Florence en plein air

We have just returned from a week in Florence.

I don't want you think this was
a week of hedonistic sight seeing, shopping
and sampling the various gelateria.

Oh no.

MrM decided that we needed to do an art course,
looking at masterpieces in the morning
and learning the techniques in the afternoon.

What could possibly go wrong?

Renaissance Art for Beginners
is not for the faint-hearted reader.

I thought it was only fair
to give you a day's warning.

Get a good nights sleep.
Have some rescue remedy at hand.
You have been warned.

In the meantime
here are some photos of Florence.

You're welcome.

This poem is tired...

I am sorry that I have been away.

I was so tired.

Not depressed, stressed or ill...

 just plain, old fashioned tired.

Not the sort of tired that needs a good nights sleep.

Not the sort of tired that needs a holiday in the sunshine.

This was run-out-of-steam, hit-the-buffers tired.

I knew what the problem was,

I knew what needed to be done,

and I have done those things

although it has taken a while.

Now I will pick up where I left off.

There are things to tell you

so let's get busy.

*****

Thank you, my friends,
for your gentle and concerned emails.
Every one of them meant
a great deal to me.

*****
Credit to Murray Lachlan Young
for the title of this post
from his brilliant performance poem
on Radio 6 this morning (9.06)

MrM, counsellor

Plato Teapot
Designer Martin Hunt (2004)

MrsM
The thing I dislike about myself the most
is my ability to completely forget
that I have made a cup of tea.
I turn around 10 minutes later
and find a half cold, stewed mug of tea.

MrM
You need to get out more.
In the spectrum of personal vice
that is not really making the grade.

MrsM
But I can't understand
how I can forget
I have made a cup of tea
within 2 minutes of making it.

MrM
You are busy. End of.

MrsM
Right.

image : © Victoria and Albert Museum, London

indulgences

Tonight I am NOT going to indulge in self-pity
about the (insert rude word here) new Finance System.

To prevent myself from doing this
(which is very tempting)
I will take a tip from my dear friend, Nancy,
and make a list of small indulgences


1.
Jade nail polish for toes

2.
Carmine asters in a blue jug

3.
White sun dried sheets

4.
Opening the back door
to look at the pale rain-washed sky.

5.
Creamy mounds of vanilla frappucino

6.
Stroking the visiting tortoiseshell cat

7.
A message to MasterM.
"I raise you a brown bulldog in a green swing"

8.
Talking autumn clothes strategy with MissM.
"grey is the way forward"

9.
Looking through my collection of photos
of blue Portuguese tiles.
(It's large)

10.
A tray of perfect red strawberries
- a gift for our new neighbours.

Right - that's enough.
I feel better already.

I will call the helpdesk tomorrow.

nightlight

After a long day of driving I light the candles and sit outside with MissM. We drink hot chocolate and chat about this and that.

A warm still night, the summer stretches out before us, anything seems possible.

cherry-ripe

simple pleasures...

sometimes you need to stop
what you are doing,

pause,

and count cherry stones

the world comes to me

"Tea break at the cave
with the best lemon drizzle cake
we've ever tasted.
Thanks Alice!"

I couldn't go the cave this year
so I sent a cake by special delivery.

This message on twitter made my day.

(image : @danmclean3)

MrsM, Doom & Gloom Merchant

It was a good day for MrsM, purveyor of terrible but true stories about unusual accidents which have actually happened to someone who was either closely related to her or someone she knew personally.

In the morning MrsM was able to tell the world (via Knitsofacto) that flat irons are dangerous. This apparently alarmist statement is based on an incident when MrM stubbed his toe on a flat iron which was used as a doorstop, broke the toe and was incapacitated for a significant period of time. The world needed to be warned.

In the afternoon MrsM was part of a conversation at a supermarket till when arm wrestling was mentioned. MrsM could not let the opportunity pass to mention that not one but TWO young men that she knew on a first name basis had suffered disastrous breaks of their upper arms as a result of arm wrestling while inebriated. To ensure that the participants in the conversation understood the full gravity of the situation MrsM explained that in both cases there was a spiral break and nerve damage leading to long periods of rehabilitation and loss of motor function. It is safe to say that the participants in the conversation will not be arm wrestling.

In the evening MrsM told MissM that if MrM didn't stop talking about his new wifi enabled electric toothbrush with five brushing modes there would be a serious accident which would require attendance at the local A&E and would subsequently feature in her register of unusual incidents which have actually happened to someone who was closley related to her. MrM changed the subject.

and in another part of the forest

MasterM has been travelling in South America
acting as translator and guide
for friends from South Africa,

Here they are in the silver mines of Potosi, Bolivia,
a place of noise, dirt and danger
which made a great impression on them all.

Tonight he is back in Stellenbosch
and messages to ask my advice on design.

What colour embroidery should he choose
to go with his maroon golf tie?

I suggest yellow for an 'unforgettable' effect.

I did not know what it would be like to have an adult son
but I did not expect to be thinking about golf ties.

In South Africa.

Meanwhile

....MissM has been busy, busy, busy...

Four days of fun and 'intellectualness'
at a sunny Latitude festival
including an audience with Germaine Greer
in case you were wondering.

MissM is now an intern at Bradt Travel Guides
working on image rights from the Yukon and North Korea.
The good people of Bradt have been very welcoming
and MissM has been part of the winning Pub Quiz team,
fully involved in birthday cake management
and allocated a space on the company picnic blanket.

Tonight she sits next to me on the sofa
reading Euripides in a battered Penguin Classics edition
and I think to myself
"If this isn't nice, I don't know what is".