Cornflower

Human nature

     I had some errands to run at our local shops yesterday and when I spotted these cornflowers outside the florist's, I had to buy them (the pigeons having got all the seeds I sowed earlier in the year, apparently). Clutching my bunch - which came complete with a resident bee:-

I went on to the cash machine and was in mid-withdrawal when a lady walking along behind me tripped on the uneven pavement and fell heavily. I went to help her up, but it was clear she had hurt herself badly and was very shaken. I stayed with her for the next twenty or thirty minutes until a family-member arrived and the ambulance came to take her to the hospital, but during that time what was so heartening to witness was the sheer number of passers-by who offered their help.

     Staff from the nearby pharmacy brought their white coats to cover the patient and gave her a drink of water, then someone went to a charity shop and got a blanket (she was still on the ground, and it was very cold). People offered the use of their mobile phones. A nurse came over to see what she could do but had been beaten to it by a retired doctor who'd been driving by and had stopped to offer his services. Someone mentioned that it was good of him to get involved, to which he replied, "the lawyers would tell me I shouldn't, but I'm not a cold-hearted lawyer, I'm a warm-hearted doctor, so I pay no attention to them!" Well said, sir!

     City-dwellers seem to have the reputation of being unfriendly and uncaring, and there are ghastly tales of people walking on by when someone clearly needs their help, but if yesterday's event is anything to go by, we are still justified in having faith in human nature. I hope Mrs. D. is now on the mend.

Mother Nature

Adele Geras has very graciously given me permission to reproduce her poem "Mother N", which fits so well with the way I look at food. I hope the pictures will complement Adele's words.

"She shakes out muesli dunes from cardboard boxes.   

Jars on her shelves hold the ingredients of landscape.

She makes seashores pebbled with pulses; haricots and yellow lentils, 

kidney beans dark as blood, and black-eyed peas drift to shingle in her bowls.

She has cut down cauliflower branches milky as jade, covered them with the slip and shine of sauce, 

and small volcanic outcrops in the dish are rimmed with the beginnings of brown crusts.

Emerald stems of broccoli gather into forests.

Each morning, she peels a grapefruit sun and lamps of orange light her kitchen.

At night, her daughter eats apple crescents arranged round the circumference of a plate like overlapping slices of the moon."      

                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adele has just told me the funniest story: shortly after Kaffe Fassett's ground-breaking book "Glorious Knitting" was published, Adele was in a library where she overheard a lady say to the librarian, "Do you have Glorious Knitting by Yasser Arafat?" The image that conjures!

                                                                                                                                                                                                       

Words and music, hearts and flowers

     Hands up all those who dislike the words "blog", "blogger", "blogging", "blogroll". Not the prettiest, are they? They are blunt words, sullen, unforgiving, as devoid of interest and charm as a soggy copy of yesterday's newspaper abandoned in a gutter. Yet what they represent is something far removed from that stolid, lumpen mess, so could we come up with better terms?

Do you have any suggestions for alternatives? Or do you actually like the current words - perhaps I'm being unduly precious and condemning them unreasonably. What do you think?

     Moving on from words to music, my post the other day, Obsessive, compulsive, repetitive, proved to be well-named. I am still listening virtually non-stop to Piazzolla's "Libertango", both in the original version and, thanks to Francesca who told me about it, also in a recording called El Alma Del Tango, by the brilliant Yo-Yo Ma.

I have it on in the car, so must be getting funny looks from fellow motorists who see me swaying to the rhythm when stopped at traffic lights, and in the house I am banned from listening other than through headphones as the rest of the family are 'deaved' with it. I can't quite explain my craze - the music just hits the spot!

     On to heart-throbs, and the responses to Gregory's girl made interesting reading. Mr. Peck seems to get the pulse racing even still, then there were a few votes for Colin Firth, while the older man figured in the shape of Messrs. Redford and Connery. An unlikely candidate who just slipped in thanks to Rosie, and clearly getting the thinking woman's vote, was Bamber Gascoigne. His University Challenge successor, Mr. Paxman, didn't get a mention, surprisingly. Being called Hugh seems to guarantee popularity, as Laurie, Grant and Jackman all have their fans. From literature, Mr. Darcy was proposed (could this have anything to do with Colin Firth again?) but not Mr. Rochester: "Reader, I married him" was surely testament to his charms? The debate continues.

And introducing.....

There is a new kid on the blogging block today. He's a close friend of ours and one of the best-read people I know. He's going to be talking about books, of course, but other things besides, and he'll certainly be worth reading, so may I suggest you all go over and visit Books Do Furnish A Room and give him a welcoming round of applause!

Repeating myself

I'm repeating myself: making a scarf using the willow pattern from "Good Housekeeping" Traditional Knitting, working thirty stitches (plus borders) over eight rows again and again and again.

This is soothing knitting, interesting enough to keep boredom at bay, easy enough to allow the mind to wander. I love everything about it, from the gentle curves which resemble fan-vaulting, to the leaf-point shapes, the columnar divergence, the returns - it's English Perpendicular rendered in cashmere!

I can even watch the television while doing it.

Gregory's girl

A few months ago Yarnstorm conducted a poll on the comparative merits of Mr. Grant and Mr. Peck. The choice was between the smooth, suave, ultra-sophisticated Cary

and the deeper, darker, horn-rimmed Gregory. I can't remember now who won but I voted for the latter. His most famous role, Atticus Finch in To Kill A Mockingbird, was influential in my choice of career, such is the power of films and books.

     Though few men have ever been, as it were, pinned to Cornflower's wall, Mr. P is not the only one to have made the heart beat faster. My teenage self fell for the unlikely romantic hero Pierre Bezukhov in "War and Peace", first on the page then in the form of Anthony Hopkins in the television adaptation. I wrote to Mr. H asking for advice on going into the acting profession (crazy as it seems now, at one time I wanted to go on the stage). To my immense surprise and delight, he took the trouble to write me a two-page letter in reply. I still find him an intriguing, fascinating man.

    I had a crush on Melvyn Bragg for a while (I am amused to recollect) and once hung around outside his house hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Tom Conti was another.   

     But who would make your ideal companion, and have you ever actually met them? Are they alive or dead, fictional or real, and what is it about them that excites? Do the passions of our younger days endure, or do we move on, grow up, our tastes changing with age and insight? I'm still Gregory's girl, but ........    

Lemonade

Sunshine, deckchairs in the garden, lemonade.

In Jane Grigson's Fruit Book Mrs. Grigson says this was the late-winter drink of her childhood, taken to cleanse the blood.

For us it's essential summer drinking, served over lots of ice and dressed with mint, borage or cucumber.

Peel the lemon zest carefully and simmer in a little water, then allow to cool.

Strain the infused liquid into the lemon juice, diluting with water or soda water, and adding sugar to taste.

Sip, quaff, gulp thirstily as you will.

Floral wallpaper

  After several days of being blanketed in the east coast haar we have sunshine. The garden is smiling!   

Obsessive, compulsive, repetitive

   

    Have you ever wished that television producers would list in the credits of their programmes, or on the related websites, the details of the background music they've used? There's nothing like hearing a great tune and then feeling utterly frustrated because you haven't a clue what it is and you want to hear it again.

     This happened to me recently while watching a Horizon programme on physics. To back shots of particles in motion they used tango music. Cue Cornflower and Harriet shimmying along while other more serious members of the family concentrated on the science. I tried to find out what the catchy tune was but had no luck.

     Then yesterday I heard it again! This time it was used to back a computer game (not being played by me, I hasten to add, though I have had a small go since). My eureka moment has resulted in the game's being pasted (technical term there) onto my computer so that I can listen to the music in a continuous loop for as long as I like. Of course I'm driving everyone else mad with it, so I had to put on headphones and get into my own particular private finger-clicking  'groove' last night. I'm still listening to it now as I write, but am vexed that I can't transfer it to a disc and take it with me in the car (on second thoughts that might make me go too fast...).

     Actually, I just want to get up and dance - and there's no-one around to see me, except the dogs - so foot-tapping is the rhythm. Not conducive to reading, writing, paperwork, but could I combine it with some vigorous housework? Hoovering's out but what about floor-washing?

     What's your best "get-up-and-go" music?  What makes you move?

The one that's doing it for me (according to my google search results) is "Libertango" by Astor Piazzolla. Now, where can I find a man who's got rhythm?

Postscript: in answer to the above question,  Mr. Cornflower (who hails from Hampshire) tells me Englishmen are only good for morris dancing. I'm afraid hanky-waving isn't quite what I'm looking for.

                                 

Reading matter(s)

     The postman brought a batch of review books yesterday: some real treats to keep me going for the next few days. I knew what was coming, but who doesn't love a parcel of goodies?     

     First off the pile is Laurie Gaham's The Importance of Being Kennedy which is whizzing along at a great rate, and two thirds in I'm enjoying it very much. When young Irish girl Nora Brennan takes a job as nursemaid to a Boston family called Kennedy, she little imagines that one of 'her' babies will grow up to be President of the United States. This is a fictionalised account of life within that most famous of political dynasties but concentrating in its later stages on daughter Kick and wartime London. Engaging stuff.

     Completely new ground for me is The Book of Chameleons by Jose Eduardo Agualusa, winner of the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize 2007. The back cover has me intrigued straightaway: "This is a book about the landscape of memory and its inconsistencies and randomness, about how we can remember things that never happened with extraordinary vividness, and forget things that did." I'll report soon.

     Last, and closest to home, is the delightful Alexander McCall Smith's The World According to Bertie. I've already read this book in instalment form as it appeared daily in "The Scotsman" newspaper. Anything which can make you chuckle over your toast in the morning is a good thing, and this, the latest volume in the 44 Scotland Street series, does that job admirably. It depicts an Edinburgh I'm very familiar with with a great deal of charm and intelligent humour, so I'm looking forward to revisiting No. 44 and renewing my acquaintance with poor prodigious young Bertie, well read and kind hearted Big Lou, and of course gold-toothed, beer-drinking Cyril the dog.

Not the daily paper

     Here's the masthead of our daily paper. "The Scotsman" arrives before breakfast every morning, is joined later in the day by his English cousin "The Times" and has weekend company in the shape of The Telegraph and the FT. Occasionally other organs of news, views and current affairs cross the threshold, are read more or less thoroughly and sent to be recycled in due course.

     What doesn't appear in the pages of the papers among the reports of dreadful events, the tiresome and repetitive politics, the local issues and the national problems, is the "ordinary seen as extraordinary", which can be found with a click or two of the mouse on a quick tour of the blogs.

Here are just a few examples from my reading this morning which illustrate something of the interest, diversity and skill out there, all of it available virtually free and all done more or less 'at the kitchen table':

Go to Dovegreyreader for a review of a book which sounds so compelling I've already been over to Amazon to add it to my wishlist.

At Susan Hill you can have your say on whether her intriguing character Simon Serrailler should marry, and if so, what sort of girl!

Drop by Harriet Devine and you can hear a Mendelssohn violin sonata while reading Harriet's piece on Zola's "Nana".

If you've ever read Lucy Boston's Green Knowe books, you can pay a visit to her house, The Manor at Hemingford Grey, and see her amazing patchworks and beautiful garden through the eyes and camera of Yarnstorm

But aside from the literary, the arty and crafty, the clever and the beautiful, there's the just plain cute. Have a look here (post of 29th. May) and I defy you not to smile!

(You won't find any of the above wrapped around your fish and chips.......)

Hidden depths

This is not a version of Hokusai's wave, but a glass paperweight in the shape of the Koru symbol from New Zealand. I chose it because of its colours, but its sea greens and deep blues are only truly evident when it's held up to the light. Although they are there all the time, just like looking at the sea, the depths are hidden. I've deliberately used pictures which were slightly out of focus because I wanted to try to reveal what was under the surface of the glass.

Similarly, people are fascinating because of what lies under the skin. There is usually more to someone than meets the eye, and talents can be well-concealed, but looking deeper down reveals the strength of character, the fascinating history, the consummate abilities.

Perhaps that is why reading blogs proves so illuminating - we are able to go beyond the 'social persona' and find out much more about someone, their interests and enthusiasms, their inspirational qualities. And writing one means discovering one's own hidden depths. I've had comments on things I've made and put on these pages which have amused me no end because I don't consider myself an expert, or even a particularly competent amateur. This is not false modesty. When I display a piece of work on this site, whether it's a photograph, a cake I've made, or a piece of knitting, it is done not to say "look at me, aren't I clever?", but rather, "look at this, it worked, and if I can do it, you can too!"

Sweet William

After a few days of relatively colourless posts (at least in one sense) it's time for some flowers. I love Sweet William for their tightly packed heads, pinked petals and fresh green fronds.

I'm biased too because I have my own 'sweet' William, now almost sixteen and a fine strong lad, though he probably won't relish being mentioned in a floral post.

Which leads me to the question of names and whether we like them and can properly identify with them or would we ever consider changing them or going, at least informally, by a nickname?

Our children's names were chosen with various family references in mind, so grandparents, great-grandparents and others are remembered in the youngest generation. The bearers seem happy enough with our choices for them.

I've never felt completely comfortable with my name (which even has three different pronunciations) though I'm not sure what I'd want to be called. How about you? Any very unusual names out there? Any nicknames you'd like to divulge? Do tell.

An afterthought for Natalie and Dee (if you're reading this): how do you think up such imaginative names for your yarns? Or anyone else who has to name things in the course of their job, what inspires you?

Reflections

Alright, it's another visual pun, I know, but I'm in reflective mood today. After the dying down of the stramash of the last few days, let's reflect specifically on comments from Susan Hill and Dovegreyreader on yesterday's post: that publishers shouldn't try to make themselves more important than the books they publish, and that when an author is dead, it is their publisher who speaks for them.

I don't intend to muddy any more waters, but these points are worth a little exploration. Where does a company end and a brand begin? Perhaps where style becomes more important than substance. The house is only as good as the books it brings out, but if in seeking to control its image it alienates its customers or undermines the sales of those books, it lets down its authors. What is the 'duty of care' owed by the publisher to the deceased author? Presumably an even greater one than in the case of  living writers who can speak for themselves.

I've been trying to write something cogent about this, toying with quotes from Dr. Johnson, getting bogged down in an analysis of the importance of critical opinion vis-a-vis bestselling writers, and looking for a guiding hand from The Doc. who says his brain isn't in gear and has gone off to read P.G. Wodehouse, his chosen companion of an idle hour.

All to no avail. If you have an opinion on the above, do let us know, and then Cornflower will move on to other less 'grey' areas.

Cats and pigeons, scones and cream

     Goodness me. Judging by the reaction to yesterday's post, the cat has been set well and truly amongst the pigeons. The comments on Less is more reveal the strength of feeling. Dovegreyreader speculates that Max Clifford will be brought in for a damage-limitation exercise, Random Jottings has stripped herself of her fabric endpaper epaulettes, the word "petty" abounds, and there are references to biting the hand that feeds, and shooting oneself in the foot.

     The teacups are rattling, and it's all rather reminiscent of the snobbery so evident in Marghanita Laski's The Village (published by ....), or the goings on in Tilling so memorably depicted in the wonderful Mapp and Lucia. When Miss Mapp and Mrs. Lucas first meet, one provides the other with a sharply drawn sketch of her neighbours which E.F Benson describes as "the inhabitants of Tilling [being] plucked and roasted".

     'Plucked and roasted'  - in a four-oven Aga, of course - neatly sums up the feelings of bloggers and blog-readers to the remarks made in the fateful Persephone Letter. Will there be, as Dovegrey suggests, a peace-offering of scones and cream, will humble pie be served at afternoon tea, or should we, as Lucia says, "breathe harmony and loveliness again"?

     Pass the smelling salts, Georgie!