. Yesterday I ran out of sticky tape to wrap a parcel. I had also run out of a specialist tape used for framing pictures. It made logistical sense to buy both from a specialist art shop. But as you can see there are four items in the above picture. Nowhere on my mental shopping list did a rose gold highlighter or an off-white marker feature. My exact thought as I walked out of the shop was .Why can I never just buy the two really dull items? Why does every trip to an art shop tempt me to buy more materials?
So with the two additional items in hand I then ponder where the fault lies. The culprit I decide is the specialist framing tape. I could have popped in anywhere and picked up parcel tape and just picked up parcel tape. But Loxley Gumstick Handy Artist Gummed Tape is a very dull looking product. I had to search it down . Past every known and unknown art product.
Then my pondering attention turned to the parcel tape. Had I not needed it to wrap a birthday gift, I would not have needed to be anywhere near the art shop because the framing tape was not a super urgent need.
Is not buying unplanned items a skill?
Is it even possible in an art shop ?
Two questions worthy of a ponder…
Maybe the blame lies with the birthday girl whose parcel needed wrapping.
Maybe I should just accept that for a trip to an art shop, only two unplanned items was not such a bad result and that the fault is all mine.
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.
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.
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.
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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