essex girls

Today we went over to Essex to put my Rosie Ladies in an exhibition there. I did wonder what kind of reception they would get, but the organiser seemed quite cheery about them, so I hope they will enjoy their stay.
Spent several hours in the afternoon fighting bureaucracy trying to find out how to get grandson a British passport to add to his American one, finally it seems the wheels may have started turning, but slowly, very slowly.

words not pics

It is pleasing to finally get some comments, I was struggling so much with the dreaded dongle when we were away, everything was so s-lo-w, but no-one was taking any notice anyway, a lonely voice on the moors crying Cathy..............
I don't really have the oomph to summon up more words now we are home about the holiday, so it was apposite that the videos downloaded easily and said it all much better than i could.
Not my technical expertise I confess, just RP's little tiny digital camera, push the video button and it all happens.
Ma is rarely excited by what i shove under her nose to admire, but when I sent her the videos she was entranced, and wants the Strid on a cassette loop so she can listen to it while going to sleep.
I could have done with it last night as yet again i couldn't sleep till about 4am. I don't know if it is a side effect of the statins, or just my pattern migraine trying to shove thru but it is intensely irritating. I used to find the radio sent me to sleep, but no more. So i tried the new Peter James book "Dead Tomorrow that M exchanged with me yesterday. In the end I had to get up and remove it from the bedroom, it is So Miserable, I didn't want to be infected any more. It was like he had chosen his Issues and then written the most negative, most distressing version he could, [organ transplants], it's a murder story, you can work out the plot as it was cliched from beginning to end,- which I didn't bother to reach.
I don't think he likes women either, do you ever get that feeling about an author? I also started Fay Weldon's Decameron [modern interpretation] so far I don't think she likes women much these days either.

Puffa train

The Strid

winning cups

Maybe this Spring should be remembered as Buttercup Spring, as they are so fine and so golden but most of all so prolific.
I have just taken Hattie the dog for her evening walk, and as we are a few hundred miles further North, the buttercups are still shining in great carpets across the fields.
We motored up into the Yorkshire Dales today, a fairly peaceful drive as most people are back at work. In an unexpected bolt of spontaneity [plans tend to get sticked to when RP is behind the wheel] we stopped off at the Strid. He remembered the name from a boy scout trip when he was about 11, so we turned round and explored.
It was the River Wharf where it crashes thru the limestone rocks, creating "white water" amongst the gorgeous golden brown tumbling peaty waters.
RP remembers it as much deeper and wilder, either he was more impressionable, or it was a different time of year, but it was still beautiful. Notices claimed it was 30' deep as it crashed through narrow gaps that one would think would be fun to jump. However the notices were in blood red and warned the Strid had taken lives before now, so we desisted.
We stopped for lunch at a pub that had a Crock barn [impressive beams] and a basket of little terry towelling flannels instead of paper towels, so it was very posh. However Yorkshire folk, well the ones on public show anyway, don't do posh, so it was friendly and welcoming.
As opposed to the last lunch where they wouldn't let Hatters in and had Victorian naked ladies in the loo. Creepy somehow.
The Crock barn had photos of female role models, and altho they included one shot of the naked calendar ladies, who live near by apparently, it somehow had a much more celebratory feel.
We drove back on the back roads, presumably mostly used by thin rabbits, a bit scary when meeting Landrovers head on.
I am making my rusty dyed calico vessels [with nails] and despairing of ever completing the Arches, and listening to success in the cricket and the tennis, so buttercups all round.

many pies - no pics

It is mind bendingly frustrating trying to up or is it download pics of the moors via this dongle thing. it just refuses to pick up enough revs whether I am within the metre thick walls of this cottage. or sitting in the sunshine outside in the little back yard. Fresh air means nothing to radio? waves it seems.
So you will have to take my word for it that it is sunny and gorgeous and the moors are glowing so brightly the grass is almost fluorescent.
Couple of nights ago Sheffield almost sunk to meet Atlantis in the down pour [that is definitely a down load] but we seem to be in some kind of "water shed" which i can remember Mr Davies my geography teacher rattling on about. being welsh he knew about rain, I think it rains first on Wales then takes deep breath, skids over what ever is in between and dumps the next lot on.......Sheffield.
We have all three walked, climbed and clambered to the top of the fells, and yesterday we drove over to lancashire, crossing Keighly Moor on a lovely twisty road defended from the sheep and cattle by rickety old dry stone walls. i did ask for pate for lunch, but the pub had none so I opted for black pudding fritters. Oh my lord, thank goodness for statins. I hope. they were delicious. Yorkshire food does come on the hearty side, very comforting after scrabbling down to refuel with clicking knee and aching back.
Not to exaggerate tho as I have also caught young Andy Murray winning thru during my afternoon recuperation on the big green couch.
I have just finished Wolf Hall by by Hilary Mantel, 650 pages of sheer pleasure about Thomas Cromwell. Started the Decameron by Fay Weldon, not as much bottom I suspect.
Stitching is fitting in the corners, and not happily as I am stuck and have to have them ready to show in3 weeks.
I have given up on Big Brother, a sad loss but I can't summon up any interest in the young things this year.

Stratford

Here is the stadium, hope for the future. I feel like I am building it myself this dongle thing is so slow.

o

Went up to the right Royal Academy to see the Summer Show last week. These ladles are the courtyard contribution, not even very good for sliding or climbing. Inside lots of pedestrian pompous pics by RAs [entitled to a hanging] and then a pile of people's art [grudgingly displayed by the same RAs] piled up the walls of the two smallest rooms. Piles of people too, hot, sweaty and triumphant even if their offering is 15' up the wall, Pims abounds.
It was quite stimulating in some ways, so many versions of the artist's visions, made me feel - well why not just do it, just make all the dreams, see what happens...............no-one else can do it for you. What is the point of not trying. Nothing will be perfect, who dares wins, all that kind of stuff.
Went looking for Tracey Emin's new show but because we are too English to risk asking directions, we got lost and tired and irritable and just made the train home.
From the train you can see the Olympic Stadium, rising from the rubble of Stratford.
Doesn't look very big, but i guess it is when up close.

Goodness knows how big the Olympics will be, vision seems in small supply at the mo.

Haworth

It seems this fandangle dongle thingy will let me write words but draws the line at pictures, or doesn't draw the line................
I am sitting a cough and a spit from where young Charlotte wrote her words and she didn't complain. The cottage here has the obligatory three pictures of her, all neatly framed, available from the Bronte museum up the hill.
The cottage was built in the 1850s - thick walls and surprisingly large rooms so I guess she was scribbling away at about the same time when one of the mill workers moved his family and range in to here.
Being as it has a double, stone framed window at the front, I would think he was a supervisor or some such. I don't know if Jane Eyre was available in the village, I suppose there would have been a Board School but maybe young governesses falling in love with their employers would not have been deemed appropriate for young minds. One or some of the sisters may have helped out at the school, but adolescent females would already be working in the mill, having babies, finding out about real life in some ways that perhaps Charlotte could not.
Walking Hattie the dog up past the church onto the moor is one kind of sensation, the churchyard is dark and forbidding, crammed with tall gravestones that look like a funeral is permanently attended by stony mourners, blackened with age and disapproval.
Being here in the cottage is different. It has been gutted and refurbished in a very New Labour manner. All stripped and mahogany stained wood floors and fake beams, the kitchen walls artexed but painted dark red. A great big dark green leather couch and a fake fireplace under the granite lintel. Very comfortable tho!

home and away

Meetings are strange events. Even the most united families can sometimes find it difficult to sit down round a table and agree ..............on where to go on holiday, what to have for dinner, how much pocket money should be received................... people who grew up together, know each others likes and dislikes, can fall into argument when each individual strives to achieve their aim and more importantly, persuade others to agree.
So it is not surprising when a meeting of twenty plus mature, independent minded women, gathering together once a month with the aim of exhibiting their individual genius can fall into disruption and disarray.
Maybe it is the size of a group that is influential. I sat next to L at the textile group this week, [24 of us] wranglers were in short supply to hog tie the egos clashing on the floor, in the midst of our democratic circle.
Cliques have inevitably formed, and agendas clash. It is not surprising that British politics is in such a mess, if this is an example of co-operation to the greater good. I must admit if women claim they would make a better job of it than the men, this microcosm of agreeing a way forward does not bode well.
Obviously I don't keep my mouth shut either.
L sighed and said when half a dozen of this large group met away from this arena they were so cheering and supportive that she always returned home feeling more positive.
I had to agree. I also am part of a small group, six of us meet fortnightly. Often I wake and grumble, wondering do I want to trundle over and exchange pleasantries with my compatriot stitchers, nothing we say, or do, will change the world, much less each others understandings.
but invariably i drive home again smiling and comforted.
We are off to Yorkshire tomorrow to walk Hattie the dog on the moors [maybe one last time]. The British Summer collapsed two days ago so I am packing wellies and jumpers and a pile of books and stitching. Just like home really.

roots

Being very pleased to get camera back finally, complete with new replaced lens I took this instant view of the road ahead; this is where I have lived [well nearby] for the last couple of decades.

Strange where we end up, settle down, even when we don't intend to.

I think in the recent past women tended to move following their partners employment. That can be difficult, the man has his job to provide structure and links, quite often the women had to look around and start all over again, difficult with small children.

There was an poll or something that said women are unhappier now than they used to be, in spite of the advances made in equality. Men were happier. Whether there was rigour in obtaining these answers, how the questions were posed, whether women are more likely to admit to being fed up these days - I don't know.

I do wonder if the moving about has something to do with it. The loss of the close contact of the extended family may at times be a release but probably leaves women with kids much less supported than I imagine they used to be, in say - the fifties. I know I didn't feel unequal or vulnerable until I became a mother of small children, relying only on my husband for all kinds of support.

My parents didn't move much until I had left home, both worked, but my grandmother, although not particularly maternal, was keen to take me and my cousin out to interesting places and provide a place to stay even when I was on holiday from college and my parents were far away.

My grandparents hadn't strayed far from East London and their forbears [as mothers delving in the family tree showed] moved around a lot amongst rented houses but all within the same area.

When my kids were small we made some dramatic [long distance] moves and each time I was set down on a new island. Now my off spring lives on a different continent which seems a bit strong.

When we moved to this area I was back at work and RP was commuting back to London. The kids were upended [again] but I thought the ambiance of a small rural market town would be safer than N London, who can tell what would have happened.

Most of my school friends have hardly moved at all, they are a small minded lot IMO so maybe that has it's drawbacks, Thinking of some of them that did move and travel they are still a small minded lot. I wonder if their offspring benefited from the security, I wonder if they moved away.

When one travels one it is presumed to broaden the mind, but one always takes oneself on the journey, maybe some minds are always closed.

Yesterday I decided to B off to London, or miss the Picasso exhibition at the National. This is the slow train I did not get on, partly because I had some unauthenticated theory that the fast train would overtake it.

Partly because it was a short train already full of grey haired women.

In spite of the undeniable fact that I was also making use of the senior citizen cheap day return I did not want to emphasise the fact.

I rarely make use of concessions at the flics etc. why should i when it only saves a paltry quid or whatever, but i live in trepidation that some day some uncouth youth will assume I am entitled and dish one out, unrequested. Some people are proud of their age, it is indeed an achievement of sorts, but I'm not yet ready to take up the mantle.

The National Gallery happily charged me full price, but punished my ?vanity by making 4 of us wait until the exact second of the timed ticket had begun. So "jobs worth" If I were younger i might have started a discussion as to whether the previous allocation was totally taken up, [which obviously being the penultimate week it wasn't - I could see the spaces! however I merely slouched like a teenager and then scowled at the attendant as we were eventually enabled to pass into the inner sanctum.

Actually my lower back is not good with shopping and exhibitions these days, maybe i should take crutches and go for the sympathy vote, but i fear it would not help as a woman in a wheel chair was also barred till the correct tick of the tock.

It would be good to have one of the chariots that the elderly whizz round town with, can't wait, but then again, probably can.

The exhibition was very exciting. His canvases were curated to show how P would work with paintings like Velasquez, Caravaggio, Matisse to develop his own versions of their work, as an homage and because he was so darn prolific i suppose. ideas just poured out of him.

I was so stimulated by some monumental canvases of Reclining Nudes that I have not seen before. they are largely monochrome, the size of a wall, and FILLED frame to frame with the figure . Amazing.

I was busting to buy some reproductions to take home, but I should have known that as usual the piece that delights one in an exhibition will totally ignored by the postcard/poster makers.

What i should have done was gone back in and do some sketching, but would the steely faced woman bend her uniform and let me back in. Doubtful.

Exit muttering.

This is the plinth in Trafalgar square where each day selected people will stand as an Anthony Gormley inspired " live statue", next month I think.

I suspect there will be protective plastic, and not just from the rain.

new and old

This is the first piece of work I did from the archived fabric. I just did a silk painting of some of the roses in the original sample and added some Gaiety Gals.It was meant as a try out, but time passed and I decided with a bit of stitching it would do, which it did, but it didn't win a prize, so serves me right.

Given that it failed I am a bit concerned about my development piece, there is always the possibility that the curator doesn't have a sense of humour, or thinks i have had a taste/skill bypass. The works that won were far more traditional embroidery and carefully done. We shall see.

Today i have been fiddling with the dreaded Arches of previous renown. I found a previous bit of blues dyed silk that will do for the sky but am still stumped for the landscape between the arches, I may even have to actually stitch something from scratch.

Sadly my enthusiasm has waned and I only have 4 weeks to produce. I have now added some dark blue silk rushes which I think add a something to the mix, maybe tomorrow will be more creative.

I used to work with A, she said that I had to learn that some days things would not work out. I had to recognise that and relax and see what tomorrow would bring. She is a very organised and productive woman so i try to take her advice, when I remember it.

I would like to do something with young Ida, but am being harassed by peeps i promised to immortalise in silks, last year they claim.......hmm.

plots and plans

I am watching the final two episodes of 24 as I peck, so there may be distractions, usually noisy ones. However I feel less dumb for watching such rubbish of my own free will if I am doing something else as I watch.
Usually I stitch as I watch but today the rosy ladies are resting in their Rosy Red bed, and I feel a night apart may do us good, specially them.
They are the development of the Archive piece of furnishing fabric that had blowsy pink roses, possibly not quite what the curator of the exhibition is expecting. She'd better get used to the idea or we may fall out.
Today I went up to the medieval barn where our exhibition was finishing, 3 in 3 back sadly, or not, as I am still fond of them.
My camera is lost in the maze of the menders, RP has been politely pointing out to the local shop for the last two weeks that they need to track it down and return it, with no result. So today I got on the phone to the main office in Leicestershire and gave them the benefit of my opinion. The gent was shocked at such carelessness by his compadres down South and promised to sort it. Thus no pics of the impressive barn and maybe less impressive arts and crafts within. I could have used RP's but I guess I am sulking.
I need my big pointy lens. It's not only men who need their penis substitutes maybe.
Oh dear lots of shooting, many extras hit the floor, main stars still on their feet., that's what is so reassuring I guess.
I suppose we are all the star in our own series, of many, many episodes. Many series, we can't imagine the story can do without us. As S. said recently the strangest and most unforgivable thing is that the props survive long after we have left the scene.
Wow big car crash, that prop won't survive. Good.
Paradoxically I spend a large part of each day making things that I will perhaps stay around, that's why I don't like ceramics, I keep breaking the buggers. Only fire or flood to avoid and moths.
Now they are finally using the split screen again to rack up the tension, don't know why they don't use it more often.
Life is definitely split screen, and as one gets older it is harder to keep them all checked out, which to switch off, or more likely, which go out of focus, or something nasty happens to the pixels......................but it is kind of nice to have more power as one gets older to write ones own script for a while.
Better stop before this analogy turns and bites me on the arse or appears in pseuds corner.

not with a whimper

One of the exhibitions this summer includes putting some of our work in sponsors windows.

The fabric shop put 2 of mine on show, and some bloke bought both. I have shown these at other exhibitions so I was glad to see them earn their keep at last, tho it always feels sad at the same time. Another part of my "legacy" legged it.

I have been on a bit of a selling streak lately so am encouraged. If other people are willing to invest their hard earned cash I should at least gird my loins and get on with it with less whining.

I am still not in the best of moods, having lost a grandson and daughter [for now]and [re]gained a ma who has just returned from a trip to Welsh gardens, demanding to know what time is Sunday dinner.

Even in Wales it has been sunny [very unusual], daughter reports it is cooking in Reno. Son in San Francisco is conspicuous by his absence of communication, so presumably is sulking.

I guess I am sulking too, Everything feels slightly annoying which doesn't make me the best company. I am a small unexploded bomb.

The narrative unfolding of our Honourable members of Parliament has provided some light relief, if undercut by a low level drone of despair. I am the most cynical of persons but even I have been surprised by the seemingly unstoppable disintegration of belief in institutions one considered at least sturdy, if not perfect - education, banks, police, parliament.

But somehow we still plod on, our personal lives basically unchanged, so far..............as long as the creek don't rise. Maybe it has always been like this, but we didn't know so much.....assumed it was other cultures that were corrupt and inefficient.

Auntie Cinders and Uncle Ron drove up from London to visit BB. They are both 90 and still enthusiastic.

Somehow that is reassuring.

So is this!!

Shoved some rudbekia and toad lily plants into the garden this afternoon, it is a beautiful day but I am suffering badly from deprivation of daughter and BB who flew home yesterday. [Just looked up the toad lily as it sounds a bit nasty, but it looks quite nice, spotty obviously.]

Mother raised the rudbekia from seeds and like me she can't bear to throw any away, and the lilies came from the village plant fair.

Ah ha now I can hear a starling/blackbird smashing the shell of some poor snail on the garden path prior to feeding it to it's chicks, that fits my mood too.

It was very hard to say goodbye. I had to open the windows in my room so I didn't smell the sweet baby aroma as I walked in, and take their picture off the screen saver, or I would have been in continuous tears.

All I have left are the photographs [that seems to remind me of a song, but I am too irritable to pin it down]. Daughter took loads of pics and RP put them on a memory stick thing as back-up, plus put them on my machine. It is touching looking thru what she has decided to commemorate, sometimes surprising. I guess she had an affinity with this mum.

tripping

This is a piece I am inflicting of the public tomorrow, It is old Adam n Eve fighting that snake.
I have to come up with an Original piece for the Cambridge exhibition [i.e. not shown before] and I am not confident of finishing something in time [September], so the Three Graces will have to grace that show, if they get accepted.
If not, they will be renamed the Three Witches and curses will ensue.
So step up this unlikely pair.


The BB is sleeping at the mo, [my strangled lullaby worked much to my surprise] and Daughter is out shopping in the rain. I have been putting a tenner in her account each month for some years and she is determined to show her appreciation by buying as much as possible from our cheapo shops. It is hot in Nevada soon and the cotton tops will come in useful. She reckons we are couple of years behind American fashion, I disagree as I cynically surmise that the clothes are all made by the same poor people, in the hopes of one day being able to afford such glorious but rather flimsy vestments themselves.






Yesterday we trained up to London to meet with a college friend of mine, who trained up from Wiltshire with her daughter and baby [2 months older]..














We met up for lunch on the South Bank and had walks in the sunshine by the river. I always feel so at home around there, but Daughter felt a little anxious to be aroaming in the Big City. I guess big cities always have this effect till you know them well. We became very fond of Reno when we were wandering around, tho I guess once again we were in the centre pottering by the refurbished river. I liked San Francisco when I lived there briefly, but I find it a bit unsettling now. When i lived in New york in the late 60s I used to mosey around quite happily, went to the flics on my own etc. Why do I seem to marry men who don't like going to the movies, maybe better keep that in mind if there is a third time.

We had thought to go for a ride on the London Eye, but it is £17 a trip now, and the others had already tried it, so daughter will wait to experience it with Mountain Man [son-in-law] maybe next winter, as he is expecting to get laid off for a few weeks then.
Adapt to circumstances that's the way to do it.

full set

Arrivals

So here they are -at Heathrow. Daughter staggered down the Arrivals yellowbrick road, covered in suitcases, back packs and bags and pushing Beautiful Babe in a battered stroller. No help at all from Glamorous Virgins as they paraded past in their sprauncey scarlet uniforms and high heels.

We arrived about 20 mins before she did, after an easy drive for the first 2 hours then slow, or worse no-mo traffic for the last 20mins, and heightened BP from us.

We were so excited and relieved on leaving airport we got instantly lost in the Big City and had to plug in the SatNav to find our way to the M25 and all parts E.

We visited great grandma yesterday who was fairly pleased to see us, but declined a visit to Mothercare because " there is nothing I there want !" i pointed out the idea was to buy things for her g'son, but she wasn't tempted.

We bought this cradle thingy from ToysrUs which is also up on the OutofTown complex, unbeknownst to me, who until now has not needed to know such things.

It is excellent with a little foot action to jiggle it when wanted, it also has an arch of toys [bit like the new Wembley Stadium, which we could see on our wide travels on the return journey from Heathrow]

It sings and jiggles, on batteries of course but that doesn't seem necessary with a besotted g'ma to hand [or foot]Daughter and BB sleeping now, RP upstairs computering and West Indies 81 for 2 on the gog. So far so good.

moving on

I have spent all day, so far, dredging across my work room to make it habitable for daughter and Beautiful Babe, who are due tomorrow. Now she has a bed and so does BB, there is a changing table and nappies...............nowhere to put clothes, oh dear.
I will no longer have a Room of My Own, but I do have a Room with a View as i can see from one side to the other without wincing [well depending on your level of cleanliness etc].
Fortunately BB is already bought up in the style to which I am accustomed, dogs and cats and general mulch.
We will have to leave early for Heathrow tomorrow to make sure we don't get stuck on the M25 or some such. There was a 25 miles queue first day of the holiday weekend.
We have our local exhibition up and running down at the Marina. Marcus the Farmer delivered the display boards on his tractor with lifting attachment, so he could raise them to the top of the balcony staircase and the Men could slide them off without having to puff up the steps with them. Magic, such skill, he did it in a twinkling, no false moves, amazing hidden skills people have.
I stewarded yesterday, which was OK as I could sit and stitch, hand out info sheets and make wisecracks with my elderly Lacemaker friend. She is extremely opinionated, and woe betide [?} anyone who tries to tell her what to do. But she has a great dry sense of humour that keeps me entertained.
There was a unknown woman seated nearby patchworking; unhappily she didn't sew one over her mouth, as she spent all her time, endlessly and loudly, telling people her medical stories, her opinion on "so called Progress" and started on how she thought she must have gone "abroad" when she went into town these days. She must have heard the snap of my neck muscles as I took aim, as she gave up that topic immediately.
Fortunately I sold 2 or 3 pieces it seems, after I left apparently, and some cards I had made to endeavour to pay for my annual membership so I will have even more room in my room. The pic is of "Disco" a non seller, only £20 too. I bought a wooden carved rattle for the BB and am still in profit,which is pleasing.