Wednesday, November 26

Boys SHOULD cry!

When these big "Macho" men you know, crack on hardy... know they are lying.

They would cry, if they thought they could. They would cry if they thought no one could see them.

Who taught them that "Boys Don't Cry"

Pish & Tosh.

Wallowing in Red

Gom informs me, he wants this, the red quilt, for his Christmas present. A few days ago, I asked him if he liked 'red'. He seemed indifferent.
"It is ok".
Hmmmph!
But as he has watched it evolve he has fallen in love. He does love bright colours, He is a Sun sign. What can I say? They like heat, bright colours! RED!

Besides, I have grown rather fond of this, my most feared colour! I am happy with way it has grown. I have had non~zen days with this quilt top. I have wished it was easy.

Hah! As if!!
They do say nothing good, comes easy! 'They' might be right!! haha!

The Cure, In Between Days


I am not sure of the mystique of this track, but it is disabled on most sites. It is a familiar song in our house. Not recently, I will grant you.

Monday, November 24

Seeing red, while feeling blue...

The black dog thinks I am it's personal coathanger.


It has itself draped about my person, like some huge black overcoat, or perhaps one of those hideous fox furs, where the poor little creature's stuffed head was on one end, & it's pitiful little legs hung down the back or from the other end.


This black dog is not so easily shed. It is a tenacious beast.
By way of trying to shake it off, I decided to begin a quilt made in reds.
Now I don't like red as a colour. I am afraid of it, somehow. It discomfits me to wear it, so I have no red clothing.


I like to see others wearing red. My daughter & granddaughter both look very nice in red.



I shamelessly stole this idea for the quilt off someone's picture gallery taken at a Quilt show.


They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery don't they??


I was quite surprised to find how many red fabrics I have. I did get some to use for a quilt I made one of my sons. I felt I had a fair stash, so I went ahead & made patches- the ever comfortable 9patches that I am so fond of.


Now my lame brain hurts every time I try to work out how to cut the correct size setting triangles.



I want to set them on point the same as the one I admired. I have less patches in my version. However that should not be a problem. I just can't seem to get the hang of how to calculate the setting triagles. I have cut some, but they don't seem to be the right size.


So deep breath to hide the panic, here HALP!!!! HAAAALLPP!
Help? help?...



The reds look very garish here in the photo. They are not quite so garish in person. They are 8 1/2 inches square with the black borders. I cut the triangles from an 8 7/8" square, but they seem too large.


I am just going to go out into the garden & sulk for a while.


I know the answer will be in one of my quilt books or magazines. I just cannot stand the thought of pulling them all out, & going through them all trying to find formula... if that is what it is.


Why did I not 'get' maths?? I got words ok. I just never got maths. It terrifies me as much as red does.


'They' say, if you dislike something, you should tackle it. Well... red plus maths ... nah! It is not working!!


So much for thinking red might shake the black dog.... I think it has caused its fangs to sink deeper...


Who wants to feel stupid as well as blue?

I have another quilt that is patiently waiting to be finished. It is for my granddaughter, & I really should try to get it done by Christmas.

Chris Isaak, Somebody's Crying

Friday, November 21

The Panorama...

There are times when I wish I had a panoramic camera, so I could capture the complete panoramic views we are often afforded here, in our hillside house.

I also, often wish I had a tape to switch on, for the little gems I hear, when out & about.

The following photos will document the storm we watched develop, build, then erupt, with the aftermath of relative serenity that followed.

So begins the build-up. Deceptive blues, light clouds... a lot like life, really.

Nothing is ever as it seems, is it?

The huge cloud banks, slightly to the left of the clear blue 'gap'.


Could that be rain clouds forming? So billowy?

Looking so black, heavy, threatening. Rain visibly falling from the massive cloudbank.



Look West. What a change of face!



My goodness! All is forgiven! The face of forgivness?




See? It is not so gloomy! We can be light again.
We can play the game... life is not about doom & gloom...




Life is more likely about windows of opportunity.
Windows for the future, which may, or may not, be so immediate.



Look to the gold? Look, for the gaps, the windows...


Don't trust it all too literally. Deception abounds.


Those flashes of gold. Not stable.
Offering promises for the morrow. When blue skies & fresh air, with sunshine, will be the order of the day.


These wide vistas of the cloudscapes colour my days & evenings.


I see many paralells to life, in these clouds. I think too much!


Sitting in the hairdresser's waiting chair.


"After I finish cutting this young man's hair, you are next!"
"Thankyou, I will wait."

As I sit, enthralled to hear the tale drawn out, from the client. Conversation, as the haircut proceeds.

"What do you do?"

"I am a Housepainter"

"Do you do delicate work?"

"No. I have a young girl I employ. She is patient, very neat, careful. She has a baby. She had back pains, a sore back. She went to see her Doctor, who told her she was having a baby!"

"Did she know she was pregnant? Did you know?"

"NO! She is a chubby girl- you know, quite big, so you couldn't see it. She said she had no idea. She was shocked. She had it 2 weeks later!"

"She didn't KNOW?? How can this be? Did you believe her?"

"Well yes, but I dont know whether to believe her or not!"

I can no longer sit quietly. I have to pipe up.


"I beieve her. It is entirely possible"

The men stare at me, in disbelief.

"It is entirely possible."

They both splutter & stumble " But what about?" "Wouldnt the month...?" "Surely there would be .... things?"

I explain to them both, that if the girl is plump, she may not menstruate regularly. Or even at all. I explain that is it entirely possible the girl had no knowledge of her pregnancy.

I am struck at how little men seem to know about women, & their bodily functions.

When recounting the story to a male friend later, he told me "Men don't want to know!" I believe him. Even in this day & age, I believe him.

Further discussion ensues about the fathering of said child. Another, promiscuous, man, Bob, is employed by the House painter. Bob has impregnated 2 other women, neither of them his wife.

The Housepainter asks the girl if 'Bob' is the father of her child?

She laughs in his face, & informs him it is "Some bloke up in North Queensland."

I ponder this after hearing further details of her living arrangements & her studio/house sharing partner. Who is her father.

She had kept the baby.

It never gets boring, going to the hairdresser.

Now I have found one I like, I can relax, & just enjoy the entertainment!


Paul Simon, You Can Call Me Al.

















Thursday, November 20

Balderdash

The troubling news is, Gom has a problem with his eyes. Not sure yet, just what the problem is, but it will not necessarily be good news. His mother went 'legally blind'.

I detest that term. She was told, that if she had seen a specialist in time, they could have done something about her sight.

I have been noting that Gom's eyes were not 'seeing'. He tends to go into denial about any & all health matters.

Finally got his eyes checked yesterday. Urged to 'urgently' seek Specialist Opinion.

Yeah!! Sure!!

Turns out 'urgent' equals 2 months!

The irritatingly calm voice of the receptionist says "The first available appointment is on 22nd January, at 7.30am"

He is intending to ring the Optometrist to see if he can speed things up. We don't however hold out much hope.

'How long is a piece of string?' is the answer to most urgent specialist appointments.

**********
In other crap raining/reigning happenings in our life, the dishwasher has decided to crap out.

Had to wait till just on Christmas, when else could it happen??

Turns out it might be a common fault with this Fisher Paykel washer.
The handle mechanism is not up to much. We are probably lucky to have had 8 years out of it, trouble free.

As I explained to the repair man, who we are sitting about waiting to see, as I write "I will be there in the Morning!" yeah, sure you will "We are old, & 8 years in NOT old enough!"

Here is the offending washer, under our 80's orange "Ginger Spice" coloured bench top.

I hate washing dishes, & Gom, bless his heart is happy to do them, but leaves things somewhat.... erm.... spotted & streaked. I do make allowances for the eyes. But I hate to think of all the dishwashing detergent we might ingest, as a result of his over soaping, & haphazard drying!
**************
We have been getting lots of Spring rains.
The garden loves it all, of course!
The weather gets rather sultry when it rains so much. Sauna like days ensue, if the sun comes out.



It is also the season of spectacular thunderstorms. Last night's was a doozy. Poor Leo shivered & shook with fright. I spent some time comforting him, nodding off between bouts of lightning & thunder.



The camellia leaves look very happy covered in raindrops. Lovely shiny new spring growth green.





I love this pic. A sneaky little ant in there. One of those things you don't notice whilst taking the pic.
Dishwasher man has arrived, discovered it is a broken handle, discovered he did not have one on his truck- in spite of it being a common problem-& has now gone to get one.


Gom wants a haircut, & I feel I should definitely do the driving

I actually hate driving.

I have survived two really horrendous car accidents, & it has left me a nervous driver, which is not good.

I suppose since my eyes are still reasonable, I shall have to learn to be the driver.

Gom seems surprisingly unruffled about his eye plight.


Paul Simon, Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes

Monday, November 17

Family Ties.

Remember the days when small children & often, not so small would be told that babies came from under the Cabbage leaves?


Or Down in The Cabbage Patch?

Or perhaps the old Stork story was trotted out.

Throughout time, babies have come whichever way they wanted.
Not always when they were wanted.


In fact, not always wanted.


A friend has just learned he is a father.


A father to a 44 year old, he never even knew existed.


I think he is delighted.


His wife has her reservations, perhaps with reason. They have 3 daughters of their own, together.


The girl was adopted as a small baby. As so many children were, around that era. Her biological father never even knew he had fathered a child, let alone the fact it had been adopted.


Having some knowledge of the adoption process, & the end results, I am glad that adoption has changed so much.


I watch 'Find My Family' on television. I am often reduced to tears watching happy reunions. I am sure, should some child appear from out of nowhere claiming Gom as it's father, I would do my best to make it welcome.


Though Gom assures me it will never happen!


I know there are people who say they have never wanted to meet their biological parents. Children who were adopted, who refuse to have contact with the parent who 'gave them away'.


I know that not all reunions are happy or successful. A lot have a honeymoon period, when everything is rosy & wonderful, then reality sets in. Who knows how it will work. I would think that most reunions have some elements of regret.


The missing faces from the family frames.



I know of many adoption stories, many families who were ripped apart by such revelations.


They are not all sweetness & light.



The case of the Odd Girl is one such story.


She was born in the war years. Her father was a farmer, & did not go to war, as he was the elder son, & his father was dead, so he was deemed to be necessary for the family farm.
A brother was born, some 4 years after the Odd Girl.


The Odd girl resembled her father's family, was blonde with wide blue eyes. Those eyes were often rather vacant, but no one spoke of that. The son took after his mother's side of the family, with dark hair, & robust stature.


The terrible secret was the family carried a disease, that was undiagnosed. It is Huntington's disease. It is terrible to watch a person deteriorate from this disease. When the Odd Girl began to exhibit strange habits & odd behaviours, no one had any idea what was wrong with her.


It was known that the Grandfather had died mysteriously, had become very strange, & eventually died. Her father had inherited the disease, but had not begun to exhibit any symptoms at the stage of the Odd Girl's increasing oddness.


I suspect we always knew, when we were children that there was something amiss with the OG. She really didn't make friends. Didn't even get on particularly well with her brother.


In her teenage years, she discovered boys, & sex. It was not long before she was pregnant, told her mother she had no idea who the father of the baby was. She was obviously not fit to keep the baby, & by then her father had become stricken with the disease, so her parents could not keep the child, a boy, & he was adopted out.


She continued to act promiscuously, & her desperate mother took her to a phsychiatrist for evaluation, after seeking help from various medical practitioners, deserately looking for answers, for both her husband's strange illness,& increasing violence, & the girl's seeming lack of understanding of why she should not have sex with any & all men who came her way.


Finally the phsychiatrist told her parents that she had no understanding of right or wrong, & therefore would probably get pregnant again. The desperate parents tried to find a Doctor who would sterilise the girl. They even travelled to Australia to try to get this done. All Doctors refused. All advised the parents to get the girl onto the contraceptive pill, though none wanted to prescribe it. It is doubtful she would have taken it, anyway. She refused to use condoms.



Oh yes, those truly were "The Days"! False morals abounded.

The tragedy was, the girl got pregnant again, whilst in Australia!The desperate parents begged for an abortion after they discovered the second pregnancy, but of course, no such idea would be entertained. It all seems so wrong.

Her father was becoming increasingly hard for her mother to handle, & then another baby had to be adopted out. And the OG cared not a jot for either baby, was not curious nor interested in the children.

OG's father died, a terrible death. The OG became impossible, & her mother had to almost tie her up each day, to keep her under control.

Finally a diagnosis was found. The terrible truth was discovered about the disease. The adoptive parents had to be told, because the children were potential carriers. Both boys paremnts were told they may have the disease. One set of parents loved their son so much, they didn't care, they wanted to keep him & love him regardless. The other family decided it was too much of a risk, & they sent their son to an orphanage.





At the time of diagnosis, the Doctors seemed to know little about the disease. They warned the brother that he could be a carrier, his children could suffer or be carriers.
As it happened he did not develop the disease, so probably didn't carry it. Or so I understand, now. He did, however develop a kidney disease & is dead now too.

Life deals some very odd hands.

I need to lighten up!! Don't tell anyone, but I am sewing again, so that has to be a positive. In reds yet!! I hate red, but I feel compelled to use these reds!


Marianne Faithful, The Ballad of Lucy Jordan.

Sunday, November 16

Planes, Trains, Boats, and Coaches....

I love travelling. I don't get to do much these days, but when I get the chance I take it, & try to make the most of it all.



Perhaps I love flying the most. I feel safer, in the air, than on the ground, in a car, or even in a coach or train. I like the thought that if disaster should strike, the chances of being left alive to be maimed or lamed are much less, than with other modes of transport.

I even enjoy the meals, mostly. Emirates Airlines -as in United Arab Emirates Airlines- do wonderful meals. Last time I flew, they did, & an 'insider' told me everyone was envious of Emirates food.

I have been on planes which have been struck by lightning. Had motors wrecked by birdstrike. Had 'near collisions misses' as they like to call them.
Yet, I still prefer flying to all other travelling options.




Ships boats? I have been taken to task for not getting them correct!tend to make me nervous, but I confess, I have never been on an Ocean Liner or a really huge ship, except to visit when an open day has been available.

Small boats make me extremely nervous. Stinking motors on small motor boats make me just plain sick!

On holiday, in Queensland. Friends having a motor boat of which they were very proud. Taking us for a trip about the canals. A sort of Pub crawl by boat.
Lucky me! I got the seat by the noisy exhaust from the motor. I could not think of a worse fate for an enemy. Was I ever glad when that day ended!!
I have blogged about my Train trips, a little. I rather enjoy the trains, & have been lucky enough not to have too many delays or upsets.
I have travelled on the Monorail around Sydney City. Worst thing about it was the crowded lifts or the interminable stairs to get up to the stations. Fine for viewing though.
It is relaxing to let go & enjoy the rural trains we travel on now. They are airconditioned, comfortable, & clean. Much less stressful than being a passenger in a car too, from my point of view.



So, I come to Buses. Or if you prefer, Coaches.
My Grandmother, & mother used to refer to them as "Service Cars".
I remember being told of a very embarrassing incident when I was small, but unfortunately, talking clearly.
My mother was taking me to visit her parents, & when we came to Rotorua, that city of Hot steaming waters, mud erupting from the earth, with strong sulphurous odours, I piped up very loudly, for the delight of all the fellow passengers & the undying shame of my mother....
"Mummy, the bus driver will go crooked if you make that awful smell!"
I bet she wished she could stuff me under the seat & sneak away.
Now that I am older, I would rather like to go on a few coach trips to various locations. Gom says he would not.
So we stay home.
My worst memory of a bus journey, was when I was about 11. That awkward age when there are things you know you are about to know, but don't know yet.
The stage when conversations are stopped abruptly as you enter the room.
The age you are told to "Go outside or go & read Don't hang about here, listening."
The age you are not really a 'child' but neither are you an adult.
I was so happy that my mother was taking me with her, for a holiday to the beach house of her Best Friend.
We waited at the Bus Depot, early for the departing bus. My mother had made me a new blue dress to wear. It was very pretty blues, with fresh white, a slub check fabric, & I loved it.
We saw some acquaintances, & they came over to talk with us.
The bus driver walked past us, looking at our cases as he passed. Smirking, slyly, I swear. In my memory he is smirking!
He got into the bus, & started up the motor.
I swear he did it on purpose, revving as hard as he could.
The filthy exhaust spewing out evil black exhaust containing globules of diesel all over the skirt of my new dress.
My mother was so furious. She declared it to be my fault- of course, I was an idiot for standing where I was!
It ruined the beginning of our trip, as she tried in vain to scrub the stains out in the washroom basin. Those stains never did come out, & the dress was ruined. I had nothing else to wear, so had to remain in the offending dress for entire trip.
It set the tone perhaps, for that holiday was not such a happy one for me.
The Best Friend had a daughter & a son. The daughter was very odd, already displaying alarmingly, the oddness of a terrible disease the family unkowingly carried, but at that stage, undiagnosed.
There was an odd, single, Uncle, who coached swimming to young girls. He came to stay too, to share in the seasonal holiday. He tried to get me swimming. He never actually did anything inappropriate, but he made me feel terribly uncomfortable, & I slid away from his offers of 'free coaching'. Another black mark.
The odd daughter behaved in her odd fashion. She was older than I, I was expected to follow in her wake, being her friend. She wore cotton crochet gloves on a visit to the Zoo! I just could not force myself to wear the pair I was given, so we could be the 'same'.
I was going to write further about the Odd Girl.
I will save it for another post, bubbling about in my head.
**********************************
Here, instead, some fun pics of SG being a boy!
Perhaps a modern Pirate?
"Give me your treasure or I will scare you to death with my face pulling!"


Here, making his "Fishy Face". His classes did a little production for our viewing pleasure, & they were taught this 'face'.


A nice cool day, so I should be sewing.
I am going to pat some fabrics, & do some tidying, hoping the Mojo will strike!!








Trains & Boats & Planes Dionne Warwick.

Friday, November 14

I Can't Help But Wonder...

I stand in wonder, about so many things.

There is the type of wonder, one gets at new life ~ new born babies. A neighbour couple have just had twin daughters safely born. They are non identical, so it will be lovely to watch as they grow.

How wonderful is the miracle of life.
New puppies, new kittens.
Or even 'old kittens'. There was a 4yr old cat called Teddy, to give away. I wanted Teddy.

All I got was snorts from Gom. I guess Teddy is not to be mine.



I wonder at these lovely china Chooks. Who will buy them? To add to their decor, & maybe tire of them sooner rather than later...

The lovely smiling china representative vegetables. Perhaps for some trendy kitchen, where they will remain on display.... to gather dust & grease, as kitchen decore is apt to do. cynical I know, - what can I say, I am old, I know about the nasty kitchen secrets...





Are these to be the Antiques of the future, worth a small fortune, for the lucky owners?



*************


While BB was staying, we went to visit our lovely neighbours, & admire Mrs Nice Neighbour's lovely miniature gardens.
I really admire her incredible patience, in assembling these lovely little gardens, & her wonderful green thumbs.


A Fairy Princess, riding on a horse. Very pretty in real life.


A Japanese fisherman. Mrs NN tells us this needs a little maintenance, but it looked fine to us.




Here, the Happy Couple beginning their new life. they have a clothesline, & a horse! what more could they want....




Here, a wonderful little Elephant garden, with a little story to go with it. The red feather just appeared in the garage, a gift. It matched the red stone, & completed the look.

If you look closely, you can just see Mrs NN silhouetted in the glass!



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



Train sketches ....2.


The Train to the City is crowded.


We gratefully find a seat where the 3 of us, plus the baggage, can all be together.


Three slightly stout, greying 'elders', in their prime, obviously! largely disregarded by the younger, fellow passengers.


A fairly fast train, stopping at few stations on the long journey.
A Rural train, with excited country passengers, out for a weekend treat, down in the Big City.


Two attractive, fresh-faced, young girls, very friendly, very vocal. Chatting on, about their love lives, & various other life events, in loud tones.


They had struck an acquaintance-ship, with 2 young men, sitting directly behind them.


Opposite, some men of a 'certain age' 50 plus or minus, out for a rare weekend or reunion of some sort, & quite bubbly, at the prospect of 'being off the leash'. High spirits, loud voices.


A few mild jokes exchanged. Mutual acquaintences discussed among 2 of the men. Much to our amusement, & delight, picturing the said persons.


The girls, laughing often, giggling about phone messages one girl was recieving from "someone on this train is sending me these rude, f@rt messages. Listen to this!"


Loud bl*rting noises can be heard on her phone. Then, a slightly more obsene conversation, from an electronic sounding voice.


The 'Men Of A Certain Age', who shall henceforth be known as 'MOFACA' were heard to giggle & chuckle- in that order!


One told a loud story of staying in an Oxford St establishment, & being mistaken for ... ahem, to use his word, a 'poof.' I know it was a leg pull, a piss take. Those Gay boys of Oxford Street are far too clever for that! They know it gives the old straights a kick, to be 'propositioned!'


Next thing, a loud music clip is heard, blaring out, & a young man opposite us starts moving to the beat!


His young girlfriend is confused, roused from her own private music, ipod, & she scowls that the young man, whacks at him to stop him.

We burst out laughing, young man goes bright red!


One MOFACA tells a very loud story of a meeting with some woman he must have been set up with, for a blind date. He tells us all, that when he first sees her he bursts out with "Christ! You've got Fat!" He then says it didn't go down well, & the relationship was dead in the water, right from moment one!


We sneak looks at him, & see he has gone to seed also! Perhaps it was a photo ID meeting?? we wonder....


One young girl, loudly shares with the carriage, the fact that she "stayed faithful to G the whole time I was with him. I was never unfaithful, in the whole 18 months I was with him.... then we broke up."
"Then came S. It was different with him. I cheated."


I wonder to myself, is this modern relationships for girls? As casual as for the men?

As we all alighted, there was much laughter, & wishing of good times. The girls were going to some concert.


The young men, off to some nighclub I suspect.

The MOFACA attempted a joke, when the girls asked their destination?

"A Nana Maskouri Concert" they said.

The girls jaws dropped, & they said in unison "WHO??"


The MOFACA laughed, one blushed, & one offered to send the CD!


Off we go, to our seperate destinations.


***************************
I saw Prince Charles on TV this morning.


It is his 60th Birthday.


Poor man.


He seems to have no role in life, & his life has been a tragedy, or black comedy, however you look at it.


Just a mortal life, like the rest of us mere mortals.


Except, he had to live his, on public display, & most of us don't have that burden to carry.


I would love to just give him a hug. Which, I am given to believe, his mother never did!


I am glad he got to marry the love of his life, ...eventually.






Janis Ian, Love is Blind.

Tuesday, November 11

Happy Birthday, Daughter J!

Today is our daughter J's birthday. I won't broadcast her age, but she has been both Rainbow, & the pot of Gold, in our lives.







I won't rehash her birth story, I have blogged it before.
She was very late arriving.
We always joke about it, saying she didn't want to leave me.
When she was a toddler she was really Mummy's girl. She was such a sweet child, & such a great little friend.
I cried when she went off to school, with her big brother & her hair tied up.

Happy Birthday Sweet J~L.


November is a busy month for us, natally speaking.

A favourite Aunt had her 81st birthday on 5th.
My lovely nephew's birthday is on 9th, & he shares that with our sweet little Honey dog.
My Sister has her birthday on 15th.
My Beloved Brother will be 62 on 23rd.
Gom's estranged & indeed, very strange sister has her birthday on 25th.
My maternal grandfather was born on 25th also, though he has been long gone from our lives.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

A sketch from the train.....1


Waiting on the platform, watching the crush of humanity emerge from the bowels of the station, up the stairway. Harsh cold steps of concrete, tiled edges, cold rails. Rushing rushing.

It is as if the station is spewing up the people from it's gut.

Large people with large bags. All shapes & sizes.

The Airport line.

Travellers, laden with baggage. Not only the visible baggage, but physical & mental baggage I suspect. Some red eyes, perhaps from tears. Or maybe the foul air of the station bowels. (My physical, a bum knee, & an arthritic foot!)

A tall Sikh, with his carefully wound turban, (really a work of art) his beautiful flawless skin, & his neat clothes. Shoes grubby & scuffed. His huge beautiful brown eyes in his very delicate face.

A sudden grimace! Goodness! what had he seen to cause such a face?? I slowly turn to see, what he may have seen... ??

I see nothing of note. Figures continue past, hurriedly pushing & shoving.

"We are standing in a very awkward spot." I say to Gom & BB. "We seem to be in the way of traffic flow."

We shuffle aside a little further.

My eyes are drawn to the handsome Sikh again & again.

Again & again, I see the same grimace. His eyes appear unfocussed, distant. An unfortunate facial tic.

I wonder if I have such a thing.

As we take our seats in the carriage, the Sikh is opposite us, & alongside, a woman who has the most down turned mouth I have ever seen.

Her scowl is so severe, it is the only thing I see. I think I stared a little, transfixed.

I swear she has never smiled in her life, & the deeply carved down lines reinforce that impression.

I try a tenative smile. Recieve a sour glare in return. Glance at the handsome Sikh, smile a little. Another grimace!

BB & I exchange quick glances. We know what we are both thinking, have always had this ability to read each other's minds. It is hard not to burst out laughing at times.

Ms Sourpuss gets off at the Domestic Terminal.

I find myself hoping she sees someone who can turn the scowl around.

Mr Grimace turns sideways, puts his feet on the seat. I look at the slightly curled, dusty, scruffy, squared-off toes of his shoes. Somehow they don't fit with his neat clothes, & I suspect there is a loving mother, who takes care of those clothes. The trousers, carefully creased, just so.

When we reach the International Terminal, we all alight, & the Sikh man does so also. I watch him hurrying along, with his backpack, & his grimace. I wonder at his destination.

BB & I wonder aloud to each other, what could have caused Ms Sourpuss to be so scowly? We swear she has never, ever, smiled, let alone laughed!

How sad, to contemplate a life unlaughed!

Bob Dylan, Tangled Up In Blue.

Monday, November 10

Bittersweet.

A farewell at the Airport. Ask a stranger to take a pic. (As you do).

This is a bit of a 'Lottery in Life' . The first man we asked, had a small child who actually beat his father on the rear end, thereby shaking the man's stance. I have not seen the results of those photos in an enlarged capacity. They did look very blurred in the small view.

I did feel the father showed remarkable restraint, as he was forcefully assaulted in a rear attack of some vicious force, from a sturdy, approximately, 4 year old! I would have leapt upon the child & possibley floored him!!


In the end, the lovely girl I approached, to use my camera, conceded to her father, & he proceeded to take 2 photos for me. Alas they are somewhat blurred also, but that could be because I had set the camera at the wrong setting!

BB, Meggie, Gom.



This, the late sunset after BB had gone.

A bowl of gold, reminding me of a Roy Orbison song, the lines of which, seemed to say it all....
"It's Over "
"Golden days, before they end,
Whisper secrets to the wind.
Your baby won't be near you any more.
Tender nights, before they fly,
Send falling stars that seem to cry.
Your baby doesn't want you any more.
It's over.
It breaks your heart in two,
To know she's been untrue.
But oh, what will you do,
When she says to you,
"There's someone new.
We're through.
We're through."
It's over, it's over, it's over.
All the rainbows in the sky
Start to weep and say good-bye.
You won't be seeing rainbows any more.
Setting suns, before they fall,
Echo to you, "That's all, that's all."
But you'll see lonely sunsets, after all.
It's over, it's over, it's over....
It's over.

Such sad images. I try to always remember they herald another day, which will possibley be golden & full of promise to be fulfilled.


This next series of skies may be out of sequence. None of them have been altered in any way, & they were all taken on the same evening.
I find the cloudbanks quite amazing. We did get some later rain from some of these clouds, but not enough!



No, they were not black & white photos, though they look as if they might have been....



.















More travel news..

Bizarre Art, seen on display...

************************

Amanda, aka Sagittarian, at More Canterbury Tales, tagged me to reveal my most embarrassing Album purchase.


I have to say, in my defence, I bought it in error. Played it once & declared it null & void! Loathsome.




















Please feel free to not listen on click!! It is ghastly in so many ways.


*************




So many more pics which may bore or entertain.
As well as the word pics.. to come.
Roy Orbison, Only the Lonely