Sweeping life away.....autumnal work and excitement. Seamus and I enjoy a day outdoors, clearing a carpet of leaves and then joining neighbours for a spectacular evening of fire-blasting warmth, thrilling Catherine wheels, and wonderful food. I love autumn.
This year Seamus and I are planning a spectacular birthday bananza to celebrate him turning 6. It's turning out to be great fun and truly setting my creativity on fire!
First decide a theme:
Seamus' Scooby Doo!
Second make the invites:
The captured soul sings a song of freedom.
It sails, over the breeze, through seething misery;
to a moment of reason, exploding in to fears' fire.
Down fall the blooming petals of relief;
beyond barren soils of sorrow.
Wonder dissolving in rancid rains of pain.
Beauty extinguished by the tortured heat of hurt.
Laughing, boisterous, blinding fun in the sun, rain and hustle of London town (and Highgate).
All in all a fabulous little trip darn sarf!Helping @gazcook to prepare his Brilliant Blackpool exhibition.
Proud?
Just a little.
Learn more here: http://longlens.blogspot.com/
Seamus' first breastfeed in NICU (I had to hide behind my family to let him feed, the doctors didn't want him to drink anything)
first feed outside, a bright October sky above us. Brilliant.
This dramatic, clown-like performance is brilliant. A song from my life.
This is the video Prof. Mary Renfrew was hoping to share with MAINN conference delegates at Grange-over-sands on the 8th June 2011
The rhythm of my car these days. My car that has driven me 80,000 miles in 8 years. I long to sleep the clock around.
Scattering over the pebble-dash days of my recent existence has left me pondering my sanity. These sharp moments of tension are forcing me to look around at my tin coated life and make some decisions. Precisely what sort of decisions I am entirely uncertain about. There is just some knowing that I am off balance and flailing around in spectacular internal turmoil. I am all too aware that such anguish, such colossal, self-indulgent angst is not confined to the echoing halls of my mind. It is the usual home-maker in the temperament of an adolescent fury or bewilderment - not a thirty-something woman's rant. Yet the growing discontent and unsettled disposition closely lingers beside the chorus of other women's dissatisfaction. Women previously forgotten. Those who were dealt a blow, a twist of fate, by being birthed in to a time of constraint, restriction and discrimination. A place where to be born female entitled you to a life of enslavement in a mans world. No voice, no expression, nothing but tight clothing, marriage to old rotting men and children (if you were lucky).
Lying on the park reading Woolf's A Room of Ones Own the swirling chaos of women's history lands upon my grassy door step. The park sounds and thriving life enclosing me in a blanket of sensual paradise as I ache with sorrow for the women who have gone before and breathe breaths of frustrated agony for the violence and injustice that prevails today for so many more. I am almost lost to the sickening tide of sadness.
I turn to the Indigo Girls for solace and repair.
Tucked beneath the armpit of junction 31 of the M6 is an unusual place to imagine the development of a wildlife haven and yet this very location somehow adds a steely delight to the budding Brockholes Wetlands Nature Reserve that opened its doors to the public this Easter. The bleak bareness of the site, whilst very clearly touched, carved and flooded in to existence actually lulls your senses with spectacular abstract trickery and simple greenery.
The beauty of the place is found in your imagination as you project the projects future aesthetics and feel momentarily overcome with excitement. The meadow walks are charming as they sweep up and around the landscape capturing flashes of wetlands to one side and the River Ribble on the other. Such paths meander gently in to shadowed woodland, which at this 'blue-bell' time of year, speaks of fairies and fables. Utterly magical.
My sister and I spent over 3 hours there today with our sons (2 boys under 5). They loved the freedom, the exploration and I felt we helped them capture some perfect moment of youth. Free from the over-stimulating trappings of rides, plastic and things that go 'bang'. We saw our children run and laugh, whilst all the time noticing the glimmer of nature about them.
Seamus' particular highlights being the moment he spotted the tadpoles in a small wetland pond and carving out imaginary games of construction on the wooden climbing frames set up with pulleys and lever systems to transport small pebbles with. We would have stayed longer had I captured the chance to make a picnic and if my little one year old nephew had captured more sleep the night before.
The beauty for me was how the reserve reminds you of wildlife. Growing up surrounded by nature in the rolling meadows and hills about the Ribble Valley I have never truly studied the abundance of life with any particular care. Brockholes reminds me of my youth - those heady summer days running through over-grown fields, pressing buttercups under our chins, making daisy chains, chasing butterflies and swimming in lakes. We will certainly be returning to observe the developments, explore the thriving habitats and engage a little more vividly with nature as Brockholes matures.
