Rose in winter

I walked out one February morning

to pluck a winter rose.

So perfect.

Yet the heart

was frozen

velvety petals

cold

folded on crystal

solid as stone

on that day, in the pale

Saturday sun.

Crimson petals, fragile

as they thaw and fall

wither and blacken.

The memory remains

and breaks my heart.

I catch them in a porcelain dish

to keep forever

to remember this day.

Fifty four years ago - 8th February 1958 - it snowed on our wedding day. Bitter cold as I stood in my long white wedding dress, Raymond holding my hand so tight. We have survived so much together since then, he and I; and now comes change, and something I find difficult to write about. Something was wrong; I could not detect quite what it was; it crept up on us unawares. But now we know. After three months of increasing illness and symptoms I will not divulge, he at last went to the doctor, and two weeks ago was diagnosed with diabetes type two. It was such a shock, to see this dear and strong, clever man so vulnerable. In his 80th year, we could not expect that he could always continue all the building works and heavy tasks that have been his way of life.

Early October, caravanning at Malvern; happy days

We learn that diabetes type two is treatable with tablets, diet (eat less) and exercise. Today he was told to increase the daily dose of pills. And I discover that he has suspected what was wrong since the summer, or perhaps even earlier, and ignored it. Many odd moments suddenly fell into place. Casual comments about wanting to go on a 3-week trip to Europe "because it would be the last long tour he would do." And booking it. Casually looking for a motorhome that we could both drive to share the travelling. Falling asleep and having no energy; and so on. We are not the first couple to discover that one's whole life has been turned upside down, or that we need to make adjustments. We're picking up the pieces. What will be will be.

But as I was picking another 'Othello' rose in my wild front garden this winter's morning, to give to my beloved with early morning tea tomorrow, I noticed that again its heart was frozen. You could see the ice, like crystal, between the folded petals. Dark thoughts. This rose flowers all winter, hanging its heavy head. 


And that is how I feel right now: head hanging and heart frozen. I am captured in a time-warp from which I cannot escape. I would not want to do so, but the cause is exercising all of me. If you look closely at the first rose, and double-click the image, you will see the ice. There is one rose left to pick this year on the bush; it is frozen, too, and will never open for it is shrivelled and too immature.

Snow Sunday

Snow, 

softly falling

in the night.

A white world,

on waking;

and so quiet.

Mist descends

into the valley.

No sound,

but that of

silence.

This is the first time I have felt able to post for a while on this more personal of my blogs. Soon, I hope, things will return to normal (or normal for here) and I will have more to say and share. Please forgive me for ignoring the blogging world; it was not intentional.

The Way Ahead

looking into the distance

One way and another, 2011 was my 'annus horribilis', and not a year I really want to remember. Even stranger has been my reaction to New Year's Day. I have my goals, the things I love doing - but could not face my usual walk with notebook in hand, cataloguing my failures of the year before, or my plans for the coming twelve months. Twenty-eleven brought too many hurts, too many problems, too many unexpected changes. New challenges confront me, not my usual list of resolutions; more a case of getting through each day, each night, the treadmill that has become the norm.

typical of the photos I take to sketch later

How boring! So instead of the now daily task of overnight washing and drying, the wondering how I would survive the day, tick off the commissioned writing, stay sane and normal (was I ever normal?), I lay in bed today reading, late of the morning; two mugs of tea. Checked the hens, cleared dishes from yesterday's partial family gathering (our beloved boys), wondered why I could not motivate myself; for once did not want to write the usual 'morning pages' - twelve years of book after book after book, words, words, words.

nearly fell of a five-barred gate to take this - I love the juxta position of bare tree and firs

And dearest R. suggests we drive out with a picnic, this beautiful new year's day; not my usual solo disappearing but with a basket - a feast - of prawns and smoked salmon, chicken and salad, home-made bread and flasks of boiling water for tea. "Take us on the backroads to Ilmington Hill," he says, and I gather up map and camera; and sneak in pen and 'journaling notebook', begun three years ago on just such an escape, and surprise myself as words spill onto the page, even before we have left home. Word whispers materialise, and tiny sketches ready for spit-smudged neocolor.

the silhouette of firs fascinate me; upthrust of branches against a pale sky

still gazing into the distance -
another way ahead

We are back in time to shut in the hens (six eggs again); drink more tea by the fire; I write my New Year's blog for Dobies, and I ask myself for how long I can manage this virtually 24/7 mountain of work, and stay true to us both, and make the time to stitch and create my paper and textile 'Quilt Journey; which is to catalogue my love of life, my passion for place.

'Word Whispers' from today will appear in 'Journaling the Journal' as soon as I have a moment to colour and scan my sketch and type the words.

Beyond Leonardo

Spotted in Trafalgar Square - wonderful pattern of tiles

We have just returned from a magical four days break - hosted by dear friends living in Chiswick (London). From the moment we arrived on Friday, we were indulged and cosseted. It was perfect, and just what we needed after six months non-stop churning out feature articles. Don't get me wrong, please; I love what I am doing, thrive on it in fact, do not 'churn' but carefully craft what I write. But - just sometimes - to be able to spend time reading and chatting and exchanging remembrances of years past is a welcome respite. We meet about twice a year, here in our chaotic Cotswold wilderness; or in Chiswick where we do not have to suffer the daily noise of traffic passing our bedroom window. Indeed, there is no traffic sound at all! Bliss.

Leonardo at The National Gallery (London)

Enough of our private and personal exchanges. On Saturday we were taken to the National Gallery and the  fantastic exhibition 'Leonardo da Vinci - Painter at the Court of Milan'. Strange to be back in central London, once - over 50 years ago - so familiar to me when, as a student, I visited art galleries and museums, theatres and libraries and never felt the threat of people pressing too close. Yet the cosmopolitan presence all around me did not intimidate but had that buzz of individual participation; every couple or family oblivious to anyone else. Trafalgar Square is now, quite frankly, a mess, but no doubt with a purpose to draw visitors towards whatever they feel to be personally special. 

Spectacular - and the late afternoon light was such that I could capture
Nelson's ship-in-a-bottle AND Nelson's Column

Plaque explaining Nelson's ship-in-a-bottle - significant words

Arriving early for 'Leonardo', my camera drew me towards the curious ship-in-a-bottle, and not the rather boring and overshadowed traditional Christmas tree dwarfed by Nelson's Column (the tree: a Norwegian spruce, and a gift every year to the British people from Norway across the North Sea). Equally banal was the Olympics 2012 count-down clock which I might have photographed had it not been one of those 'must-have' images of "been-there, done-that; and here's the photo to prove it!" You experience it the world over, iconic venues destroyed by tick-it-off-the-list tourists. Of course, that's a personal opinion, as was my reaction to 'Leonardo da Vinci - Painter to the Court of Milan'. Even there, I was as much observing the stream of onlookers as recording my own reactions and wonderment. 

But, all that I have already written in this post is my considered observation, subsequent to the day; and my final penning - a 'word-whisper' - was written on the spot as I absorbed atmosphere and, truly, the magic of being there. I find the press of people difficult and withdraw into myself; but from that very special gifted day will emerge another sequence in my 'Quilted Journey'. The elements are now there; I must just make time to gather them into my ongoing mixed-media fabric and paper travel journal.

Double-click on the 'word-whisper' image (left) to be able to read it. My thoughts on how I will interpret the exhibition and what it meant to me will appear in due course - my notes at present are contained within one of my journaling sketchbooks.

Meanwhile, we are back home; so grateful for the kindness of friends - and if you read this, dear T & A, it's our turn to entertain you come the New Year, though we cannot offer mimosa and parakeets in a secluded Chiswick garden, nor high street shops, but fresh eggs from our eight hens in the apple orchard, and perhaps a muddy walk (tramp) through the local fields and woods.

Art Exhibition Extraordinaire

It was a privilege to be invited to participate in the first village art exhibition; to attend the preliminary meetings, where I always seemed to have plenty to say! And then to walk into the Church the day before set-up day and see where we had been allocated a space. I was thrilled with mine - out with the tape measure to find it was all of 5ft x 5ft, backed on two adjacent sides by white display boards, on a third by the wall of the early 14thC de Mohun Chapel, and the fourth 'the way in'. I wanted to create a little art room, and hit on the idea of it being at the top of a castle tower (Stokesay in Shropshire sprang to mind). Back home, I measured furniture (all made by my dear Raymond over the years - and as he was exhibiting too, it was an extension of the space he had not been given, but that's another story).

Finished mixed-media journals: paper and textiles; old maps - and
many other recycled materials and artifacts

Next day (Friday) came the unearthing of my chosen pieces, the carrying downstairs, the loading into our trailer, the lifting out and carrying up the long path into the Church, the manipulating down the aisle and past the lectern and another exhibitor's booth into my available space. Exhausting (and we knew we had to dismantle it all at the end of the day). It would have been easier had the chapel door alongside been open, but the key was missing!

Working sketchbooks and illustrated journals

Well never mind, I eased our tables into place and then set about arranging the work I wanted to show, and the artifacts I had created for sale - proceeds to be added to the window-repair fund of this ancient Church - village history is fascinating; details appear in my great-aunt's book on medieval architecture. A beloved lady from whom my love of history first sprang (and that, too, is another story!)

Items created for sale: label tag-notebooks, pocket note-holders with
my own 'pressed-flower' printed notelets; bookmarks and blank
travel journals made from altered antique maps fused to textile covers

And so my castle turret became my workspace for the Friday evening preview, and the Saturday show. I did not want it to be something static; I wanted to create the feel that my map-trails, illustrated journals and textile books were ongoing living things (indeed they are) and so positioned myself with my pocket-sized diary and mini-paintbox to continue the miniatures I sketch when away and rarely have time to finish. There was time to chat, about what I did and why.

Working in my 'castle turret' (5ft x 5ft space in the de Mohun Chapel)

Time to share with others my joy in creating; not to show off, but to show that anyone can begin with a single word, a first scribble, and from that what you do can grow, and - as I discovered to my delight - give pleasure to others. It was a wonderful experience, demonstrating something I love doing so much, in snatched moments. Actually my life-line in times of stress (and that is yet a further story).

Close-up of my work table and display of finished travel trails

Work in progress: Malvern Map Trail -
words, sketches, fused napkins and photos
relating to working visits to the stunning
Malvern Showground (with thanks to TCAS)

Let me end with my 'artist statement' which we all had to produce for the show catalogue:
"An Unfinished Journey: My life as an amateur mixed-media art-maker has evolved alongside my work as a published writer on travel, gardening and craft. I have moved through many genres and phases over the years, involving paper, yarn, fabric and stitch, documented in my illustrated journals. I am currently working on a series of decorated map trails and quilted books. 
From writing diaries and journals on an almost daily basis since childhood, I have only recently progressed to adding sketches and illustrations; and, for certain items, transferred and stitched photographs, hand-embroidery and patchwork. Articles on some of my mixed-media work have appeared online and in a number of magazines. "     

The exhibition was for me one of those unexpected life-changing moments; something that in my declining years I now plan to weave into my daily life in those fleeting moments of snatched creative bliss. Stay with me, I still have a whole world of creativity to explore ...

A little bit of adventure

Crossing into Wales

We are back from a week of wandering: a double assignment - assessing a new motorhome and, alongside that, a circular tour from Bristol to Wales and back again through Shropshire, Herefordshire and Somerset. Four campsites in seven nights; a workout of the not-yet-on-the-market m'home (the Bailey Approach 620SE launched at the NEC last month, and loaned to us for the week by the manufacturer), plus route description, photos, where to go and what to do in Carmarthen, Knighton, Hereford and Bath.

This is not a full account of the week - for that will appear in 'Discover Touring' magazine issue no 3 in February 2012, but more a taster for what I will be posting over the weeks ahead in my other blogs. There was something of everything for us in these seven days, and hopefully also, for readers of blog and magazine pages. History, gardening, mapping, art, journaling, and at the end, a link with where I began my life 74 years ago.

Climbing the steep and somewhat muddy path on Knucklas Castle 'mound'

It rained for much of the time, which was good for testing the vehicle, though there was much mud to contend with. We seem to favour campsites in fields near rivers; and even with the rain, managed some photos and brief strolls in watery conditions: the rivers Towy, Teme, Wye, and a tributary of the Somerset Avon. The motorhome was luxurious but most of the trip was spent driving between venues, and report-writing - hardly the holiday we so needed. We managed a morning in Aberglasney - the gardens are restful no matter what the time of year, with a delicious lunch on the covered terrace, despite the rain sweeping in sheets across the valley onto our table! And another day in Knighton, eating again (!) in our favourite tearoom. We climbed to the top of Knucklas Castle hill - spectacular views - and enjoyed the poem trail through the new community orchard; I was minded to whisper my own (never go anywhere without paper and pen); but they are for another time. And so via Presteigne (yet another tea-room), Hereford for an overnight stop, and on to Bath for a publisher's book launch - a scholarly and entertaining book covering three hundred years of the Pump Room Orchestra. We'd been invited because I had supplied some material relating to my father's time there conducting; the year I was born, 1937. 

The week was not without its heartache, which had nothing to do with what we did or where we went, but has affected my future outlook on all I attempt to do. I need to think hard and deep as to how I can continue, and without my dear husband's love and continuing support, I would not be writing this now. Life is all about decisions, and this last year has seen me needing to make more than usual; and I am so weary.

I'll never forget this monument to the past, on the top of  the Knucklas Castle site. Looking north up the Teme valley towards its source. I can forget weariness and troubles when remembering the climb, and descent, and just being there for a few brief hours.

As the years roll by ...

The two of us - my Facebook followers will have seen this already, but it was taken on a day we were actually relaxing and doing nothing - which is unusual for us

Today is my birthday and now (aged 74) I move into my 75th year. It's been a lovely day; quiet with time to play (unusual for me). Despite a more than usually strenuous twelve months, I am grateful for so many things: my beloved husband who is so supportive of all I do; our three amazing children and nine very special grandchildren; my extended family, friends and acquaintances; our home and garden; and my health, even if it does wobble from time to time, and I frequently think I am going senile!  My hobbies rejuvenate me - words, paper and textiles scrambled into mixed-media creations and my many illustrated journals. I am a poor correspondent and owe letters or emails to so many people; I can only apologise and wish I could make more hours in the day. I know I should do so.

issue two - just published

And I am grateful to all those who still offer me work, without which it would be difficult to survive. Magazine commissions proliferate; sometimes I remember to post them on Facebook - usually I forget. But the one that has consumed most of my time these last months has been the title for which I have been engaged as Travel Editor ('Discover Touring'). That was some task: researching, collecting and editing all the material and images to cover the ten UK tourist regions. Eventually it was done (and my role was but a very small contribution to the whole); the result is an issue of which I am so proud to have been a part. It should be on sale now in WHSmith - I know this is a bit of a hard sell but this is only the second issue and it deserves to be better known. If you are into touring by caravan or motorhome, or even camping, here or abroad, do take a look.