Russets, gold and acers.

Hi Everyone, I hope you are all well. 

I have finished the advent calendar, photo's to follow in next few days once my daughter has seen it.  I have to say that I am really pleased with the result despite my umming and ahhing over the finishes, especially as I delved deep into my craft supplies and came up with some embellishments that I already had therefore no need to buy them.  

After a blustery wet start the day appears to have settled into just blustery and bright, albeit cold, so more autumn cleaning and tidying, and of course sorting out my next knitting project. I have become so used to knitting in the evenings with television in the background, that I miss it if I haven't got any to do.  That and christmas cards to write, all with a little catch up note, I should be busy for the next few days, oh and work as well, busy hands makes happy heart.  I was talking to a friend of mine this morning, and she is going mad with boredom, and needs to find a job to keep her busy, I can understand her sentiment, I hate being idle.

This time last year the trees were bare, and leaves had been diligently collected, today thee are still leaves on the trees, beautiful russets and golds, and when windy leaves blowing like large snowflakes, a promise of what is to come.  My Acer, bought for me  by my lovely family is a picture of delight all gold, red and a little touch of green here and there, looking splendid. So I had to find a poem about acer's and here we are a little known poet Douglas Scotney
 captures the spirit of the acer quite accurately.

So long for today, and thank you for joining me, have a lovely day wherever in the world you are.

Siwzy

To a Leaf of the Acer Palmatum  (Douglas Scotney)

Your journey will be from green to yellow, 

Or if not yellow, to red; 

From yellow you'll go to much more yellow, 

From red to much more red.

Red or yellow, 

You'll end up brown and broken down, 

Part of the never-changing scene: 

Brown to green to red or yellow, 

Red or yellow to brown to green. 

Hi Everyone, sorry for my absence over the last few days, but I had to work, and that meant I didn't get to my laptop.

There was an absolutely gorgeous moon last night, seen through the trees as a magnificent orb surrounded by an aura that looked like a halo being swiftly caressed by passing clouds. When I  got up this morning  there it was in all it's lunar magnificence still as large as life in a pale blue sky.  It brought to mind Wordsworth's poem "A Night Piece" which is shared below. It seems apt to use that on a day when the I heard on the radio that the Queen is hosting a celebration of poets at Buckingham Palace.  I don't know which poets are being honoured by attending the ceremony, I understand there are 100, both  traditional, modern and post modernist.  A lovely moonlight night followed by a beautiful sunny, if cold, day, and woken up to the soft notes of the Masquerade Waltz by Khachaturian, my perfect start to a day.

Off now to make the most of the day, washing on the line is the first task, and then whatever follows.  Speak to you tomorrow and thanks for joining me.   Have a lovely day wherever in the world you are.

Siwzy 

A Night Piece (William Wordsworth)

—The sky is overcast With a continuous cloud of texture close, Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon, Which through that veil is indistinctly seen, A dull, contracted circle, yielding light So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls, Chequering the ground—from rock, plant, tree, or tower. At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam Startles the pensive traveller while he treads His lonesome path, with unobserving eye Bent earthwards; he looks up—the clouds are split Asunder,—and above his head he sees The clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens. There, in a black-blue vault she sails along, Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss Drive as she drives: how fast they wheel away, Yet vanish not!—the wind is in the tree, But they are silent;—still they roll along Immeasurably distant; and the vault, Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds, Still deepens its unfathomable depth. At length the Vision closes; and the mind, Not undisturbed by the delight it feels, Which slowly settles into peaceful calm, Is left to muse upon the solemn scene

Clarence's Starry Starry night.

Hi everyone, I hope all is well with you today.

I woke at 4.4am and looked out of the bedroom window to a wonderful clear sky, speckled with sparkling sta,the grass was sparkling and the temperature 1degC but I just had to go outside and stare up in wonder at the sky with the crunch of the first ground frost this autumn under my feets, and immediately fell into a (silent) rendition of Don McLean's homage to Vincent van Goch, Vincent, otherwise known as Starry Starry Night, a song I have always loved and words I have have long remembered since my teenage years, and not just an homage to The Starry Night, there are lots of links to other paintings; Sunflowers (flaming flowers that brightly blaze) for example.   My grandfather was a lover of Van Goch's work and one birthday gave him a book of some of VG's work, which I now have.  He was not open to listening to pop music of any kind and dismissed Don McLean's work as noisy and intrusive caterwauling, until he read the words, and like all true art, whether it is poetry, painting or music everything gelled and he understood.  To this day this has been one of my favourites (I hear you say yet another favourite) but there are so many beautiful poems how can you not have lots of favourites, who wrote the rule that you must only have one?  Not me. So today's blog is dedicated to my grandfather Clarence from his Princess.

It was sad also to hear of the passing of John Tavener, composer, probably most remembered for his choral works, especially the Lamb and Song for Athene, sung at Princess Diana's funeral.

On that note, thank you for reading once again, and may all be well with you wherever in the world you are.  Speak to you tomorrow.

Siwzy

The Starry Night  Vincent van Goch 1889  (original in MOMA)

"Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)" Don McLean

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul

Shadows on the hills 
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now

Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue

Colors changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now

For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night

You took your life, as lovers often do
But I could've told you Vincent
This world was never meant for
One as beautiful as you

Starry, starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frame-less heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget

Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn of bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free

They would not listen, they're not listening still
Perhaps they never will

Mackerel Tuesday

Hi everyone, woke this morning to a mackerel sky also known as buttermilk sky, I think I prefer that description for auotcumulus clouds, much more poetic, more normally to be seen in the evening sunset, sun glistening on the damp grass and picking up the sparkling cobwebs suspended between the leaves and branches, and people walking round with smiles on their faces. Glorious day

Conquered my problem with the christmas advent calendar, read, re-read and then re-read several times more, the process to knit the pockets, for the best part of a week and I could not get my pea sized brain around it, but at the weekend it all clicked into place and now all pockets are attached as per pattern and stitched to make individual pockets.  A photo will appear once my daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter have seen it, I do not want to spoil their surprise. I am really enjoying doing this project, once I understand what I am doing and looking forward to even more similar projects.  It is lovely to make something that will be of use and be used, rather than stuck in a folder never to see the light of day as my embroideries are.

The christmas quilted pillow case is taking shape, all the  right colour materials and backing are in place, decorations decided upon and love ready in abundance to fill it with.  Again photos of finished product once the important folk have seen it.  

Once again thank you for joining me, I have found an old favourite for you today, well at least the first four lines are familiar, I didn't realise there was so much more to the poem, and some say sailors as in this rendition, whereas some say shepherds, I suppose it depends on your livelihood  be it ocean or land based.  Speak to you again tomorrow, and have a good day shepherd or sailor wherever in the world you are.

Siwzy

Weather poem (anon)

Red Sky at night, 

Sailors delight; 

Red sky in the morning, 

Sailors warning.

 Best time to say, 

What weather's on the way, 

Is at the start and end of day. 

If rain begins at early morning light, 

T'will end ere day at noon is bright

If the evening is red and the morning grey, 

It is the sign of a bonnie day; 

If the evening's grey and the morning red, 

The lamb and ewe will go wet to bed. 

If the sun goes pale to bed, 

T'will rain tomorrow, so 'tis said.

The moon and weather may change together, 

But change of the moon does not change the weather. 

Never trust a clear blue sky, 

Even if the glass points high. 

A grey and featureless sky 

May be a gloomy one, 

But at least it's dry. 

Rainbow to windward, foul falls the day, 

Rainbow to leeward, damp runs away. 

If rainbow green is large and bright. 

Rain is still somewhere in sight; 

If red is strongest colour of all, 

Then winds will blow, rains will fall. 

Low'rin clouds, low'rin skies, 

Stay indoors if you are wise. 

Mackerel sky, mackerel sky, 

Never long wet, never long dry. 

A cap of sheet cloud high in the sky, 

Forewarns the tears from heaven's eye. 

When clouds are gathering thick and fast, 

Keep a lookout for snails and mast; 

But if they slowly onward crawl, 

Shoot your nets, line, trawls and all. 

When the clouds spread like a feather, 

Mariners look for fair, good weather. 

When mountains and cliffs in the clouds appear, 

Some sun and violent showers are near. 

The deeper the cloud, 

The harder it showers. 

Humorous cumulus, 

Never gloomerous. 

Pale moon, 

Rain soon. 

Clear moon, 

Rain soon. 

When stars disappear, 

Then rain and wind is near. 

A nasty nature is the role of lows, 

Rainy days and windy blows. 

When the rain's before the wind. 

Topsail halliards you must mind; 

If the wind's before the rain, 

Soon you will make plain sail again. 

The winds of daytime wrestle and fight, 

Longer and stronger than those of the night. 

If the wind at sunrise drives the clouds away, 

Fair weather is the order of the day. 

At sea with a low and falling glass, 

Soundly sleeps a careless ass. 

Long foretold, long past, 

Short notice, soon past. 

When the glass falls low, 

Prepare for a blow; 

When the glass rises high, 

Let the light duck fly. 

At sea with a low and falling glass, 

The green hand sleeps like a careless ass; 

But only when it is high and rising, 

Will slumber trouble a careful wise one. 

When rise begins after low, 

Squalls expect, and a clear blow. 

First rise after very low, 

Indicates a stonger blow. 

When the wind is in the east, 

Then the fishes bite the least; 

When the wind is in the west, 

Then the fishes bite the best; 

When the wind comes in the north, 

Then the fishes do come forth; 

When the wind is in the south, 

It blows the bait in the fishes mouth. 

Pimpernel, pimpernel, tell me true, 

Whether the weather be fine or no. 

When bee's to distance wing their fight, 

Days are warm and skies are bright; 

But when their flights ends near their home, 

Stormy weather is sure to come.

Poppies for rememberance

Hi everybody, hope your weekend was good, mine was a matter of lovely walks, clearing the garden of the final windfalls, too wet to mow the lawn and more knitting of my advent calendar, couldnt sleep on Friday night so knitted the angel for the top of the tree!  Sorry for the lack of posts last week, I got a couple of jobs that took a lot longer  than I anticipated and consequently my laptop didn't get switched on for days, most things I can do from my phone, but I have yet to find out how to edit my blog.

For those with gluten allergies I saw a really good way to make a white sauce yesterday, the secret is to replace the flour with agar agar and let the sauce get cold and set, once set, whizz to a smooth consistency heat and add flavouring.  I will try and find the exact recipe, I saw this on Australian Masterchef with Heston Blumenthal.

Finding patterns for beautiful knits and quilts on line, I really cannot believe what a wealth of information there is out there, I keep on finding more and more, and veritable treasure trove of wonderful information.

Of course today is Armistice Day, remembered throughout the world for the many lives lost in the wars fought for our liberty and still being fought today.  So it would be remiss of me not to mention it and share a little known poem written by a schoolboy about hope.  I will be back tomorrow, thank you for your patience and for reading this and have a wonderful day wherever in the world you are.

Siwzy  

The paper dove

Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind,
Gliding gently over fields
And countries torn by war,
It has no idea of the fighting below,

Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind,
Its eyes are heavy,
Visions lie heavy in its mind,
The poppy fields glide past,

Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind,
They feel the blasts,
The pain,
The black mass that engulfs the men,

Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind,
Children crying for their fathers,
After reading letters of loss,
The endless sombre parades,

Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind,
Love lies underneath,
Blood red poppies scattered below,
The folded feathers float onto the poppy fields.

Its soft white feathers flutter in the wind,
Launched by a child, off mountains high,
Watched by millions,
A peace spreader,
A hope bringer,
Only soft white paper feathers fall in the wind,
From The Paper Dove.

Mark
Age 14 (2010)
Heckmondwike Grammar School
Yorkshire, UK
Published with the permission of his parents.

Remember, remember the 5th of November

Hi everyone, hope you all had a good weekend.  We had a hunkering down sort of weekend doing little odd jobs, sometimes forgotten and some lovely blustery walks.

We had the predicted storms at the weekend, only a week late, but the winds managed to blow some ridge tiles from our neighbours roof onto our sons van and all over the drive, luckily no-one was hurt, and the damage to the van not too bad.  

Well here we are again, the 5th November and bonfire night, I shall be watching over Cardiff as the fireworks light up the night sky in bursts of colour with rapid bangs and whizzes, coats, hats and scarves, toffee apples, parking and hot soup,  I love bonfire night, even if the animals don't, although our cat seems not to mind.  Obviously we have had the run up and will have the run down from the actual night, and I can be found standing at my bedroom window just watching all the wonderful explosions of colour over quite a period.  As a child, I recall the day after bonfire night, going round the garden trying to find the treasures of childrens still seem to find it exciting to find spent fireworks.  spent fireworks, a wonderful time, we even got provided with a bucket by my father, now I wonder if he had an ulterior motive, but  Thank you Guido Fawkes for trying to blow up parliament and instead of succeeding giving us all a wonderful time in November.

I saw a wonderful tip for a gluten, dairy and sugar free alternative to whipped cream, it's extremely simple, 1 tin of previously chilled coconut cream, whipped, add the seeds of a vanilla pod and a sprinkle of cinnamon to taste and serve.  I have used coconut cream to make rice pudding before and it works, and I know that you can create an instant ice cream with double cream and frozen fruit whizzed together, so the same should be true for coconut cream.  What a wonderful alternative, my husband will love this, not that his diet precludes gluten, dairy or sugar, but he does like coconut cream it was his idea to use coconut milk in rice pudding, with cardamom of course. 

Thank you for joining me once again, have a lovely day wherever in the world you are.

Siwzy

English Folk Verse (c.1870)

            

The Fifth of November

    Remember, remember! 

    The fifth of November, 

    The Gunpowder treason and plot; 

    I know of no reason 

    Why the Gunpowder treason 

    Should ever be forgot! 

    Guy Fawkes and his companions 

    Did the scheme contrive, 

    To blow the King and Parliament 

    All up alive. 

    Threescore barrels, laid below, 

    To prove old England's overthrow.

 

    But, by God's providence, him they catch, 

    With a dark lantern, lighting a match! 

    A stick and a stake 

    For King James's sake! 

    If you won't give me one, 

    I'll take two, 

    The better for me, 

    And the worse for you. 

    A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope, 

    A penn'orth of cheese to choke him, 

    A pint of beer to wash it down, 

    And a jolly good fire to burn him. 

    Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring! 

    Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King! 

    Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!

November is here

Hi everyone, hope you are all well and having a good day. 

I was out and about yesterday and didn't even switch my laptop on!  A day spent in Cardiff and I was surprised at the number of ghouls, ghost and witches in the town centre, I thought they only came out at night! I even prepared myself for the forecast relentless knock on the front door, but silence reigned last night, so I have stocking filler sweets instead!

As we prepare for the colder season, I read in contrast from Jo's blog  "All the blue day" that in Tasmania it has finally become warm enough to wear t shirts during the day and she has switched off the heating finally until their autumn arrives, that just seemed like two halves making everything complete.  

November for me, is warm soups, stews and comforting food, nights in by the fire, bonfires and swirling smoke as people clear their gardens and tidy in readiness for next spring, all sorts of lovely things happening and of course the inevitable countdown to Christmas, how can you not love November.  In six days it would have been my mothers 87th birthday, unfortunately she died the day before, and we buried her on the 18th November, no not a time for sadness, but a time of release for her after years of illness, and a time for the family to get together and celebrate her life, and for me that encapsulates November for me now, a time of release and enjoyment, I will never stop missing her even though we were separated by many miles, but am glad of the time we had and the influence she had on me.  So yes I still love November.

Thank you as always for joining me and have a good weekend wherever in the world you are. See you on Monday.

Siwzy

November comes (Clyde Watson)

November comes 

And November goes, 

With the last red berries 

And the first white snows.

With night coming early, 

And dawn coming late, 

And ice in the bucket 

And frost by the gate.

The fires burn 

And the kettles sing, 

And earth sinks to rest 

Until next spring.