The end of last week was uncharacteristically warm for the time of year, and I had a snuffle. I slouched indoors for most of Saturday, but felt ready to test myself against the elements on Sunday morning, in pursuit of some contemporary reading. Turning the corner of our road, onto the main road towards the village centre, I realised that I had left the house without a tissue in my pocket. I sniffed.
Another hundred yards and I was following a pony along the road; a mare who was evidently a bit distressed, whinnying and tossing its head around. I guessed it had lost its friends and tried to remember if I'd seen a group of ponies on the green as I turned right, but no. We walked side-by-side a little and then I drew ahead and then heard an answering whinny from a foal; the situation became clearer.
Another local resident was just on their way out to find out what was going on, but I could see that the foal had got itself stuck on the lawn of the electricity board. The pedestrian gate to this property has a broken latch and once in a pony can't open it to get back out. The foal had evidently nosed the gate open and then got trapped. The mare was still a little way off, but now the two were closer, the panic had subsided a little. I propped the gate open and tried to persuade the foal that way, but it skittered along the fence line, failing to see the escape route. I tried to show the gate by walking out and making encouraging noises, but by this time the mare was patrolling the other side and the foal was distracted. I managed to move the mare so that the two could meet at the gate and the foal, after a reassuring nuzzle, walked slowly through the gap. The mare of course, realising the length and quality of the grass on the other side, walked straight in to the enclosure.
I went back in, hoping the foal would stay still, which it did. The mare was easier to corral than the foal, less nervous of humans and probably used to being chased off people's lawns. After a couple of feints, she ducked back out of the gate and the family walked off up the road, keeping close. I was streaming by this time, so I had to improvise with some grass to clean my hand up, before heading to the shops again.
On the way back from the village, by a different route, I surprised a squirrel on a fence. It evidently hadn't planned an escape route from its position of sitting on top of a fence that terminated in an open gateway. The nearest tree was just a shrubby thing and when it leapt in panic it fell straight through the foliage and had to leap back onto a trunk from the ground. I expect it felt embarassed about this all day.
I passed, what I always regard as the most beautiful tree in the village in autumn, an ornamental acer. Tired and emotional with my snuffle, it took me by surprise and took my breath for a second. It looked like a tree dipped, one side, in drying blood and then replanted with hardly a leaf out of place. I plucked one of the rare fallen, stained leaves to take home with me.
Thursday, 6 October 2011
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
Feeling busy for the last week and, as a result, my need to blog has not been exercised. It's OK though, I've been keeping notes.
I must begin on a contemporary note. A classic V-formed flock of geese just flew over, initially in five or six waves heading SW, but then a few flew back the other way briefly, honking. Maybe they had left someone behind. It is one of those days when, seasonally, small flies coat the Northerly windows. A light, particulate snack for the fattening spiders, already swollen on daddy-long-legs.
A week ago, exactly: The sun was defeated by the moon-lit phase of the day. Equinox, and on a cooling autumn evening I got out of the car and waved my nose at the starry sky to see, in sequence, the plough upright and ready for harvesting, and, a slow faint satellite heading North West (not the one that crashed on Friday). No surprise to find the car covered in dew the following morning, nor a lifting mist as I drove out across the lawn North of the village. The mist had left the ground, but only by enough to show off the damp ponies, the beautiful highland beasts, the white webs in the tops of the gorse. Just above the road, near-tangible threads of water vapour looked like folded curtains hanging across the sky, just thinner than the dusty spider webs we have in the roof at home.
I drove carefully, engrossed in other mental activities than steering, accelerating, braking. Through the woods, across a main road, swishing back and forth the curves in the next woodland until, bearing left I slowed to let two lumber lorries turn wide into an enclosure to my right. As I sped up again I had time to see the progress of a large grey slug, half way across the carriageway, unmolested, leaving an uninterrupted trail of lubricating slime. This is not a busy road, as I may have mentioned before.
At the weekend, and taking up far too much time, a collection of new PC components got shaken into their new case, with the power supply I never did get around to fitting the last time I did an upgrade, and commissioned with 64 bit linux. I completed most of that job on Tuesday evening, creating an almost perfect Minecraft processor by this morning. The other day at the weekend was taken by a visit to the Southampton Boat Show. The boat show seemed to suit everyone in the end; enough freebies and activity for the boys, some pretty boats for the DW and, for me, just the atmosphere, meeting a few folk we know, a few techy displays, miles of hulls and rigging.
Instantly, with the equinox, cherry trees showed their newly red coats, Virginia Creeper clothed buildings glowed their autumn blood tresses, the tops of the birches reflect yellow back up to the skies, sycamores hold up their dinosaur footprint leaves, spotted with the colours of ripe oats and barley.
And the Morning Pages. Just for the last two mornings; finally putting that difficulty sleeping, or excessive ease in waking, to some use. As sometimes happens, the pages seem more of a symptom of better productivity than a cause. I feel a familiar stress/relief pattern as I write them. A need to Do Stuff when they are complete. I always worry that they replace useful activity, or leave me tired, but analysis seems to show a benefit, at least until I lose the feeling of need to do them. The mandolin practice is lagging a little though, I must keep an eye out for that.
I must begin on a contemporary note. A classic V-formed flock of geese just flew over, initially in five or six waves heading SW, but then a few flew back the other way briefly, honking. Maybe they had left someone behind. It is one of those days when, seasonally, small flies coat the Northerly windows. A light, particulate snack for the fattening spiders, already swollen on daddy-long-legs.
A week ago, exactly: The sun was defeated by the moon-lit phase of the day. Equinox, and on a cooling autumn evening I got out of the car and waved my nose at the starry sky to see, in sequence, the plough upright and ready for harvesting, and, a slow faint satellite heading North West (not the one that crashed on Friday). No surprise to find the car covered in dew the following morning, nor a lifting mist as I drove out across the lawn North of the village. The mist had left the ground, but only by enough to show off the damp ponies, the beautiful highland beasts, the white webs in the tops of the gorse. Just above the road, near-tangible threads of water vapour looked like folded curtains hanging across the sky, just thinner than the dusty spider webs we have in the roof at home.
I drove carefully, engrossed in other mental activities than steering, accelerating, braking. Through the woods, across a main road, swishing back and forth the curves in the next woodland until, bearing left I slowed to let two lumber lorries turn wide into an enclosure to my right. As I sped up again I had time to see the progress of a large grey slug, half way across the carriageway, unmolested, leaving an uninterrupted trail of lubricating slime. This is not a busy road, as I may have mentioned before.
At the weekend, and taking up far too much time, a collection of new PC components got shaken into their new case, with the power supply I never did get around to fitting the last time I did an upgrade, and commissioned with 64 bit linux. I completed most of that job on Tuesday evening, creating an almost perfect Minecraft processor by this morning. The other day at the weekend was taken by a visit to the Southampton Boat Show. The boat show seemed to suit everyone in the end; enough freebies and activity for the boys, some pretty boats for the DW and, for me, just the atmosphere, meeting a few folk we know, a few techy displays, miles of hulls and rigging.
Instantly, with the equinox, cherry trees showed their newly red coats, Virginia Creeper clothed buildings glowed their autumn blood tresses, the tops of the birches reflect yellow back up to the skies, sycamores hold up their dinosaur footprint leaves, spotted with the colours of ripe oats and barley.
And the Morning Pages. Just for the last two mornings; finally putting that difficulty sleeping, or excessive ease in waking, to some use. As sometimes happens, the pages seem more of a symptom of better productivity than a cause. I feel a familiar stress/relief pattern as I write them. A need to Do Stuff when they are complete. I always worry that they replace useful activity, or leave me tired, but analysis seems to show a benefit, at least until I lose the feeling of need to do them. The mandolin practice is lagging a little though, I must keep an eye out for that.
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
The stupid pidgeons are still trying to nest inappropriately
Meteorologically, an interesting sort of a week. We have the tail of tropical storm Katia to the North and there has been a deal of blowing and swirling around these parts too. The weekend was a little showery at the start, dampening my children who were turfed out, briefly, to worry the crabs at a local quay, while I visited a library and community centre on Saturday. On Sunday I looked out on the apples on the tree in the garden every time I passed through the kitchen, but I never got around to picking them, ready though they are. The red apple tree has exceeded the appetites of the usual vermin in its productivity this year, so I look forward to eating too many beautiful red, sweet apples (my fruit bowl is already full, as well as half a worktop in the kitchen from the drops).
Crossing the car park at work on Monday, the breeze was like standing in the back-draught of a shop doorway air-curtain heater thingy. The breeze infiltrating the summery clothing was warm, humid; completely un-autumnal. As the week has progressed, the air has grown quieter and cooler, but the shreds of cotton-wool lying on the inverted pale-blue carpet this evening are drifting, not rushing and the trees are waving tentatively, instead of doing cheerleader pom-pom impressions.
The Westerly sun is reflecting quite prettily off the slightly faded leaves of the trees, off the fire assembly point and off the retreating car trim of my departing colleagues. The car park lamps are side-lit parodies of 1950's flying saucers. The rabbits haven't come out to play yet.
I've not been sleeping well. Not due to Internet usage except in a way that is so tentatively linked that I would be embarrassed to mention it. The lack of sleep, despite occasional success in tidying the kitchen before bedtime, has caused a failure to write Morning Pages. I'm unwilling to get up at 4am and write, although I'm familiar with the theory that doing something until tiredness can be a good route back to sleep. The Morning Pages process is not conducive to sleep, nor is it a friend to sleepiness; it requires focus to write, discipline, energy. I try to avoid filling my Morning Pages with journalling; my journals are already fragmented enough with two sites online and a paper journal that I keep infrequently these days, except on holidays.
I now know the NATO phonetic alphabet backwards better than I know the English alphabet backwards. Such knowledge is an essential precursor to the RYA VHF SRC course, which is my next stop on the journey towards being able to charter a boat in UK waters. Strange that sailing itself is completely unregulated for pleasure sailors, but that calling the Mayday requires a certificate. I shall soon know my Delta Sierra Charlie from my Golf Mike Delta Sierra Sierra.
Crossing the car park at work on Monday, the breeze was like standing in the back-draught of a shop doorway air-curtain heater thingy. The breeze infiltrating the summery clothing was warm, humid; completely un-autumnal. As the week has progressed, the air has grown quieter and cooler, but the shreds of cotton-wool lying on the inverted pale-blue carpet this evening are drifting, not rushing and the trees are waving tentatively, instead of doing cheerleader pom-pom impressions.
The Westerly sun is reflecting quite prettily off the slightly faded leaves of the trees, off the fire assembly point and off the retreating car trim of my departing colleagues. The car park lamps are side-lit parodies of 1950's flying saucers. The rabbits haven't come out to play yet.
I've not been sleeping well. Not due to Internet usage except in a way that is so tentatively linked that I would be embarrassed to mention it. The lack of sleep, despite occasional success in tidying the kitchen before bedtime, has caused a failure to write Morning Pages. I'm unwilling to get up at 4am and write, although I'm familiar with the theory that doing something until tiredness can be a good route back to sleep. The Morning Pages process is not conducive to sleep, nor is it a friend to sleepiness; it requires focus to write, discipline, energy. I try to avoid filling my Morning Pages with journalling; my journals are already fragmented enough with two sites online and a paper journal that I keep infrequently these days, except on holidays.
I now know the NATO phonetic alphabet backwards better than I know the English alphabet backwards. Such knowledge is an essential precursor to the RYA VHF SRC course, which is my next stop on the journey towards being able to charter a boat in UK waters. Strange that sailing itself is completely unregulated for pleasure sailors, but that calling the Mayday requires a certificate. I shall soon know my Delta Sierra Charlie from my Golf Mike Delta Sierra Sierra.
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
The A in ssaw
My children return to school and my wife, perhaps, to sanity. My work continues along with most other aspects of life. Playing the mandolin has not been allocated enough time since I got back from sailing, and I seem to be getting worse at making bread - I forgot the salt last time, which was not an improvement.
Generally I am finding myself unproductive. I sit and think, but doing is not starting well. I found a solution a couple of years ago in The Artists' Way, a process I might repeat in order to rediscover productivity. I didn't follow the whole programme, and I was forced to edit out the God bits, since I don't go there, but the process of writing morning pages was quite successful in my case. In order to write though I have to do my chores in the evening and get up before the house stirs; not simple with children around.
There are warnings of gales in sea areas Dover, Wight and Portland. I believe the air was clocked at around 80 mph yesterday near the Needles. We've had a few days of blow and bluster; some of it quite wet. And, blast them, people are calling Autumn. Although I do not have an active dislike for autumn, indeed it is often a pleasure to watch the leaves turn, the canopy clear and the road verges open up long sight-lines, permitting more active driving styles, I do not enjoy the turn of summer into autumn. The closing light of evenings, the death of another year, my Birthday approaching and then, bloody Christmas ;).
The sky outside is like sliding marble, looking flat despite a few darker patches below an almost complete, thin layer of high cloud. Grey to palest blue and just beginning to show the, still green, tree-line in silhouette.
Generally I am finding myself unproductive. I sit and think, but doing is not starting well. I found a solution a couple of years ago in The Artists' Way, a process I might repeat in order to rediscover productivity. I didn't follow the whole programme, and I was forced to edit out the God bits, since I don't go there, but the process of writing morning pages was quite successful in my case. In order to write though I have to do my chores in the evening and get up before the house stirs; not simple with children around.
There are warnings of gales in sea areas Dover, Wight and Portland. I believe the air was clocked at around 80 mph yesterday near the Needles. We've had a few days of blow and bluster; some of it quite wet. And, blast them, people are calling Autumn. Although I do not have an active dislike for autumn, indeed it is often a pleasure to watch the leaves turn, the canopy clear and the road verges open up long sight-lines, permitting more active driving styles, I do not enjoy the turn of summer into autumn. The closing light of evenings, the death of another year, my Birthday approaching and then, bloody Christmas ;).
The sky outside is like sliding marble, looking flat despite a few darker patches below an almost complete, thin layer of high cloud. Grey to palest blue and just beginning to show the, still green, tree-line in silhouette.
Monday, 29 August 2011
What a week a difference makes
That was different. A week of holiday? In a manner of speaking yes. All our boys went to scout camp, Saturday to Saturday. And, in place of a holiday, or carrying on regardless, we decided to spend a week on an RYA Day Skipper practical course.
We looked around for availability and price about six weeks ago and, following a trail of good feedback and confidence building chats with possible course providers we picked Broadreach Sailing in Gosport, run by Simon. They were offering the practical course running 5 days, Sunday evening to Friday evening, which was just perfect for the time we had available.
The details of the course are not very interesting, so I won't bore with a journal of the whole thing, but just mention a few highlights. First I'll mention that the course was a fantastic learning experience, and the week's tutor was called Nick. Nick is a superb sailor and he has his own way of doing things. Almost all the other ways of doing these things are wrong! The boat was a very neat Jeanneau 36 foot yacht, about two years old and just cleaned below the water line.
We left Gosport on Sunday night and circulated between there, Cowes and Hamble. It is, partly, essential to revisit places on the course since part of the practical is to plan and execute a passage plan in familiar waters. It is also essential to gain four hours of experience on watch during a night passage. In order to make my life interesting, these two aspects of the course were combined, so my first ever passage plan and skippering were at night on a route I had seen once, from the opposite direction, during the day. We didn't hit anything we had planned to miss, so that went alright.
There was a good focus on practicing approaching and leaving the quay in various conditions of tide and wind. As a slightly unexpected bonus, with the weather on our side, we also had some huge fun sailing. Top speed through the water was about 7.5 knots and we managed to heel to about 30 degrees a few times.
Everyone, including the boys, survived their week, but I have to say the house has been a little subdued since then. The washing machine has been working the hardest I think.
We looked around for availability and price about six weeks ago and, following a trail of good feedback and confidence building chats with possible course providers we picked Broadreach Sailing in Gosport, run by Simon. They were offering the practical course running 5 days, Sunday evening to Friday evening, which was just perfect for the time we had available.
The details of the course are not very interesting, so I won't bore with a journal of the whole thing, but just mention a few highlights. First I'll mention that the course was a fantastic learning experience, and the week's tutor was called Nick. Nick is a superb sailor and he has his own way of doing things. Almost all the other ways of doing these things are wrong! The boat was a very neat Jeanneau 36 foot yacht, about two years old and just cleaned below the water line.
We left Gosport on Sunday night and circulated between there, Cowes and Hamble. It is, partly, essential to revisit places on the course since part of the practical is to plan and execute a passage plan in familiar waters. It is also essential to gain four hours of experience on watch during a night passage. In order to make my life interesting, these two aspects of the course were combined, so my first ever passage plan and skippering were at night on a route I had seen once, from the opposite direction, during the day. We didn't hit anything we had planned to miss, so that went alright.
There was a good focus on practicing approaching and leaving the quay in various conditions of tide and wind. As a slightly unexpected bonus, with the weather on our side, we also had some huge fun sailing. Top speed through the water was about 7.5 knots and we managed to heel to about 30 degrees a few times.
Everyone, including the boys, survived their week, but I have to say the house has been a little subdued since then. The washing machine has been working the hardest I think.
Friday, 12 August 2011
Difficult listening
One way, or another, I found plenty of time to practice playing the mandolin last weekend. I guess I was making progress, maybe learning another piece.
Monday and Tuesday the family went North, visiting. We dropped in to see the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight headquarters at Coningsby, where we were lucky to find all aircraft in the hangar and the Dakota testing an engine.
The weather has been very August this week. Never cold, or not biting anyway. Rain occasional and variable, torrential to light drizzle. Sun, occasional (never torrential) but episodically gorgeous; face the shining bright, arms outstretched and smile warm. The clouds have been dramatic and stormy, flat and high, fluffy and broken or cotton wool patches; never quite a Simpson's sky.
The range of insects is at a peak, butterflies, bees, hover-flies, wasps, blue, green, shiny, hairy. The spiders are having a ball.
And when I picked up the mandolin again, it was absent mindedly, carelessly, and I played something I had learned and I stopped to find that I wasn't practicing, I was playing. Playing for simple pleasure, even if not hugely well. I struggle to see technical progress (I know that I improve week by week, but the days are not always forward), but here there was a big step. I played and had enough self left over to be able to listen too, not just listen to the bad notes, the buzz, the accidental brushes of strings and the notes I miss because the left hand still doesn't talk to the right, or the right is off on its own. I heard myself play.
At the weekend I forgot my credit card PIN. I use the card half a dozen times a week for 8 years, then I forget the number. I got it third time; I know numbers, I remember them. I'd forgotten though and, faced with a novel terminal, the pattern just wouldn't arrive. Back in time to find the digit sequence, the digits were easy, but just how many possibilities are there? 4P4, 4! maybe that's why they only give three attempts. Easier than the lottery to guess right. My spare card expired a year ago, cancelled by the bank because I never used it. Maybe I should do something about finding a new spare.
Monday and Tuesday the family went North, visiting. We dropped in to see the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight headquarters at Coningsby, where we were lucky to find all aircraft in the hangar and the Dakota testing an engine.
The weather has been very August this week. Never cold, or not biting anyway. Rain occasional and variable, torrential to light drizzle. Sun, occasional (never torrential) but episodically gorgeous; face the shining bright, arms outstretched and smile warm. The clouds have been dramatic and stormy, flat and high, fluffy and broken or cotton wool patches; never quite a Simpson's sky.
The range of insects is at a peak, butterflies, bees, hover-flies, wasps, blue, green, shiny, hairy. The spiders are having a ball.
And when I picked up the mandolin again, it was absent mindedly, carelessly, and I played something I had learned and I stopped to find that I wasn't practicing, I was playing. Playing for simple pleasure, even if not hugely well. I struggle to see technical progress (I know that I improve week by week, but the days are not always forward), but here there was a big step. I played and had enough self left over to be able to listen too, not just listen to the bad notes, the buzz, the accidental brushes of strings and the notes I miss because the left hand still doesn't talk to the right, or the right is off on its own. I heard myself play.
At the weekend I forgot my credit card PIN. I use the card half a dozen times a week for 8 years, then I forget the number. I got it third time; I know numbers, I remember them. I'd forgotten though and, faced with a novel terminal, the pattern just wouldn't arrive. Back in time to find the digit sequence, the digits were easy, but just how many possibilities are there? 4P4, 4! maybe that's why they only give three attempts. Easier than the lottery to guess right. My spare card expired a year ago, cancelled by the bank because I never used it. Maybe I should do something about finding a new spare.
Tuesday, 2 August 2011
hands together and apart
Hot weather for August, a month in which we have become accustomed to damp and bluster, especially when living under canvas. Hot in the car park and, as it to be expected, freezing by my desk at work. There was a moment when the generators were being tested that we thought that perhaps the air conditioning had failed, since it went momentarily quiet, but no such luck. I had my jersey on by 1:30pm.
After a gap of only 29 years, I walked out to be blessed by vampires after lunch on Monday. My blood is red as ever, whilst the rest of me goes gray. I felt it only reasonable to overcome my irrational fear of fainting, given that when my eldest was in hospital in June, there were always a few units available in case of emergency.
I have to go back and forth in my musical education. After a few weeks of trying to find the notes as fast as possible I am reminded that finding them in the correct rhythm is probably a better grounding. I detest the tune of a dance to the beat of a funeral drum, but, it is necessary. My fingers are much less painful now, and my fingers are getting more used to the exercise of fretting. I managed to fret a 3-finger G chord for a few seconds today. Although I have found that accidental disconnection between what the two hands are doing is not advantageous I am now faced with the opposite problem to some extent. If I try to play gently, quietly, I find that my left hand becomes more gentle too and I don't press hard enough on the frets. If I fret with attitude to get clear notes, my right hand jumps in with full volume - the tension travels up the left arm, across the shoulders and down the right arm and it all gets very LOUD.
The G-string has at last been introduced in Hal's book. Texas Gales to learn next.
After a gap of only 29 years, I walked out to be blessed by vampires after lunch on Monday. My blood is red as ever, whilst the rest of me goes gray. I felt it only reasonable to overcome my irrational fear of fainting, given that when my eldest was in hospital in June, there were always a few units available in case of emergency.
I have to go back and forth in my musical education. After a few weeks of trying to find the notes as fast as possible I am reminded that finding them in the correct rhythm is probably a better grounding. I detest the tune of a dance to the beat of a funeral drum, but, it is necessary. My fingers are much less painful now, and my fingers are getting more used to the exercise of fretting. I managed to fret a 3-finger G chord for a few seconds today. Although I have found that accidental disconnection between what the two hands are doing is not advantageous I am now faced with the opposite problem to some extent. If I try to play gently, quietly, I find that my left hand becomes more gentle too and I don't press hard enough on the frets. If I fret with attitude to get clear notes, my right hand jumps in with full volume - the tension travels up the left arm, across the shoulders and down the right arm and it all gets very LOUD.
The G-string has at last been introduced in Hal's book. Texas Gales to learn next.
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