A Room of One's Own

I don't need diamonds , jewels and flowers. Well, they would be good. I was going to use the word nice, but my English Teacher Miss S. would not approve. 'Never use the word 'nice' girls, when there is a more interesting one word available in the English Language.'

What is it that I need?

Bookcases- lovely bookcases.

My house is full of dust, chaos and guilt. Piles of books, concealing volumes of words, form statues of silent eloquence.

However, as of yesterday a little guilt has been  lifted, the dust blown off and the chaos organised. The ever patient Husband installed two new bookcases as a surprise. The ironing room is rapidly becoming 'A Room of One's Own'.

I knew the visits to Charleston and Sissinghurst with the immersion into Bloomsbury Society would have the Virginia effect.

I have spent a wonderful evening and morning playing at libraries.

Arranging Alphbetically.
Bunching Biographies.
Creating a Creative Corner.
Discarding Duplicates.
Filing Feminism.
Grouping Greene's and Gaskell's.
Piling Penguins.
Sorting Shakespeare.
Volumizing Verse.

The possibilities are endless.

But the even more exciting prospect is the availability of space.

Just a little more is required  and then my desk can be installed.

My tools are ready, my pencils sharpened, a new term is starting.  A little retail therapy resulted in a new lined notebook and a stylish reference book Everyday English by Michelle Finlay :http://www.amazon.co.uk/Everyday-English-Getting-basics-language/dp/1843175665. We all need new books at the start of the academic year. Miss S would be pleased that at last I am interested in having 'a mastery of the language' [ M.Finlay]. I feel like I am going to start a new school and leave the old Wife and Mother behind.

Ironing board out...........

Writing desk in!

I can hardly wait.

'Now my belief is that this poet who never wrote a word and was buried at the cross-roads still lives. She lives in you and in me, and in many other women who are not here tonight, for they are washing up the dishes and putting the children to bed.' 

Virginia Woolf

A Room of One's Own

Goodbye to Summer

Christmas windows in the shops, the first conkers falling,  warming soup on the hob and I am back to black with an accent of colour.

It looks like Summer is over. So before I hibernate my legs and wobbly bits, I cast my eyes back at some seaside windows and remember a few glorious days. [ Too few if the truth be told]  Most of them happening on working weeks , ending with umbrella weekends.

So to Hastings windows I go.

The above window is from a cake and delicatessen shop where we bought our lunch. Buckets, spades and sandcastles, the quintessential part of an English seaside excursion. Look more closely at the castle, not sand but corks, so a version called Cork Castle. What a great party they must have had to provide all those battlements and ramparts. Summer evenings drinking chilled white wine with friends, now that is a good memory.

This window is very interesting. A deck chair on a beach, what a great way to spend the day.
However, look more closely and it might not be so appealing. Some of the model seems to be made with discarded remnants from the shoreline that the sea has rejected. Or is this just my interpretation?

A little further down the High Street and I come across a vintage window. Part of my idea of a good day out by the sea is rummaging in junk shops for vintage finds. This is more up market than a junk shop but offers interesting artifacts for consideration and is always worth a visit when the weather is inclement.

The window below is of Shimizu Flowers run by the delightful  and courteous Mao Bramall http://www.shimizuflowers.com. I came home with a spotted white Digitalis. I rather like the common name of Foxglove or fairy-bells. Perhaps I will be the Foxy Lady drinking tea from my china cup and saucer , wearing gloves, in my autumn garden, listening out for fairy bells. [Thanks Judi]

I have saved these till last. Flowers, beautiful flowers to take me into Autumn. So now I settle down with my bulb and plant catalogues. I fill my notebook with lists- lovely long fragrant lists , heady with the promise of perfume blooms. The postman brings exciting plugs of latin named species to fill my garden with white blossoms and petals as I clothe myself in black. The Lathyrus latifolius [everlasting sweetpea- white] and the Clematis urophylla- Winter Beauty have arrived. Eryngiums, Hydrangea arborescens, Narcissus and tuilips are on their way.

                     

        Sometimes it is the simplest of images that are the most arresting:


                                                                     DAISY

                                                           I'd choose to be a daisy, 

                                                           If I might be a flower;

                                                          Closing my petals softly

                                                          At twilight's quiet hour; 

                                                          And waking in the morning,

                                                          Whenfalls the early dew, 

                                                          To welcome Heaven's bright sunshine,   

                                                          And Heaven's bright tear-drops too.                                                     

Anonymous                                                     

The Language of Flowers- Penhaligon's

Elizabeth Taylor gave me a present from the Seaside.

Thrilled that I am that Virago recently launched  new series of Elizabeth Taylor titles.http://www.virago.co.uk/results.asp?sf1=author&st1=Elizabeth%20Taylor&lang=en&sort=sort_date/d&m=1&dc=11

I am more thrilled at my vintage finds in the Old High Street in Hastings. They are a very welcome addition to my collection joining Angel.

I love the fact that they all come from one woman's library. I did leave many other titles behind for others that follow in my footsteps but I may visit again soon and collect a few more.

I enjoy her easy style and her prolific output.

I bought

A View of the Harbour- cover 'Lyme Regis' by Richard Eurich

The Blush- cover 'Avens' by Audrey Johnson

The Devastating Boys- cover 'Love in the Mist' by Nancy Sharp

The Sleeping Beauty- cover 'Musing' by Norman Hepple

The covers themselves will send me off at sometime in the direction of new artists to read and learn about.

So after a virtuous morning making plum and apple chutney, plum and blackberry crumble and freeze drying fruit in general to use in the barren winter months. I am giving myself an afternoon treat in my fruit filled garden.

 I am off into the summer house with a pot of tea to meet 'The Devasting Boys'.


Looks promising:

'Her children had been her life, and her grandchildren one day would be: but here was an empty space.'


Elizabeth Taylor- The Devasting Boys.

The Silent Telephone Call

' 

Sometimes the road ahead can seem very long with high walls you cannot see over. You can feel trapped . As though it is a one way street. Life decides which way you will turn. Even though you thought you had a plan, it can change at a moments notice. 

I do try to look for the best, and roses beginning to tumble over are a good sign. So although the brick wall is enclosing , it does seem as though there is a way through and if you look hard enough the path has a right turn just visible . So the pathway is not straight , its destination is not visible and the journey should be a fragrant , beautiful one. Days will be filled with buds of potential, full blooms of perfection and sadly discarded petals of tears. But rose petals tears can also be tears of joy and happiness. They can be dried into a pot pourri of fragrance and memory for winter months or old age,  their scent a trigger for the senses of past events  . 

I miss my daily telephone conversation with the person who knows me best. Sometimes, in fact daily, the call takes place in my head as I share the issues of the day. Roses become my visiting card as I tidy the grave.
A glass vase filled with blooms  by a photograph a silent tribute.

Somewhere or other there must surely be

The face not seen, the voice not heard,

The heart that not yet- never yet-ah me!

Made answer to my word.

'Somewhere or Other '

Christina Rossetti

Great Aunt Bramley Apple

  

My Bramley apple tree is the Old Lady in my garden. She has been there longer than we have and she knows all there is to know about :

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,- John Keats -To Autumn 1820.

 She sits quietly in the corner of the garden, covered in lichen, embroidering her blossom which she exhibits in the spring. In the summer she becomes Lady Bountiful with her abundant yield.

Her boughs, heavy with the fruits of her labour,  bend over, forming arches through which you must pass  to enter the rest of the garden.If you do not show enough respect, she can be cantankerous and poke you in the eye, or clutch at your clothes with twig fingers as you pass. So you need to bow to her knowledge as you bend beneath her boughs.

 Grown from years of sustenance and nourishment from the soil, she offers her perfect wonders for the picking. Knowing when the time is right to impart her presents, each bough will give a gentle sigh when a gift has been given. You may need to twist the apple slightly to gain the prize, but if she is ready to give you her produce, she feels relief as she passes her results on and the movement of branches upwards is like a silent kiss.

The apple tree is called the 'Tree of Knowledge'  and rather like an old lady she has so much information to give and pass on.

I love this quote from one of my favourite Cookery books: Jane Grigson's Fruit book.http://www.amazon.co.uk/Grigsons-Fruit-Penguin-Cookery-Library/dp/0140469982

When an orchard in Brittany was picked ,one last and best apple was left at the end of the highest branch.If it clung to the branch until all the leaves fell in the autumn winds,there would be a good crop next year....

Quite often, the best information in life is the hardest to obtain and  it is only time and age that can develop and impart this. Sometimes, we have to strive hard to harvest this knowledge.

Then there are the  blackberries. They creep around the garden, extending their tentacles like snakes  as they clamber and slither through trees and bushes. Their blossom  like tiny stars against a green sky. Their  fruit, juicy globules of black raindrops waiting to burst in your mouth.

My Mother's words accompany me as I pick the blackberries, for yes, she is in the garden with me. Her starlight gift of a magnolia stellata and a cherry blossom tree of rememberance . Never pick blackberries after the 1st October as 'Old Nick' has spoiled them .

 Now mix these two together- blackberries and apples. Make a crumble, and make it with love . Use your hands to combine the flour, butter and sugar, gently rub together to the perfect consistency. This is  wondeful comfort food, a gift from the garden with the promise of delicious tasty secrets hidden beneath a  golden-brown counterpane .

I commit my own original sin by writing in cookery books , leaving evidence for my Daughter that I Live to Eat, not Eat to Live. 

Wish and Ships on the Beach

The Weather finally cleared and we went to Hastings. I just love the iconic images- sails made from nets. Rock-a-Nore has many such vessels with a working fishing crew bringing the catch in.

Normally we have fish and chips on the beach, buying our chips from one of the many fish shops along the front- near the Vernacular East Hill  lift. It always pays to look upwards in life- you miss so much if you keep your eyes focused straight in front of you. Hastings is the perfect place to look upwards. The lift, the skyline, the Castle, the architecture, the shoreline, the cliffs, the birds- circling.

The image above is from a fish and chip shop/ pub. Really, who does not love fish and chips wrapped in paper and sprinkled with salt and vinegar? Such a treat , I should tell you that I once consumed these and still won a photographic competition in the Sunday Times Style Magazine for applying lipstick after eating fish and chips on the beach! You can eat and look good- such a message. 

We found Pat and Tush  http://www.flickr.com/photos/kaye8080/3754980318/- and we [well my husband] had Dab- and I stole as much as I could. It was freshly cooked in olive oil and was so yummy, the seagulls did not have a look in.

These fisherman huts are so iconic. I love the way that some have been made into Artists studios.  Hastings Hot Houses as they are known . Claire Fletcher has to be one of  the most inspirational artists I have seen. Capturing childhood images that transport you back to your childhood, or the one you wished you had had , and yet displaying them in such a contemporary nostalgic way, if that is not a contradiction in terms:

http://www.hastingshothouses.co.uk/black_winkle_studio.

After the Carnival we meandered home along the coast road, past the burnt out Pier- this made us so sad.

So I prefer to remember happy times.

These Victorian Piers are  beautiful  and precious,  to see them so destroyed is heartbreaking. Let's look backwards at the past glory, not the burnt out wreck.

As we left Hastings, I could not help but stop by my favourite house. Always a changing  scene that makes me smile and today's was no different. Yes, we dashed home and put the kettle on and sat companionably side by side with our tea and agreed we had  had a good day.

Buccaneers, Balloons and Beauties.

The day the Carnival came to Hastings Town, tradition was mixed with modern. Spongebob Squarepants , Disney Princesses and Hello Kitty swayed with Betty Boop, dolphins and the Jolly Roger.

 The Lindy Hoopers danced , displaying Balboa, Colliegiate Shag, Shim Sham and stroll. The audience were captivated by tattoos ,vintage clothing and pillar-box red lipstick smiles.

 The Beauty Queens , their hair secured under glittering  tiaras, dressed in silken gowns , smiled and waved whilst they travelled on a modern day chariot. Their masthead a doll , plastic and perfect immune to the cool breeze.

 

     The Majorettes twirled their batons as did Charlie Chaplin his walking stick.

The ship's cat guarded the stairway gangplank to his vessel whilst his pirates caroused the streets as     

Johnny Depp lookalikes . 

Was he thinking.....?

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

 And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and  the wind's song and the white sails shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

                             Extract from   Sea-Fever by   John Masefield

Stitch and Sew

Plant Flowers

That thou mayest perfume have and to give.

Plant cabbage 

That thou mayest eat and live.

For life is complex and its needs demand

That flowers and cabbage go hand in hand.

 I thought this might be 1940's or 1950's, but my Great Uncle and Aunt , both of whom have embroidered , sewn and upholstered, tell me that no-one had time in the 40's to sew like this and that it must be earlier than that.

The detail is lovely, as is the colour. It has obviously been stored away from light as the dye of the silks  seem so vibrant. The shop, well really a jam packed room  full of discarded treasures where I found this, is owned by Robert who has eclectic taste and who buys at auction. This piece was framed in Bangor - Wales, date unknown. But has made its way to Hastings and now is in another town.

I resonate with the sentiments. My passions in the garden are my flowers , my pots are well attended and nurtured and the nearest I come to cabbage growing are my wicker baskets of herbs outside the kitchen door. As a child, I would distill rose petals in water in jam jars to try to create perfume loving the colour and scent .

My Husband is the cabbage grower, or at the moment, green beans , potatoes, salad, beetroot and tomatoes.

These are today's flowers and cabbage and yes, life is complex . We are very different people but we do complement each other .


So still with the seaside theme:

And hand in hand,on the edge of the sand 

They danced by the light of the moon,

The moon,

The moon,

They danced by the light of the moon.' 

Edward Lear from The Owl and the Pussy-Cat.

Longing for London and lovely things.

Such a rainy day, my soul , body and mind need feeding. So a few images of macaroons from Laudree www.laduree.fr make me feel better. The website is delightful and worth a visit for the charming graphics.

These photographs are from the new premises in Covent Garden which I visited recently on a lovely sunny day. It is better for my waistline if I just take the photographs and devour with my eyes only.

   Ladurée Covent Garden. 

For my mind, I am enjoying The Best of Everything by Rona Jaffee- published by Penguin.

So today, my camera and I sat with my book on the sofa and watched the rain batter my roses.Their petals falling like tears.
 My mind travelled to New York and my soul contemplated publishing words. Because I snatch moments to write, if uninterrupted they are sublime. Stretching from minutes into hours they flow into chapters.

 If interrupted they are snapped shut. Words hurtle down tunnels and hide in shadows, their ghosts echo in my mind as they try to exist in everyday life.

                                                                                  

 A childhood poem came to mind.

 Rain

The rain is raining all around.

It falls on field and tree,

It rains on the umbrellas here,

 And on the ships at sea.

 Robert Louis Stevenson 

 .