Snowdrops

Hi Everyone, hope you have all had a good week.

We went for a walk in the gardens at St Fagans on Sunday, one of our favourite haunts, it was very cold and I was extremely glad that I had worn my gloves and hat. The Mallards were busy playing in the lake, or were they just paddling to keep warm?  The daffodils green shoots were warily poking up through the earth, but the snowdrops were resplendent along the banks beside the lakes and in the gardens, but as we walked through the gate into the orchard we were met by a lovely sight of the snowdrops round the Mulberry trees, I really wanted to take a picture but my hands were too cold despite my gloves, so very lovingly and gallantly Richard took off his gloves and took it for me, thank you so much for a wonderful picture. If you come to Cardiff, do go the St Fagan's, entry is free, but a charge is made for parking, by all means look around the museum at the restored historic buildings, but make sure you find time for the gardens, they are really lovely even at this time of the year.  I have picked out two poems for you this week, the first is by Ted Hughes, a rather stark picture of the snowdrop, whilst the second is by Wordsworth, less stark and a perfect contrast to Ted's offering, which do you prefer?  My week to come, to complete the fleece I started and start one of the dresses  I have just bought the material for, plus complete the mini carryall sewing bag ready for my craft groups, pictures when they are done.

Snowdrop by Ted Hughes

Now is the globe shrunk tight
Round the mouse’s dulled wintering heart.
Weasel and crow, as if moulded in brass,
Move through an outer darkness
Not in their right minds,
With the other deaths. She, too, pursues her ends,
Brutal as the stars of this month,
Her pale head heavy as metal.

TO A SNOWDROP   (Wordsworth 1819)

          LONE Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they

          But hardier far, once more I see thee bend

          Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day,

          Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend,

          The rising sun, and on the plains descend;

          Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay

          Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May

          Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend
Shall soon behold this border thickly set

          On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers;
With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing  
          Nor will I then thy modest grace forget,

As always, thank you for joining me and have a wonderful week wherever in the world you are.  Love, Daisychain

The cold wind doth blow......

Hello everyone, and welcome back I hope you are all well.

Beautiful Wednesday here in sunny Cardiff, it is supposed to be raining according to the forecast with snow (maybe) later on today (and it did albeit briefly), but the sun is shining, the gulls are wheeling in the sky amidst the sparse white fluffy clouds and the Robins are busy feeding from my bird table.    

Not wishing the be a harbinger of gloom, but I anticipate it will start raining around 1.00pm when I come out of the hairdressers, Murphy's law!  Hairdresser's, now that is a subject I have been struggling with for a long time.  I have naturally curly hair, and it needs a good cut, something that has been lacking for the last few years, or rather the care to make my hair look good.  Many hairdressers, and believe me I have tried a few, have suggested each time that my curly hair should be left to dry naturally, and not treated me to a lovely blow dry, or check that it looks good other than sending me out onto the street with damp curly hair, my sister-in-law's came very very close with a reasonably good cut. My son very kindly put me in touch with his hairdresser and she understands curly hair, and how it can be a real pain to go around hair looking like you have been pulled through a hedge backwards!  My first visit to Zalehka was eight weeks ago, and I came out feeling a million  dollars, my hair had been beautifully cut, blow dried and straightened, I felt and looked sophisticated, and the best thing of all is that I have been able to reproduce the style with my straighteners and hairdryer, not to salon standards, but to a reasonable standard, that is what I call a success.  To top that, the comments I have had were all favourable, especially from my husband and son, whose normal comments are based on they though I was going to have my hair cut, what happened?! to that looks really nice, and when I have washed and dried it, that it still looks really good.  Thank you Zalehka, for taking the time and trouble to look after me and my hair, can't wait to be spoilt again today.  Update, it was raining when I came out, but my hair still feels like a million dollars, thoroughly spoilt.

Talking of spoilt, we had a lovely gift last week from a relation enabling us to get ourselves a couple of longed for items, a sewing machine for me and a welding machine for my husband, items we would have longed for but never have got otherwise.  My machine, given to me over a year ago and really not working very well at all was on it;s last legs and this gift has enabled me to get a wonderful new Janome XL601 which has an automatic needle threader, and the price included the quilting accesories wirth £100, and a set of leather needles.  Fantastic, I can really get down to my sewing in earnest now.

My Sewing Machine and I

By Trudy Callan

Oh, Sewing Machine, you beckon me,

in the morning light, 

to come and sit awhile

and work together on beautiful 

creations of delight.

I enjoy our times together,

you are a faithful friend.

Always there when I need you.

On you, I can depend.

You enable me to relax and unwind 
and free my mind to soar.

I am so glad I have you;

because with you,

I am so much more!

Thank you for taking time to join me, have a lovely day wherever in the world you are.  Daisychain

 

2015, a new year and hopefully more frequent posts.

Hi Everyone,

Here I am back again after a long (very long and lazy) absence. No apologies, just needed time to restock my batteries.

I have to admit to a very unfruitful run Christmas, I got involved with a number of Craft Fairs, so spent most of August to November making Christmas crafts ready to sell at said fairs, not a success I might add, the quality of the crafts were great (even though I say so myself) all beautifully lined, sewn, appliqued and buttoned, jewellry made, the stall looked great and I am sure I would have made some sales if the organisers had advertised the fairs and we had more that 18 people through the doors over 10 fairs!  Suffice it to say, we all had lovely new stockings for Christmas, new decorations and Jessica has plenty of craft bags, for her books, colouring stuff etc.  Of the two independent fairs I did sales were good and the good quality was remarked upon over and again.  Lesson learned, stick to eBay for my jewelry in future, and my website, www.dragonfliesanddaisies.com, next job is to update that! 

We had a lovely, quiet Christmas, lots walks and not too much over indulgence, thankfully, but ready to start the new year as I mean to go on, healthy eating, happy disposition and lots of healthy exercise (walking mainly).  I need to lose pounds to (weight) to spend pounds on new clothes or material to make clothes.  

My regular daily walk takes me through the dell beside the pond, inevitably feeding the ducks, and yesterday there were two very hungry ducks, three playful moorhens, a lot of ice, and skating seagulls, it was like something from a Disney film, absolutely glorious. 

I couldn't find a poem about skating ducks, I will keep looking but for now I have found one by Angela Wybrow about human skaters.

People love to go skating, across the ice; 

It may be rather chilly, but it’s just so nice.

People wrapped up in coats, gloves and scarves, 

Share each other’s company, and also some laughs.

Fairy lights twinkle, up in the trees nearby.

Excited eyes sparkle, and spirits are high.

Across the rink, the skaters twist and twirl; 

On the ice, their skates create ornate swirls.

Novice skaters hang on, tightly, to the side; 

Their nerves, with smiles, they try to hide.

A good sense of balance is vital, to stay upright; 

Wibble-wobbling about, some people lose the fight.

Some skaters execute some amazing moves; 

That they are old pros, they can easily prove.

Some people hold hands, as they skate around; 

Taking in all of the exciting sights and sounds.

The skaters’ noses and cheeks glow, rosy pink, 

As they make their way around the huge ice rink.

Some of the first time skaters, tumble and fall, 

And they just can’t seem to get the hang of it all.

It’s a festive experience, which is hard to beat, 

And, for many, it’s an exciting winter time treat.

To go skating, at an outdoor rink, people wait all year; 

It’s an activity, guaranteed to bring some festive cheer. 

Angela Wybrow

Thanks for reading, have a wonderful day wherever in the world you are, I will be back next week, I do hope you will join me.  Bubbles

Ripe Blueberries

Hi everyone, I hope you are all well.

I have harvested 6 blueberries from my blueberry bush, not many you may say, but these were the first six to ripen on a nicely loaded bush, and it is safe to say that this is the beginning of the battle between me and the birds to get my coveted blueberries, now I could cover the bush with net, but where's the fun in that at least this way the birds get a chance,  and maybe just maybe, they are already full up after devouring the cherries on next doors cherry tree, wishful thinking there I think.  We all know that blueberries are one of natures super-foods, so let's hope it is not a superhuman effort to harvest them!

My walk today took me through the park, past a duck-less pond, mind you the water level is getting low, and to the local leisure centre, where I enrolled in the Cardiff Active scheme which entitles me to free swimming in Cardiff Swimming Pools, fantastic, a 4k walk with a swim in the middle, who could ask for more.  I am planning on going twice a week and extending my other daily walks to around 4k a day, we'll see what happens.  Along with the extra daily exercise, I have tweaked my diet, no sugar, no dairy, low carbs and lots of fruit and veg and some protein,   I am not a health and fitness freak, just want to get back to and maintain a healthy level of fitness plus lose a couple of stone, watch this space!  And when I have lost the weight I am looking forward to creating some new clothes for my wardrobe, I want to be thrifty as well as smart, is this possible, well we will see.

My cushion pads arrived yesterday, and I chose the buttons to go on the first cushion, these are buttons I had left over from my cardigan and will suit the cushion perfectly.  As I said, tho other day, photo's when I have finished it.  I started a cardigan in a dark heather wool, the wool is supposed to be in two shades, but these are almost indistinct as to being just mono colour, so I am very disappointed, I feel this wool may go to Quilters sale on Saturday, and hopefully I will get something back towards a more suitable colour wool, one with contrast.  Meanwhile I will finish the cushion tonight or tomorrow and then start on the nativity set for GG.  

Today's offering is a poem by Robert Frost, lovely poem that really paints a picture visually and of country life, reminds me of my early life in a Hampshire village.  A little long but worth reading.

Thank you once again for joining me, I look forward to sharing with you again.  I hope you have a wonderful day, wherever in the world you are.  Love Bubbles

Blueberries (Robert Frost 1874-1963)

"You ought to have seen what I saw on my way 

To the village, through Mortenson's pasture to-day: 

Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb, 

Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum 

In the cavernous pail of the first one to come! 

And all ripe together, not some of them green 

And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen!" 

"I don't know what part of the pasture you mean." 

"You know where they cut off the woods--let me see-- 

It was two years ago--or no!--can it be 

No longer than that?--and the following fall 

The fire ran and burned it all up but the wall." 

"Why, there hasn't been time for the bushes to grow. 

That's always the way with the blueberries, though: 

There may not have been the ghost of a sign 

Of them anywhere under the shade of the pine, 

But get the pine out of the way, you may burn 

The pasture all over until not a fern 

Or grass-blade is left, not to mention a stick, 

And presto, they're up all around you as thick 

And hard to explain as a conjuror's trick." 

"It must be on charcoal they fatten their fruit. 

I taste in them sometimes the flavour of soot. 

And after all really they're ebony skinned: 

The blue's but a mist from the breath of the wind, 

A tarnish that goes at a touch of the hand, 

And less than the tan with which pickers are tanned." 

"Does Mortenson know what he has, do you think?" 

"He may and not care and so leave the chewink 

To gather them for him--you know what he is. 

He won't make the fact that they're rightfully his 

An excuse for keeping us other folk out." 

"I wonder you didn't see Loren about." 

"The best of it was that I did. Do you know, 

I was just getting through what the field had to show 

And over the wall and into the road, 

When who should come by, with a democrat-load 

Of all the young chattering Lorens alive, 

But Loren, the fatherly, out for a drive." 

"He saw you, then? What did he do? Did he frown?" 

"He just kept nodding his head up and down. 

You know how politely he always goes by. 

But he thought a big thought--I could tell by his eye-- 

Which being expressed, might be this in effect: 

'I have left those there berries, I shrewdly suspect, 

To ripen too long. I am greatly to blame.'" 

"He's a thriftier person than some I could name." 

"He seems to be thrifty; and hasn't he need, 

With the mouths of all those young Lorens to feed? 

He has brought them all up on wild berries, they say, 

Like birds. They store a great many away. 

They eat them the year round, and those they don't eat 

They sell in the store and buy shoes for their feet." 

"Who cares what they say? It's a nice way to live, 

Just taking what Nature is willing to give, 

Not forcing her hand with harrow and plow." 

"I wish you had seen his perpetual bow-- 

And the air of the youngsters! Not one of them turned, 

And they looked so solemn-absurdly concerned." 

"I wish I knew half what the flock of them know 

Of where all the berries and other things grow, 

Cranberries in bogs and raspberries on top 

Of the boulder-strewn mountain, and when they will crop. 

I met them one day and each had a flower 

Stuck into his berries as fresh as a shower; 

Some strange kind--they told me it hadn't a name." 

"I've told you how once not long after we came, 

I almost provoked poor Loren to mirth 

By going to him of all people on earth 

To ask if he knew any fruit to be had 

For the picking. The rascal, he said he'd be glad 

To tell if he knew. But the year had been bad. 

There had been some berries--but those were all gone. 

He didn't say where they had been. He went on: 

'I'm sure--I'm sure'--as polite as could be. 

He spoke to his wife in the door, 'Let me see, 

Mame, we don't know any good berrying place?' 

It was all he could do to keep a straight face. 

"If he thinks all the fruit that grows wild is for him, 

He'll find he's mistaken. See here, for a whim, 

We'll pick in the Mortensons' pasture this year. 

We'll go in the morning, that is, if it's clear, 

And the sun shines out warm: the vines must be wet. 

It's so long since I picked I almost forget 

How we used to pick berries: we took one look round, 

Then sank out of sight like trolls underground, 

And saw nothing more of each other, or heard, 

Unless when you said I was keeping a bird 

Away from its nest, and I said it was you. 

'Well, one of us is.' For complaining it flew 

Around and around us. And then for a while 

We picked, till I feared you had wandered a mile, 

And I thought I had lost you. I lifted a shout 

Too loud for the distance you were, it turned out, 

For when you made answer, your voice was as low 

As talking--you stood up beside me, you know." 

"We sha'n't have the place to ourselves to enjoy-- 

Not likely, when all the young Lorens deploy. 

They'll be there to-morrow, or even to-night. 

They won't be too friendly--they may be polite-- 

To people they look on as having no right 

To pick where they're picking. But we won't complain. 

You ought to have seen how it looked in the rain, 

The fruit mixed with water in layers of leaves, 

Like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves." 

Welcome to July

Hi everyone, and welcome to July, I hope I find you all well.

Another glorious day, washing on line blowing in the breeze, sky a beautiful blue, with little patches of fluffy white clouds.  I took my usual walk this morning, accompanied by the music of Harry Nillson, certainly helped to make the pace a little more brisk, and I am a little unsure about the looks I got as I walked past people humming away, where they genuine smiles or, looks of pity, I like to think genuine smiles.  My favourite song of his, would have to be "Without You", a close second "The Moonbeam Song" and for sheer comic cleverness "The lime in the coconut"  and yes I was singing/humming along to all of them!  Without you became our song back in 1971 when it was released and was the first LP that DB bought me,  and naturally had to be replaced by a CD at a later date. But for pure poetry, for me it has to be "The Moonbeam Song" and that is my offering today. (Two ducks in the pond today, both female Mallards, and both busy eating bread).

This afternoon I will have to venture into Llandaff Village, Post Office and Chemist call, this time in my new sandals, so wish me luck that I don't have a recurrence of broken sandal!  I may have to refrain from listening to music as I go, as there will be far more people to pass and really do not want to frighten the natives away.  I shall pop into Llandaff Cathedral and have yet another look at Dante Gabriel Rosetti's "Seed of David" painted between 1858 and 1864 if you ever get the chance, do have a look as it it really beautiful.

My cushion cover is coming along well, almost finished, blue in cable stitch, with two sizes of cable, pictures later when I finish it, just waiting for the cushion pads to arrive from ebay. 

Thank yo once again for listening to my ramblings,  have a lovely day wherever in the world you are, and speak to you again soon.  

love Bubbles.

"The Moonbeam Song"

Have you ever watched a moonbeam
As it slid across your windowpane
Or struggled with a bit of rain
Or danced about the weathervane
Or sat along a moving train
And wondered where the train has been

Or on a fence with bits of crap
Around its bottom
Blown there by a windbeam
Who searches for the moonbeam
Who was last seen
Looking at the tracks
Of the careless windbeam
Or moving to the tracks
Of the tireless freight train
And lighting up the sides
Of the weathervane
And the bits of rain
And the windowpane
And the eyes of those
Who think they saw what happened

Have you ever watched a moonbeam
As it slid across your windowpane
Or struggled with a bit of rain
Or danced about the weather vane
Or sat along a moving train
And wonder where the train has been?

Looking at the tracks
Of the careless windbeam
Or moving to the tracks
Of the tireless freight train
And lighting up the sides
Of the weathervane
And the bits of rain
And the windowpane
And the eyes of those
Who think they saw what happened

The gentle sigh of rustling leaves.

Hi everyone, I hope I find you well and having had a lovely weekend.

We had a lovely, cooler, but productive weekend, shopping done, sandals taken back to Go Outdoors and exchanged with no problems, a walk on the barrage, some gardening and a couple of leisurely evenings relaxing, who could ask for more.

Today is cooler than last week, refreshingly so, but the weather promises to be warmer again tomorrow, what a great climate we live in.  As I write the wind is gently rustling through the leaves of the shrubs and trees,  gentle content sighs they take in the sun having been replenished by the recent rain.  It is at times like this I wish I could paint, looking out at the sky with pillows of grey and white, broken by intermittent lines of red roof tiles, and the different shades of green and copper and reds from the trees with all their different types of foliage, I suppose I will have to make do with painting by words, beside words do paint a wonderful picture.

My walk took me 3.5k today,  as usual through the park, via the postbox posting a comic and some stickers to my GG, but instead of ending it by walking back along the edge of the park, decided to retrace my steps and walk back through the park, past the pond, no lone duck today, just a moorhen picking his way through the reeds, and the bull-rushes are becoming resplendent along the edge of the pond, again more gentle breeze rustling through the reeds and rushes.  As I leave the pond, I look over Cardiff and where the sun is busy breaking though the pillowy clouds it is reflecting off the different architecture, a sparkling city beneath me.  Yes I can safely say I feel at one with the world and what it has to offer today.  A I type, I am joined by a tiny spider busily weaving his web between my laptop screen and the table, he just appeared throwing out his web in front of him, making waypoints and then shooting off in another direction.  I dare not move the screen for fear of breaking his wonderful web.  

Thank you for joining me once again, have a lovely day wherever in the world you are, I look forward to your joining me again, for now goodbye,  Love Bubbles.

Rustling Leaves (Sarah Pesta)

During the day I feel the soft wind

Blowing through the trees in its path

When the wind begins to blow through the trees

The leaves on the branches begin to rustle

The day is starting to fade to pastel colors

Colors in which are blending in with the sun

Night has arrived after the sunset has left

I can still hear the leaves rustle in my dreams 

That holiday feeling

Hi everyone, I hope I find you all well this morning.

I woke early and was greeted by (apart from a ravenous cat wanting to come in) a rather greyer than normal sky, still with patches of blue spread evenly across it, a cool breeze gently lifting the curtains, the call of the seagulls as they circled overhead and a feeling of tranquility passing over me, I felt, as I often do, as if I am on holiday.  It is a feeling that is difficult to describe, but it takes me back to holidays in Padstow, caravaning at Mother Ivey's Bay, standing at the stile between the campsite and the sand dunes, my hair being lifted by the fresh breeze,  the sun on my face and the sound of seagulls above and the waves breaking on the beach, and all this evoked by a gentle breeze rippling through my life as I look out of the window.  Packed lunches made and family off to work, I could not wait to get out for my walk, donning my old sandals (my good ones failed on my walk back from the River Taff and Llandaff yesterday) I set out for the park, still no-one around save the man on his gang mower mowing the grass.  I reach the pond and there again is the lone duck, perched on the pier, this time she has an entourage of four magpies, not molesting or being aggressive, just sitting on the pier beside her, of course they all flew away before I could even reach for my camera, apart from the duck, who looked at me and resignedly turned and hopped into the pond. I walk on and leave her to her peace, all the while the seagulls circle overhead and call to each other.  Yes I definitely have that holiday feeling.  I get home to a message from my friend, who despite sitting for over two hours on the runway yesterday waiting to take off (thank you Fat Controllers (French Air Traffic)) to say she is "In Heaven" having finally and safely arrived in Malta to see her son, have a lovely time, I know you will.  Whilst she is in heaven in Malta, I am in heaven right here, yes listening to the breeze play in the trees, the soft rustling of the leaves, and the tendrils of leaves on the willow trees in the park as they reach out as if grasping for something just out of their reach and yes the seagulls swooping, circling and calling out overhead.

Thank you once again for joining me, I look forward to speaking to you again very soon, have a lovely day wherever in the world you are.  Love Bubbles

The Seagull

When I was a child, before I knew the word 

for a snowstorm, before I remember 

a tree or a field, 

I saw an endless grey slate afternoon coming, 

I knew a bird singing in the sun 

was the same as a dog barking in the dark.

A pigeon in a blizzard fluttered 

against a kitchen window,

– my first clear memory of terror, 

I kept secret, my intimations 

I kept secret.

This winter I hung a grey and white stuffed 

felt seagull from the cord of my window shade, 

a reminder of good times by the sea, 

of Chekhov and impossible love.

I took comfort from the gull, the graceful shape 

sometimes lifted a wing in the drafty room.

Once when I looked at the gull I saw 

through the window a living seagull glide 

toward me then disappear, – what a rush of life!

I remember its hereness, 

while inside the room 

the senseless symbol 

little more than a bedroom slipper 

dangled on a string.

Beyond argument, my oldest emotion 

hangs like a gull in the distant sky.

Eyes behind bars of mud and salt 

see some dark thing below,

– my roof under the sea.

Only the sky is taken for granted.

In the quiet morning light, 

terror’s the only bird I know, 

– although birds have fed from my hand.

STANLEY MOSS (1982)