Hi Everyone, I hope you all had a good weekend.  We did albeit quiet.

Yesterday we went for a walk in Cardiff Bay on the Barrage, between rainstorms, the wind  with was blowing hard, so all cobwebs removed succesfully, the water in the bay had white horses, and where the sun came through the racing clouds it was catching the water and the copper roof of the Millenium Centre and glistening and sparkling.   Because of the rainwater from the hills, having swelled the two rivers that feed the bay, was gushing through the overflow (100m wideish) into the Bristol Channel with such a force it was like watching a boiling pan as it met the tide coming in, a fantastic sight to behold, and all the time seemingly impossibly the cormorants about 20 of them were gracefully diving into the depths and reappearing beak full before embarking on another dive.  An absolutely beautiful half hours walk, it did both of us good.

My husband is busy reading a book about Spike Milligan, and I glanced over and saw the poem about the Ning Nang Nong, and thought what a wonderful poem to start the week, so here we are.

As always thank you for joining me go out and enjoy today wherever in the world you are, hi to a couple of new readers, I think one of these may be my sister, Hi little sis.  Speak to you tomorrow.

Siwzy

On the Ning Nang Nong (Spike Milligan)

On the Ning Nang Nong 

Where the Cows go Bong! 

and the monkeys all say BOO! 

There's a Nong Nang Ning 

Where the trees go Ping! 

And the tea pots jibber jabber joo. 

On the Nong Ning Nang 

All the mice go Clang 

And you just can't catch 'em when they do! 

So its Ning Nang Nong 

Cows go Bong! 

Nong Nang Ning 

Trees go ping 

Nong Ning Nang 

The mice go Clang 

What a noisy place to belong 

is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!! 

Heady reminders of France

Hi everyone, I hope you are all well today and enjoying what the day has to offer.

I drew the curtains this morning the sun was shining on the house opposite in such a way I was instantly transported to Talmont-sur-Gironde, in the Charente-Maritime, my head was filled with the delightful scent of hollyhocks, the beautiful palette of colours of the white painted houses decorated with the colourful flowers standing tall in abundance beside them, the ethereal peace and tranquillity that settles on the village, the Carrelet beside the church, there are many of these Carrelet (fishing huts) dotted along the Gironde and a lot of them are still in use. Yes it is certainly my favourite French village, we have spent many happy hours there whilst visiting our friends in St Andre-de-Lidon, I would probably go so far as to say that it is probably my favourite and most picturesque place that I have visited to date. The colours I remembered inspired me for a cardigan for me in pinks, mauves and green, now to find wool that fits the bill, I have the pattern already sorted, a cable patterns from my knitting magazine "Knitting", also drawn on Talmont for inspiration is a mixture of the French blue and white for a bag I have also got a pattern for, and all from a memory awakened by simply opening the curtains and the sun being in just the right place to make the shadows fall just so.  

     
                                                    Talmont-sur-Gironde    

Carrelet a Talmont-sur-Gironde

Here is a poem I found about a pilgrim embarking for Santiago de Compostela by taking communion at Talmont in Charente Maritime, prior to sailing down the Gironde:

Thank you for joining me again today, I will be here again tomorrow and look forward to your company.  Have a lovely day wherever in the world you are.

Siwzy

PELERIN

I carried our sins all the way, coquette,

my calloused heels crushing cackling demons

and saw the face of Christ radiating

from each basin-bearing hospitaller.

I beat back hell-hounds in every hameau,

with my bog oak staff, my waisted gourd poured

down a parchment throat, as parched as the paths

I’d traversed to totter on that jetty.

Discarded oyster shells scarified soles,

as I scrambled onto the final ship

and I tried to erase your siren face

which haunted me from corbels, chevets

and polychromatic stone caskets,

from Aulnay, Saintes- and even Talmont.

Over the glittering estuary,

the Damascene sun glared epiphany.

Host fragments on my tongue, salt tang on teeth,

I’d hoped that the next kiss of a chalice

would transport me home, with my talisman:

a stringed scallop, showing where I had been.

Then I scattered blood-red hollyhock seeds,

like blisters, into the wake, trusting that

each would burst into a pillar of fire,

to illuminate my return voyage

I would walk over waves, though I was lame.

I’d wrestle with archangels, tear my nails

on all those petrified palmers’ handprints,

into which I’d  press my desperation.

From Santiago I would come, burning,

like a bush that could never be consumed:

shriven, forgiven, ready for Heaven.

Now you too must go beyond the Gironde.

Continuity I hope.....

Hello everyone, I hope all is well with you.

All is well here in the great metropolis of Cardiff, albeit a little damp, but that still does not dim the beauty of the day, clouds skitting across a grey sky, branches dancing in the breeze and lovely rainbow colours on umbrellas, what's not to like?  In recent months it has become my aim to find something inspirational in every day, no matter what is thrown at me, some days it is very difficult to look out of the window and take inspiration from the greyness and the rain, but just keep looking closer and I find something that wasn't there yesterday, a chink in the clouds looking like an animal, a beautiful spiders web glistening in the rain.  Nature is a wonderful and friends and family are so important and giving.

My cardigans are coming on apace, I will post some photo's tomorrow, and I hope to start offering these for sale very soon, my son in laws idea for poppers under the buttons is proving extremely popular amongst my knitting friends, and I am searching for low priced good quality fleece to line the hooded cardigans with.   My quilting head seems to be running on empty, lots of lovely ideas, but not the materials to inspire in my stash, but persevere I will.

I have used a poem by A M Docherty today, and I love the thought of rain being "clouds that cry a thousand tears" what a wonderful illustrative description.

Thank you for joining me today and reading my blog, have a wonderful day wherever in the world you are.

Siwzy

Umbrella  A  M Docherty

There she stands 

Centre stage for all to see

Tall and slender 

Precariously she balances.

I reach out for her

Draw her to me

My hand skims her body

Slowly reaching her skirt.

Playful fingers find hidden areas

Delighted her legs spring forth

Displaying the very beauty

Of her delicately adorned skirt.

Gaily she dances around

Dizzily twisting and turning

In the brightness of day shading

She gently tends to my needs.

Personal ballerina takes to toes leaping

Merrily bobbing up and down

As emotional to her performance

Clouds cry a thousand tears for her.

Reaching our destination

Slightly shaken, she leans

Watches me quietly drips

Against the wall.

Reminiscent of the day's fulfillment

We acknowledge one another silently

Restful knowing we shall be

One once more.

Welcome back

Hi everyone, here I am back again.  Hopefully my laptop will stay with me to let me complete this.  I hope you are all well and enjoying 2014.  We had a lovely weekend a couple of weeks ago with my granddaughters first visit, to say we were rushed off our feet would be an understatement.  Now the house seems empty by comparison.

Today a quick jaunt around Cardiff, genning up on available haberdashers, their stocks and prices, followed by a long and leisurely coffee with friends before heading home for lunch.  As we sat and ate lunch looking out on a beautiful day clouds lightly peppering the skies we saw a heron circling presumably over the duck pond in the park beyond our road, gently gliding and soaring before it gracefully disappeared from sight, and I imagined it to be standing on the periphery of the duck pond amongst the reeds, patiently waiting for a fish to move before it could arch it's graceful neck into the water and re-appear with fish in beak, as has often been seen when we walk through the park.  It is amazing how long a heron can patiently wait becoming part of the backdrop of the pond, I have always  been amazed at the grace of such a gawky bird, but when we had fish ponds, was never quite so keen on them!

So until tomorrow, laptop permitting, thank you for joining me and have a lovely day wherever in the world you are.

Siwzy

The Great Blue Heron

BY CAROLYN KIZER  1880-September, 1955

As I wandered on the beach

I saw the heron standing   

Sunk in the tattered wings

He wore as a hunchback’s coat.   

Shadow without a shadow,   

Hung on invisible wires   

From the top of a canvas day,   

What scissors cut him out?   

Superimposed on a poster   

Of summer by the strand   

Of a long-decayed resort,   

Poised in the dusty light   

Some fifteen summers ago;   

I wondered, an empty child,   

“Heron, whose ghost are you?”

I stood on the beach alone,

In the sudden chill of the burned.

My thought raced up the path.   

Pursuing it, I ran

To my mother in the house

And led her to the scene.

The spectral bird was gone.

But her quick eye saw him drifting   

Over the highest pines

On vast, unmoving wings.

Could they be those ashen things,   

So grounded, unwieldy, ragged,   

A pair of broken arms

That were not made for flight?   

In the middle of my loss

I realized she knew:

My mother knew what he was.

O great blue heron, now

That the summer house has burned   

So many rockets ago,

So many smokes and fires

And beach-lights and water-glow   

Reflecting pinwheel and flare:   

The old logs hauled away,   

The pines and driftwood cleared   

From that bare strip of shore   

Where dozens of children play;   

Now there is only you

Heavy upon my eye.

Why have you followed me here,   

Heavy and far away?

You have stood there patiently   

For fifteen summers and snows,   

Denser than my repose,

Bleaker than any dream,

Waiting upon the day

When, like grey smoke, a vapor   

Floating into the sky,

A handful of paper ashes,

My mother would drift away.

Rain, Snow and Bush fires.

Hi everyone, I hope you all.  had a good weekend, despite the extreme weather we appear to be having either here in the UK, North America and Australia,  be it lashing rain and winds, bitter cold and snow or high temperatures and bush fires.  

Sitting in the relative warmth an d security of our home has been a time to take stock and plan for the rest of this year,  tidying cupboards and garage, re-discovering materials I had forgotten about and preparing for our granddaughters visit in the next month.  All wonderfully distracting and exciting, despite collecting a spare bed in the pouring rain and getting soaked into thnew the bargain, don't worry we kept the bed dry!  We now have a spare bedroom resplendent with spare bed and cot, but no mattress for either, all will be sorted by the weekend in plenty of time for their arrival, I hope!  Frugal Queen would be proud, the cot and spare bed were both freecycle items, both very good quality, but unwanted by their donors, great and this afternoon, I go to collect three carrier bags of  toddler to pre-school books, so we will also have a veritable library for her.

My Craft Cafe and Quilters group, I think this should be renamed Natters Circle! However, I came away with lots of good ideas for new projects.  One of these is to try and obtain, hopefully through freecycle, some welsh dining chairs, for which I want to make seat pads and backs, I have a design in mind. The search is on.  Talking of new projects we now have a 1975 MGB sitting on the driveway awaiting restoration, photo's will follow in due course.  Another project for this year is a visit to a computer specialist to sort out this laptop and see why it is so slow, I have tried everything I can think of to speed it up, well that seems to have worked!!!!

My poetic offering for today is yet another of my favourites and makes me chuckle, ducks and Sainsburys being quite relevant in our family at the moment!  Have a lovely day wherever in the world you are and whatever extremes you are or are not undergoing, thank you as always for joining me.

Siwzy

Ducks don't shop at Sainsbury's

Gary Boswell

You can't get millet at Sainsburys

and they don't sell grass or weed

it's a total dead loss

for heather and moss

and they don't stock sunflower seed

They've got some fish in the freezer

but they are low on rats and mice

and you're out of luck

if you are a debonair duck

and you want to buy something nice.

'cos none of their bread is stale

and they've stopped selling hay and straw.

Let's face it, if you were a duck in Sainsburys

you'd be heading for the exit door!

2014

Happy new year to all of you, apologies for the prolonged absence, illness, Christmas and internet problems got in the way, but here I am back again.  

I hope you all had a lovely Christmas and a good new year, we spent ours celebrating our granddaughters first Christmas  and first birthday with her, a good time was had by all, despite the presence of a stomach bug, which elected to stay with each and everyone of us in turn!  I was initiated into "In the Night Garden" and introduced to Igglepiggle and Upssydaisy, star's of said Ceebeebies programme, we saw the delight as she delved into the stocking I knitted and Santa filled on christmas morning, and the equal delight with which she dealt with the advent calendar again knitted by me.  We walked, crawled, sang and danced our way through the festivities, and came home exhausted but exhilarated, ready to get back to the sewing and knitting.  Happily she will be coming to stay with us in a few weeks time, so more fun to be had.  First Craft Cafe of the year tonight, and first Quilters group on Saturday, back to earth with a bang.  It seems apt to start off the year with a Robbie Burns poem, Auld Lang Syne.  Happy new year to one and all and thank you for joining me again.

Siwzy

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
  And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
  And auld lang syne!

  Chorus.—
    For auld lang syne, my dear,
      For auld lang syne.
    We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
      For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint stowp!
  And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’kindness yet,
  For auld lang syne.
    For auld lang syne, my dear,
      For auld lang syne.
    We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
      For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
  And pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
  Sin’ auld lang syne.
    For auld lang syne, my dear,
      For auld lang syne.
    We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
      For auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
  Frae morning sun till dine;
1But seas between us braid hae roar’d
  Sin’ auld lang syne.
    For auld lang syne, my dear,
      For auld lang syne.
    We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
      For auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fere!
  And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right gude-willie waught,
  For auld lang syne.
    For auld lang syne, my dear,
      For auld lang syne.
    We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
      For auld lang syne.

I've been in the pink!!

Hi everyone and many, many apologies for my prolonged absence.  My only excuse is that I have been in the pink, or at least my computer has, everything has had a pink background with wavy lines, making it very difficult to use and as I have said before have yet to work out how to post my blog from my phone.  But normal use seems to have been resumed for the time being anyhow, so here I am back again.

I have been out working again last week, followed by a quiet weekend, relaxing and catching up,and of course putting up the Christmas tree on Sunday and frantically gathering together advent bits and pieces to send to my granddaughter and catching up with the family wanderers, son and partner back from Malta and brother and sister in law back from Africa, a grand time had by all accounts on both fronts whilst the rest of us languish at home in what can only be described as a grey UK at the moment, well a grey Cardiff anyway.  We had a power cut yesterday for about an hour, which heralded a cacophony of sound as all the adjacent burglar alarms went off accompanied by neighbours running into the street to see if anyone else's power had failed!  I think the deafening noise of a multitude of alarms was the clue there, naturally there were some that could only be reset by the alarm company as and when they were available to do so.  As promised photo's of the Advent calendar and Christmas stocking for my me Granddaughter, who should have received them by now. and to finish an advent poem by John Betjeman, our long departed poet laureate.  

Thank you as always for joining me, I'll be here tomorrow, computer willing, have a wonderful day, wherever in the world you are.  

Siwzy

Advent poem by John Betjeman

The bells of waiting Advent ring,

The Tortoise stove is lit again

And lamp-oil light across the night

Has caught the streaks of winter rain

In many a stained-glass window sheen

From Crimson Lake to Hookers Green.

The holly in the windy hedge

And round the Manor House the yew

Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,

The altar, font and arch and pew,

So that the villagers can say

‘The church looks nice’ on Christmas Day.

Provincial Public Houses blaze,

Corporation tramcars clang,

On lighted tenements I gaze,

Where paper decorations hang,

And bunting in the red Town Hall

Says ‘Merry Christmas to you all’.

And London shops on Christmas Eve

Are strung with silver bells and flowers

As hurrying clerks the City leave

To pigeon-haunted classic towers,

And marbled clouds go scudding by

The many-steepled London sky.

And girls in slacks remember Dad,

And oafish louts remember Mum,

And sleepless children’s hearts are glad.

And Christmas-morning bells say ‘Come!’

Even to shining ones who dwell

Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

And is it true,

This most tremendous tale of all,

Seen in a stained-glass window’s hue,

A Baby in an ox’s stall ?

The Maker of the stars and sea

Become a Child on earth for me ?

And is it true ? For if it is,

No loving fingers tying strings

Around those tissued fripperies,

The sweet and silly Christmas things,

Bath salts and inexpensive scent

And hideous tie so kindly meant,

No love that in a family dwells,

No carolling in frosty air,

Nor all the steeple-shaking bells

Can with this single Truth compare -

That God was man in Palestine

And lives today in Bread and Wine.