love is a many splendoured thing

So on Friday we went like two bats out of hell up the A12 to Chelmsford. Ruth was driving, she has been driving - fast - for sixty+ years so I talked a lot and tried to keep my brake foot from crashing down onto the upholstery.

Obviously we got lost when we left the A road and tried to follow the garrolous map that had been written more like a novel than a set of instructions by Janette. I am an Essex girl, but we visited parts I never knew existed.

Finally we circumnavigated the various dank fields and villages in our way and ended up at the required Industrial Estate.

Not promising.

We could see our breath it was so cold, however no complaints as the rest of the country seemed to be under several foot of snow, whereas we had to peer out at the almost warm bright winter sun as we thundered Northwards.

The huge hanger we entered was freezing and forbidding, full of chunks of Victorian commemoration stones and lumps of unidentifiable metal which once belonged to something else, and made it work.

Escorted up the metal stairs we found the rest of the gang, plus curator Dot; this was where Chelmsford museum houses some of it's collection, - Dot should check the factories act, no-one should have to work in such cold.

The pics above are examples of what we examined, as examples of Romance in the Store Cupboard [not my title].

In other words tokens of love.

The silk painted postcard tells it's own story. The theme became quite miltary, which was surprising. The Heart Shaped pin cushion was made by soldiers perhaps at the end of the Boer War.

Earlier donations were often not accompanied by notes, except one family that pinned details to their bequeathed textiles in the C18th. There was a tiny cushion, made by the lady of the house from a waistcoat her husband wore when she first met him. Also a small bag shaped like a Bishop's mitre, for what use..............to hold his chess pieces of course.

The pin cushion to be given to a young mother, was definitely not to be given till after the birth as it was ?believed that each pin would be a pain, if it arrived before. It reads Bless the child and Save the mother.

The little sergeant was made by a saddler, away in the First world war, very surreal.

These are the Three [Dis]Graces - work in progress.
I have to upload them on Yahoo because my Internet Explorer won't upload pictures anymore from websites!
Also I write sometimes on my laptop in front of the fire [which is bliss in this cold weather] but the pics are on the big computer in here. The laptop will upload pics from websites, but the pics I need in this case have not leapt onto that machine because I can't remember the sequence to let them get thru the wall into next door room.
Apparently it is a Microsoft problem - so that guy should stop saving the world from measles or whatever for a few mins and get back and sort it out.

This is a work in progress...............I have now stitched the circles on so they are circular,which should help. The pale portraits are of women who used to work in the Steam engine factory in Nineteenth century, printed onto fabric.

The circles are hand made lace curtains from...........various times, when women made lace collars at home, rather than stitched them in strange looking positions at variance to the makers intentions.

The collars were donated by friends [I think most people with trunks in attics or cellars will find a few] and the quilt is an old worn one from the Retired Person's great aunt, either Ethel or Elizabeth, as it is signed with stitched initials in the corner.

We found it in an outhouse when we moved into this house, wrapped round an old musical box of similar vintage to the collars.

The quilt has been patched thru the years with increasing lack of sensitivity as to colour. I would guess the RP's grand dad did the last patching, he learned to sew and knit at Village Board School in the late 1800s. His patches were secure, but rather random. In a way they expressed the quilt history. or her-story and his-story but I couldn't bring myself to leave the navy blue with spots on.

Obviously they covered worn areas and holes which are also evocative, so i have sort of mini darned them with running stitch, without totally obliterating the holes.

Stitching colleagues suggested using the lace collars as picture frames and the whole thing is coming together.

I am still not sure if the end result will live up to the concept.................hazy recognition of the continuum of women who sew, ...........maybe.

RothKOed

Yesterday Maggi and I trained up to the Big Bad City [no not the craven broadcasting medium that won't show an appeal for the sorely tested Gaza people] - we went to London, the Tate Modern and visited Mr. Rothko, or at least his remains.

The picture above lies in its teeth as the background is maroon, not purple. I swallowed my good taste and bought this collection of fridge magnets to remind moi of the power of some of his paintings, tiny silly stickies in the kitchen, huge monolithic paintings in the Tate, seemed cheery somehow.

When I make something I am a throwback to the Modernists, I like to create emotive figures redolent with my adolescent angst.

Old Rothko wanted to get rid of any recognisable representation, or any link to the artist. He thought hmmmmmm.........painting, surely that should consist of paint.

So there we are - maybe 20 years of dragging himself out of an alcoholic stupor [he was still immured in that stereotype of an artist] swishing about with a paintbrush, trying to make us meditate on the qualities of colour on colour, eventually black on black. Somewhat uncompromising.

When he killed himself he was found in a large puddle of scarlet blood, which some have taken as his last statement, but I doubt he really cared by then.

Which is a shame, if he had seen the hoardes of small children yesterday, coralled by bemused teachers, crawling delightedly over the parquet flooring in front of the paintings, scribbling rectangles onto the pages of their sketchbooks, avidly pencilling them in with great enthusiasm, he might have felt happier. I hope somehow he knows.

The Seagram collection, scarlet on maroon, [some of which were already in their own small room at the Tate] now fill a huge room with an unearthly glow.

Other rooms have brown on black and the infamous black on black.

Rothko used different additives to his paint, [like Da Vinci he sometimes used eggs] to give varying and subtle surfaces. The scarlet hollow boxes smeared at the edges onto the dark maroon became mesmerising, against my will.

One Art Lecturer said - to be Contemporary the work should implode the expected scale, [be monumental or tiny] and the artist has to live in the appropriate city, London or New York, otherwise people will not even bother to raise their eyebrows as the walk on by.

Probably the artist should also be touched by the angels/devil as I doubt anyone else could conceive of what Rothco did, make a flat surface - sing.

Shame it wasn't enough for him.

new soul, old soul

It is sunny and my grandson is a happy babe.

Today went over to help out a friend who recently walked out on her husband. Big Mistake, always ask the man to leave!

She is 82, which does not stop her having loads of energy and initiative, but after 6 months renting a drafty cottage while they thought it over - she realised she was going to have to find somewhere permanent to live [he had changed the locks].

They both assumed that the marital home would sell for a fortune, split the proceeds and move on................another victim of the Credit Crunch.

The house remains unsold, with hubby still comfortably inside having his dinner cooked by concerned friends and neighbours.

Divorces take time.

My friend was told she was too old for a new mortgage, eventually she threatened to break back into her former home if he didn't cough up a deposit, the threat worked.

So there she is in her new apartment in the sky, many boxes and no furniture except one chair, one tiny table and one new bed.

In some ways it is encouraging that she is forging on, in another it is depressing that at no age can one relax and think it is all sorted.

Like me she is a textile artist, so the spare room is awash with boxes and boxes of paints, threads, books, canvases, machinery and presses. Not surprisingly she stalled, unsure what to put where, so we had a push and pull till she could see daylight and had a plan.

The apartment block is in an old Maltings, historic on the outside, long anonymous corridors within.

What should happen is that all her lovely work is hung up and around, at least you could tell if you have wandered this way before, but who to ask? Will Health and Safety allow it. "What if everyone does it?" It looks and feels a bit like being back at school.

time line

We sat and watched and cried and laughed with young Barack Hussein - thinking he's right - but do we dare to believe in him, can he believe in himself, or at least in his ability to turn the huge tanker round that is America.

Can Gordon turn Great Britain round?

Oh dear, it is all going to be so difficult.

It was a bit of light relief to see Barack fluff his lines, all that wonderful preparation and presentation but if something can go wrong it will, thank the Goddess. I thought maybe he had stumbled over the verb "to execute" but it seems he just stumbled because he was fed the words in the wrong order.

Such a delight that he made sure of his position by doing it again later in the day in case someone tried to prove he wasn't president after all. My Grandma would have made reference to Fred Karno's Army.

I phoned Daughter Dearest, in Nevada, to get her reaction, and as I should have expected woke her up, she is still on baby's timetable . "Oh is it today?"

Special Son in California was at work, but had popped home to catch a glimpse of the events. His messenger group is a co-op and they are beginning to notice the work slowing up, so that is worrying as he is not sure he has saved enough to pay his taxes. They are all happy to cycle up and down hill all day but no-one wants to take responsibility for the tax returns.

Can't think what I have been up to lately. Retired Person has been happily hacking through the garden and we may have the joy of a bonfire, once it stops raining which may be never.

I am working on this old patchwork quilt that belonged to one of RP's ancient relatives. It is worn into holes with several younger and totally unsympathetic patches sewn over them.

Could have been RP's grand father as he was a a competent sewer and knitter. When he went to school in the village in the late 1800s they were all taught useful skills no matter which gender. I would have said he had no artistic skills given the clashing patches, but when he returned home after the First World War he worked on regaining his serenity by painting several pictures of the countryside round here, and they aren't bad.

I have printed some photos of young women of about the same era on fabric and dotted them among the patches. I have in mind some idea of time passing, but at the moment it just looks like a old wrinkled pinky patchwork, but it is pleasing stitching on a big soft piece of fabric so I shall twiddle on for a while.

I guess that after the first World War they felt much the same as us now, fearful and hopeful. They got through it tho, grandad married, had a daughter.

He became a policeman, only ever arrested one person and was retired on his pension for longer than he policed, as he lived to 92.

Then he gardened morning till night, RP has some work to do to match him.

bye bye Bubble

The good news is this is the first time in my life that I have kept a diary [however intermitently] for a complete year.

The bad news is that Bubble the girlcat [on the right] has had to leave us. The cats are brother and sister, their other sister managed to get run over some years ago. Tilly was white with just a patch of tabby, all three of them had 6 claws on each foot. My son has a 6 clawed cat, Cedric in San Francisco so it can't be that rare, if that makes any sense.

My 2, Aggamemnon and Bubble are about 14 I think, and were both fine, mostly ignoring us and each other unless it got cold, when they would cuddle up.

But last w/e Bubbs started sitting around looking dazed. We both managed to accidently tread on her tail as she was sitting in such odd places, and not moving even at the approach of big boots.

I had to start hand feeding her, suspecting big brother was pinching all her food, but it didn't improve her lethargy so we took her to the vet, and of course it was cancer.

So now she is buried in the garden in the growing line of much missed dogs and cats.

Death is a definite design fault, tho necesary I suppose.

Hunt and gather

Went to my first SLAPPERS meeting today. The Retired Person coped well on his own, it is confusing to be a Self Starter after over thirty years working between the tram lines as a Civil Servant. So he got in his car and did some Retail Therapy, traditional solution, trusted and true - as preferred by Her Majesty's workforce.

When I retreated from the chalkface I bounced off the walls quite often at first, which was upsetting for Hattie the dog, so we went for a walk which helped a lot.

This week 's temperature has mostly been below zero, so the RP has been very welcome, manly stand in. I am a feminist, but although I see the sexes as equal they are not the same. Men are the the Hunters and need their dignity as thus maintained. This Gatherer is happy to let RP's testosterone keep him warm in this weather.

The oestrogen level was high at SLAPPERS with six mature ladies showing and telling. Plans were laid, workshops timetabled and encouragement poured in large quantities over all.

I left in a rosy glow as usual, a sceptic humbled by sheer good nature, which is good for me.

Now the RP has left for his end of the week pint at the local hostelry, a nice way to end a week of work and the start of the freedom of he w/e, except- oh yes he hasn't been to work. Some routines will never be changed.

Yesterday we drove thru the beautiful hoare frost to Hunt and Gather some coal. Altho RP was a proud Boy Scout with all the badges I light the evening fire, it's all part of creating beauty perhaps. So I didn't feel too bad to sit in the car while RP humped 10cwt of coal sacks into the back.

The coal yard was like a page of Dickens, concrete bunkers dripping with freezing coal sludge, white fog leering between the skeletal trees and a couple of blokes trudging around i layers of blackened clothes.

We had 5 women murdered in Ipswich last year, [by the same deranged burk] and one of the stripped bodies was found thrown in the river nearby. It was not a cosy feeling and we got out soon as poss with our bounty.

Now the coal is burning brightly in the grate, the cats and Hatty the dog are stretched out and soon RP will skate back, and we will all share the warmth.

friends of Artemis

It is so cold today, we left the heating on all night for once.

After a week in Norfolk - East coast, East wind - I would have thought I would be acclimatised, but I guess I am not so active now I am home.

Just sent Retired Man out on dog walk on his own, which i wouldn't have done on holiday when I expect myself to muck in and "enjoy" myself. Double glazing behind this computer doesn't seem to keep out the draughts, but when it is warm enough to examine the seal round the periphery i forget the problem.
Now Peterson and the cricket coach have thrown their handbags out of the pram, oh dear, just when we stood a chance of winning the Ashes back. What a fiasco.
Should have gone to my Textile Group meeting this morning, but wimped out because of general icyness, so now I feel I must take advantage of this time to set The New Year into gear......hmmmmmmmmmmm
Lots of stitching to be organised. I have to [yes I do] "interpret" a section of fabric design sourced from the Warner textile Collection. We each get a different copy of a piece of fabric from the collection, and are asked to "Do" something creative it.

This is a competition. Last time I won the category Most Amusing entry, which i think is probably a double edged compliment.
My source is a detail of flowers, big blousey pink roses and chrysanthemum type flowers arching across the page. Immediately i thought of big blousey pink ladies cavorting [as I do] so I have to meld the two in some fashion. I think i can silk paint a scene of ladies within petals, like obese flower fairies. Someone has to!
Then I have to finish off the piece for the Long Shop Museum. I have left some prints of the women who worked there in past times and I would like to do another piece with those and clocks..........loads of ideas. Just lack the lackeys to carry them out for me.
What i should be doing is adding to my Dance Series. I have this wondrous mass of unfelted but combed wool, dyed in fantastic shades of deep bronze which I want to embellish with really fat dancing ladies, but for some reason I keep pushing it to the back of the queue, where hopefully it is marinating.

I have been asked to do one of my portraits of this elderly couple, but they may not last long enough to receive it.

This one I did of two stitching friends,

and this is the back view of the elderly couple, now they want their front done.

Also Artemis awaits..................inspiration, I hope to make something as impressive without becoming too "amusing".

ancient and modern

We are staying in a small cottage described as Grade II listed, altho the inside has been ripped up, turned round and plaster boarded out of all recognition to the builders who put up the row of tiny terraced houses in 1825.

King George IV was on the throne [going noisily mad?] when the first people moved into it's one up, one down, plus privy and wash house out the back.

Now it has another bedroom, kitchen and bathroom grafted on. The only original space is probably the chimney space where the range [cast iron stove] was set. I understand people often used to rent then, and moved up to bigger things, as and when they could afford it, as the family [inevitably]increased. So sometimes they would own/rent collapsible ranges, which they would pile on the cart and trundle up the street to the next home.

When I lived in Carlisle with 2 children [in a similarly extended house] I found it rather cramped. Mr Graham next door thought me a total lightweight [for several reasons], he had been bought up with 8 other kids in his family in the same space.

When I was home tutoring in Carlisle, the mother would stick a shovel in the roaring coal fire and carry it next door to start another in the grate for the lesson. Of course they were Council houses, built to certain rules which made sure tenants had good sized rooms and houses to live in, unlike modern mouse traps. Carlisle had one of the largest number of council houses in the country, was told, proudly. Then Mrs Thatcher enabled tenants to buy, and the money wasn't ploughed back into the system...............

Graylag Cottage, our Norfolk abode this week, is flint faced and maybe from the front looks much like it did nearly 200 years ago. The walls are very thick, we haven't heard a peep from either side, and once you get some heat going it is very cosy.

Out back there is a yard and outhouses and then some fields with horses and pheasants doing sentry duty. There is also a rather nice summer house, but not comfortable this time of year, which is a shame as it is very calm out there.

The road is called Freeman Street as it was a toll free way of getting into the town. During the day it is a road busy with cars, but at night it quietens, the stars come out and the Xmas lights add to the glow.

Twelfth night tomorrow, all decorations must come down or mayhem ensue, so we have to whizz home and make sure Hill Cottage is free from curse for another year.

Today we drove to Holkham Beach and marched through the few spats of snow till we got too cold and bored.This an authentic flake of snow.

These are the most interesting sights on a cold beach






Retired Man and Hattie the dog.






















Evidence of past potterers.

to dongle or not to dongle

Here we are in Norfolk, mostly at 0 degrees [centigrade for foreign readers who use the measurement I was taught as a child] it is bitingly cold.
I am wearing a vest, 2 jumpers a padded jacket and a padded coat, because it is not a nice dry cold here, it is horribly damp and invasive. hattie the dog is obviously dressed and ready for anything at any time.
The much vaunted "dongle" does work, but only if we go to the pub on the hill[Him Who Is Now Retired] swears he has not fixed it thus. It just refuses to receive it's signal down in our cosy cottage by the shore.
We have walked all the byways and beaches within reach in true British fashion, best foot forward - whatever the weather. The sun is a low white disc on the horizon glittering thru the clouds with a raw nervous energy, rarely chasing shadows.
That's it really, long healthy walks, some fairly nice food, regular beers and coffees and the routine migraine that appears whatever the weather, also.
Have read 3 books, really enjoyed American Wife. P complained as it is based on Mrs Bush, and she doesn't know how accurately. I wasn't bothered as I thought it had some nice observations on the compromises necessary in a marriage. Next 2 books covered the necessary strategies necessary to catch your serial killer. I could do with my Mrs Gaskell now as an antidote, but have left her at home.

Figures of Speech

Couple of shiny days keeps good humour aloft at home, but not in the Gaza Strip, or many other places if I could bear to pay attention.

Are they all hot and sunny, does the Northern Hemisphere at least encourage us to stay indoors - and watch old war movies........

Spent some time today trying to clear back the stitching detritus ready for the New Year, many many pins and a varied selection of needles found their way back into the correct place.

In the never ending search to improve on the Venus of Wollendorf I made a very sturdy female, who is now my pin cushion. I can happily stick pins all over her - except the breasts and head. Too close to home to risk any voodoo.

I am making a trio of Big Women, which I May call the Three Dis-Graces, as i find it hard to resist a quip. I would really like to make one 6' tall, but I need a Sponsor! or at least someone willing to give it a home.

If our Big Women Exhibition comes off next year I will at least be able to offer many and varied Tummies, plus a few Pot Bellies from my clay days.

I am desperate to make a large Artemis too, at least my obsessions are mainly harmless, not genocide or ......................

Chrimble

This is actually the tree from 2006, but as we are still using it, I decided to take a short cut. Jo, a friend from the next village, is a willow weaver so she made this for us. It looked much the same this year except it was in the conservatory this time.
Xmas day was cloudy, wrinklies turned up and seemed to have a good time, except ma in law forgot to bring our Xmas presents - but that is what it is like to be a wrinkly, as I am finding out.
Today is a real gift as it is sunny, if with a cold N wind.
Lots of people in their Xmas knits walking happy dogs round The Clamp. Hattie agreed to leave her Xmas toy behind and accompany us, she was also happy to return to said toy and the knowledge that there is still much turkey and ham awaiting consumption when we got back. Always a helpful doggy.
Skyped with young mother, father and baby in his Santa outfit. Lots of snow in Reno.
Son has not yet got round to getting a web camera, so got his phone call passed to his g'ma when the pics of smiley baby arrived.
Son says he and the other "orphans" [those without a partner to organise a Xmas for them] are gathering at the local bar to deep fry a turkey. He thought he would take mashed potatoes, but no means to reheat except deep fat fryer so i expect they will go in too.
I have new scarlet slippers, too soft to click, a dongle so I can get on line when we are away, a silky bed spread and lots of book tokens [once the last lot limp in].
I am reading American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld at the mo, Amazon sent me 2 [my fault, impatient finger] and as i am enjoying it have given other copy to Noisy Friend. Usually we totally disagree on films and books, it will be interesting to see if this one brings us together.
Friend in the West Country sent me an Eco Diary which is very absorbing with lots of sky, earth, flora and fauna info. Very complex, but very simple, hopefully I will finally be able to identify more than Orion's Belt.
Sherlock Holmes play is about to come on the wireless, so shall stitch a bit and listen, except Dylan is doing one of his music pics on this station........................choices.

dark side of the moon

The main colour here in the country is brown. Even tho the ground here is light and sandy the cold relentless rain has managed to transform it into a scene reminiscent of the trenches. The leaves have mostly abandoned the trees and fallen into the thick glutinous mess of decay, glimmering paley in the deep sodden ruts, before they succumb to brownness.

Or is it me?

The full moon was huge last week, menacing close to earth every14 years. It shone into the strange dark shadows of the fields piled high with small mountains of muddy sugar beets, waiting for the lorry to escort it to the sugar factory.

We are, as ever, protected by the holly and ivy, still green. That's why it is used in Xmas wreaths to hang on our doors it seems. Ancient peoples used to believe it must have magic powers to stay green and shiny when everything else had dried up and fallen to the ground.

Perhaps if I got round to making some tomorrow it would encourage Xmas cheer. Have to be red bows tho, as the birds seem to have made short work of the berries.

I shall go and light the fire, that still works its magic for ancient and modern peoples.

In Nevada the kids light a fire in a big oil drum to warm the garden BBQ and cut designs in the sides. I ate so much meat and drank too many milkshakes it seems, as my cholesterol count has shot up from 5+ to 7+.

still moaning

Jet lag is a nasty thing, - Go West, young woman is fine, - coming back is torture.
One tip is to ask for an Asian "special" meal. I can't stand the cubes of something they dignify as meat, nor the squishy cheese lump that passes as vegetarian. But Asian means i get spicy vegetables and rice, almost enjoyable. Tho the hostesses do seem non plussed by my lack of burka, and search far and aisle before accepting it really is for me; probably get myself on the Homeland Defence list for person of interest as well.
I watched 3 films and read 1 book on the daylight flight out, lots of activity to divert me from my fear, but driving home in the dark, above the clouds is ghastly, lonely and horrid.
I did manage to cram a book into my eyeballs, tho I doubt it troubled my brain much, can't remember what it was. Yes I can, Jesse Kellermans last one, fatal flaw - unbelievable plot.
Also watched Hancock, which was mildly amusing but not as good as when he had a HHHalfhour on the wireless.
Man Who Works decided to get a heavy dose of flu as soon as we got home, so he hasn't as yet turned up at the office. As he is soon to retire he will become Man Who Doesn't Work Any More, which will be a change of life style for us both.
Apparently both offspring separately developed Winter Vomiting Virus as we left, and it seems many hospital wards here are closed because of same, so i am clinging to my health with whitened knuckles.

Hopefully the Young Mother has recovered from the squits and not passed it on to Young Father or youngest member

Big women have their uses

I am so jet lagged, I feel as if I am made of very thin glass that is just about to shatter. The first night home I slept well, at approximately the appropriate time, but since then [2 nights] I don't think I have slept at all, except when I conk out, delirious, mid afternoon for an hour.

Fortunately the Test Match is on, [us v India] starting at 4am, so I can put the ear piece in and relax, except when Sehwag is batting obviously.

Tonight i must search out the Valium the doc gave me for the flight home, didn't send me to sleep then, but surely it will work in the safety of my own bed.

I ventured out to walk the dog for the first time today, [she seems to have enjoyed her holiday with Mother and visa versa] - it is astonishingly cold and wet, great muddy puddles and an ruthless wind.

It seems Reno now has snow [but of course as everyone chants it is a different kind of dry coldness] shame we missed it, but Driver is probably relieved not to have to negotiate the mountains thus decorated.

When with daughter i returned to type quite quickly and unravelled the wires involved in supporting some of her Shower gifts and made a "pregnant woman" .

Wrapped and stitched with a spare skein of wool. Unfortunately Daughter felt she should keep her facsimile, to remind herself of what once was, which was a bit of a shame as we have an exhibition planned called at the mo "Big Women", but I guess I can repeat the experiment.
We are charged to make a "vessel" for another exhibition, perhaps I could construct a Big Woman vase.
A functional piece of art is often easier to sell than a wall hanging, that people worry about how to keep clean; - answer - blow on it occasionally.
A linked group of women could surround a vase.
I do so enjoy making soft sculpture, but I need to find outlets or sink beneath the woolly limbs.

San Francisco

Another location, fairly familiar, but later in the year and thus colder than we are used to. Cable carred down to the Wharf, followed by a our clam chowder in a bread bun, a first for son, even tho he has lived here for 12 years, I guess you don't do the touristy things when you work every day in a place.My objective, not achieved last time, was to see the pelicans.

Pottered onto quay 9 and there they were, stalking high above on the fishery buildings waiting for the trolleys of fish to be maneuvered and to drop some tasty cargo, obviously we have timed things wrong, before.

First time I was here was in 1969 I guess, -with Him Who Shall not be Named, now consigned to the devil, hopefully not literally, but I hope he singed his conscience on the way through at least. For reasons best known to twenty year olds we had hitched across America in a matching pair of deeply fringed leather jackets and too little impulse control, but then that is befitting our age. Little would get achieved unless young [even older] people did daft things at times.

It was daft and dangerous, but we survived and stayed in SF for about a month, a bit late for the whole Haight Ashbury experience, didn't even get into a Grateful Dead concert. That might have changed our lives - instead after too much speed we decided to change our plans not take up the offer of a place at Albuquerque University,but to Greyhound back to New York, but return to Europe and an archaeology degree at Durham. Quite a contrast.

SF hasn't changed that much, they were putting in the ground work for the Subway then I think, and I swore never to descend into the depths, but of course one does in the course of a life time, several times.

Now each time we visit I am amazed by the sudden eruption [not the earthquake] of new, exotically shaped buildings, emerging shiny and purposeful defying any thought that life could ever have been fulfilled without them.

In contrast the numbers of crazy people muttering the streets seems to proliferate, it makes for uncomfortable tourism, counter intuitive to ignore the urgent, if private ranting of intense, and mostly, black faces.

mum,uncle and star of the show

Today we drove up to the mountains to visit with friends of daughter. L and L bought 40 acres way up in the sage brush and lived in a caravan there for about 3 years till they had built the house of their dreams.
When we last saw them they were feet deep in snow, with a leaky old fire and a mad cat [he was very opinionated, L had to throw paper balls up the far end of the trailer for him to chase, so she could scramble out of the door without being attacked, he didn’t like to be left alone I guess].
Now they have this wonderful adobe style building full of light and comfort, and wonderful views. Around the house hop blue jays, chipmunks, rabbits and ?grouse. L feeds then every morning so it is like a Disney cartoon with them scurrying around.
The two bathrooms [and sauna] are wondrous for English eyes to behold, the living room has floor to ceiling windows crystals hang reflecting the clear mountain light, bet that cat wishes he had shown better manners, they regretfully had to have him put down when the paper balls stopped working.
Second visit was to dinner in Reno with other friends, and their offspring and relative’s [one mother and g’mother] offspring comprising four babies under 3 plus our own wonder babe of one week. Very chaotic and convivial, guess this is what only children miss out on.

Travis cooked us stuffed chicken breasts........stuffed with what he called pineapple sausages, wrapped in bacon with a slice of pineapple, and salad, excellent.

The living room and kitchen were joined around the fireplace, if you see what I mean, so the kids and our young father could run in screaming demented circuits, until the kids gave in and collapsed in happy heaps. Some older people expected tears before bedtime, but young father kept his end up OK.

This is now Saturday our last full day, "onesies" [what I call babygrows] have been painted for posterity to enliven Baby's days in the future, the fairies have been finished on the nursery wall and a BBQ is being prepared.

Tomorrow we drive to San Francisco with son.

sand dance

The desert casino theme is becoming a habit, last time we visited daughter we first stayed for a couple of days in Las Vegas - in the Luxor glass Pyramid. An amazing edifice which shut even our sceptical mouths, or rather let them drop open.

No dollar had been spared to cover the joint, even the lifts, with Egyptian slant eyed maidens offering food to the gods. Only by stroking them [when safely lone in the elevator] could one tell it was a stained/coloured fibre glass? copy.
Sphinxes and huge enigmatic cats abounded on the floors, Ramses strode thru the halls of one armed bandits. Unfortunately, for some unknown reason, the endless corridors smelled of something like formaldehyde but I am not sure that was intentional.

[Sadly this is the nearest we have been to the real thing, our previous Nile Cruise was spendiferous but only visited the wonderul palaces; having not read the literature I expected pyramids, next time maybe.]
The casinos in Reno are less culturally aspirational, there is no re-creation of Venice [including gondolas] or Paris and the Eiffel Tower; the Sands was the nest for Frank Sinatra and his acolytes, built in 1947 it has two towers these days and claims to have 18 floors, but there is no 8 -11 and of course no 13th floor.
We explored the Eldorado and Circus, Circus……..pretty boring, just lines and lines of one armed bandits, endless variations on the theme of how to lose your dollar. Small enclaves of black jack, craps, poker.
The Silver Legacy was perhaps the most enjoyable with a beautiful art deco glass ceiling and a huge pseudo mining tower stretching up into the cloud painted dome.
Casinos in Nevada are exempt from the no smoking laws so they stink in a way we had almost forgotten, but they feel totally safe for all ages, sexes ages, even cosy. Not in the least exciting, but then I don‘t gamble. Maybe not all classes however, I would suspect only blue collar at the tables and machines here
Son arrived yesterday and stayed up till 3.30am giving the “house” his hard earned cash, tho hopefully not too much of it, and seemed quite happy at the outcome.
He got his first ever full house or whatever on his machine, [took a photo to prove it] so won $75 for his quarter, but soon ploughed it back playing twenty one.
When he went out this morning at 11am an Alaskan woman and her mother he was playing with, were still at the table. They come here once a year and this is what they do.

Sleep can sometimes be a difficult trick to pull. What seems so easy to achieve in the morning can be nigh on impossible at night with thoughts spinning on a loop, obsessively burrowing and exploding at arbitrary times.

The casino has perfected quiet rooms, in spite of piling floor onto floor but the concept of a soft bed is beyond them. Maybe it is all part of the campaign to get guests out of their room and down onto the machines.

The rooms are seemingly hermetically sealed, which is appropriate for it's desert theme, I have not as yet been inside a pyramid, but the TV does suggest a sarcophagus. They are heated by blowing hot or cold air machine according to the Pharaohs' own appreciation of the situation, so at 2am you can wake up freezing, and then at 4am sweating.

I have always hated giving in to sleep, I regard it as resented hard work and am relieved to scramble out of bed at 7.30am. Strangely I started waking at this time here, regardless of the altered time frame, but lately the total slippage of routine into what Baby [and daughter] needs has completed confusion.

Today I was awake at 4.30am, drinking tea and reading the spurious Memoirs of Jane Austin, but then I closed my eyes and it was nearly 10. Breakfast at the coffee shop, lunch disappears into a biscuit, and today we are promised Tofu burgers. This is a meat eating household, often personally dispatched by the New Father, but the fridge is full and has to be mollified.

Last night we ate in the Diner again, hotdog and banana milk shake, almost as good as the peanutbutter milkshake I had on a previous trip.