Milk Maid Monday?

I was intrigued to discover recently, that milk can be bought in bags, delivered by my milkman, same as bottles. So I decided this morning to take a photo of this strange phenomenon. The plastic jug is totally recyclable - though not too sure about the milk bag- can't take it out to read the small print, now I've put it in place.

Thing is, it was the wonderfully clean, drip-less-pouring-out ability of this cunning contraption that made me want to praise it to the skies today. Let's face it, milk cartons can be a disaster, and even glass milk bottles often let a wayward trickle ooze down their curvaceous sides.

But not this. It pours as clean a whistle, and there's a cap to close at once before placing the jug back in the fridge door. What a joy to find an article that exactly does the job it was intended to do!

More Togetherness

It being Thursday, over on my Alias Jinksy blog, there is another combined poem-and-pic from Elizabeth and I, but deep in Blogland other things are stirring!

So I decided to have another, triple combination  for today on Napple Notes, for Juliet and Susannah have both written words which fit a picture I posted way back... Hope you enjoy the mélange. Juliet , alias Crafty Green Poet, wrote:- 

Trees
glow purple with dusk -
an owl hoots.

And  Susannah's poem that I asked to be allowed to copy from her blog 'Out Of My Ocean', has a similar evening overtone. Blogger won't let me link straight to it, but you can get there via the side bar link on her 'Panopticulated' blog.

A Page Turned...

The orange day slips back into the purple night
and all is as it was before,
but not me.

The passing of the hours, the changing hues
have altered something,
I have changed.

Though all appears to be the same
when viewed from the surface,
it is not.

My Niece Is No NIt

But she is a knitter, and a creative one at that, as you will see from this delightful photo of her latest handiwork. 

And here's what she had to say about them:-

"I finished me some funky socks. Why yes, I stood on a chair to give them a pink background too. But I didn't bother matching the stripes 'cos I like them wonky like this."

When I tell you she is the Mum of the budding young artist in my previous post, you will see the apple didn't fall far from the tree!

And once again, it gives me a perfect excuse for brightening the Sepia Saturday scene with a picture which deserves to go down in history for future generations. The fact that it's as far from sepia as it's possible to get, only goes to prove that the rebellious spirit is a family trait in which I am proud to admit I share.  I'd class  it as just another unorthodox Utopian urge.

Out Of The Mouths Of Babes

I simply had to share these words of wisdom, spoken by my five year old great niece. I plead for the understanding of her mother, whose photo and words  I have purloined, and I quote "At one point she thought about putting water over it, and told me  "Artists have good ideas, silly ideas and great ideas. I'm going to do it.".

Could anything be cuter?

Black Friday?

Well, Thursday wasn't too good either, at least in  Blogland, was it  folks? Blogger throwing a wobbly messed with our heads as well as out blogposts!

Now here we are, back to another Sepia Saturday and I'm messing with your eyes, as this photo was in reality a white lily. But how regal does it look in these sombre purple shades?

Along with the WACOM Bamboo Pen & Touch Tablet I rashly bought this week, came various downloads. Included in the price were things like ArtRage Studio Pro and Adobe Photoshop Elements 8, not to mention the actual delights of the tablet and pen itself, which let me draw freehand images for the computer screen.

I will need to practice lots, before I start sharing those first efforts, but it's plain that the potential is enormous. So is the learning curve. Enormous, I mean.

Suddenly having to use full movement of my arm to position a cursor on the screen feels totally alien, after years of only moving wrist and fingers to click a mouse. But I begin to  see how my first faltering steps in Blogland, which began with a plethora of words but no pictures, and my sudden urge to include all kinds of illustrations, is akin to Radio evolving into Television. I hasten to add, I have no secret wish to  begin making movies, though. At least, not that I know of...yet...

Picture Me?

No, don't strain your heads trying to imagine a jinksy look alike! Think more "Picture by ...???, words by...???" Collaboration is the name of the game, and today over here  you can see where this idea is leading, as Elizabeth Crawford has supplied a picture, and jinksy has written a poem.

The comments people left after my imaginary Sepia Scene on Sunday, show that imagination is alive an well amongst you all - especially people like Maggie, who saw a dog in the sky, or Little Nell (a porker), or Broken Biro ( a flock of starlings)  while other options took me on a tour of the world.

Then I sent a different picture to Crafty Green Poet, and Juliet emailed me like so:-

"Hi Pen
I just wrote this, forgive the rabbit, they tend to creep into everything...

Without my glasses, colours blur
like patterns in rain-washed windows:
hills of orange and skies of pink
and a lakeside view in violet.
Watching it all, a rabbit floats
high in the clouds with ears of yellow
that stretch across the sky.

best wishes and thanks for thinking of me with this!"

And talking about the same picture, Elizabeth said:-

"From the soft pastels of babyhood, to the deep purple of personal power, all underlined by the dark red of banked creative fire. I think we agree!"

Suddenly I feel as though I am in at the start of something big...

Trompe L'Oeil?

Thinking Sepia Saturday, although it's Sunday,  I've created this illusory landscape. I wonder how it appears to you?

Believable?

If so, where in the world might it be? And how would you describe what you see in it? Let's hear what your imagination decides...

Seeds Of Change

Something is germinating, today. After discovering the poems that Elizabeth Crawford had written for April's 'Poem a Day' at Writer's Island, I contacted her, and we've been trying to work out a way of collaborating. Her words and my pictures, or vice versa. So here is the first of her words written for my illustration. The basic idea could lead anywhere - this is merely the first step.

White barked tree trunk
waves aloft deep blue essence.
Lavender perfume spills
across spring landscape.

I decided to post this on Napple Notes, and Alias Jinksy, to see which, if either, blog caught people's ttention.  With the lavender colour spilling over in my mind this morning, I created this flight of fancy too.

Would You Like A Nibble?

With the word wedding being bandied about this weekend, I thought I'd keep it going by using this version of a wedding cake photo for Sepia Saturday. It  was from a black and white print, but didn't my computer do a grand job of 'aging' it for me?
I can no longer remember who I made it for, but I do know the roses on it were palest blush pink. And I'd love a slice to eat right now. For breakfast. Instead of which, I shall have my usual porridge with a dash of cream the milkman  will have left on my doorstep this morning.

And thereby hangs a tale. I stopped blogging at this point, and went to retrieved milk, cream and cheese from the mercy of the elements. It had been sitting there for a good two to two and a half hours, as the milk cart hums by at about 5am. As I picked up the carrier bag, bottle and a leaflet, the sound of a snail dropping onto my pathway made a crack not unlike a pistol cap.
But it was only when  I opened out the flyer that I realised where he'd been clinging, and why.

I bet his jaws ached by the time he'd worked his way through that tasty morsel!

Of all the strange pictures I've posted since Hilary of The Smitten Image fame tempted me into the world of illustration, this one must surely rank amongst the most peculiar.  Nobody could ever say my Napple Notes blog is too predictable for words...

Homewell

This is a picture of weed growing in a natural spring at Homewell, in the center of Havant. Not the most inspiring of photos.

But then, I began experimenting,and suddenly, there was a different world, with a flower and a small water bug of some kind.

Then I got further involved and tried something else, which I liked most of all...

Breathe In?

It's all in the spelling... Suddenly, 'bated breath' can conjure a different picture for anybody who can't spell, or even read a dictionary!

I found my doodle cartoon in a folder this morning, and realised I could use it to write a caption in 160 characters, which is Monkey Man's Sunday challenge...

OK, So I'm Cracked!

Bit like this pot, then, I hear you say. Only bigger. And I wouldn't disagree with you. The point is, the crack hasn't spoiled its usefulness one jot.

My best pal at art college gave it to me on either my 20th or 21st birthday, apologising for the crack, but knowing that, to me, it didn't detract from its charm one little bit.  At only 7cm tall, with a diameter of 6cm, it's not exactly huge, but
over the years, it has kept safe a variety objects, from daughter's first baby bangle, to son's first baby tooth (now gone the way of all things, I hasten to add!)

For a long time, we couldn't decide whether it  was laquered wood or papier mâché, but now the crack has widened, I can see it's wood. We used to think it looked as though it had been made with porcupine or hedgehog quills, but I think that might have been a trifle far fetched, don't you? The point of this meandering post is simply to say, if you own to being somewhat cracked, worry not - there are probably many years life left in you yet!

And thinking about it, I may as well link this (early) to Sepia Saturday, on the grounds that it's brown and quirky...

What Happens On Mondays?

In the days before washing machines, and certainly when my Granny Ada was a busy mother, Monday was wash day. The everlasting chore of feeding a large family, as well as having to keep them clean, meant that the left overs from the Sunday joint would provide a quick, cold meal while she attended to the mountain of washing at the start of each week.

When I did a little research into my family tree, I discovered that her mother had also been widowed at an early age, and both women had done other people's laundry to help provide for their young families.

You will understand why this song was part of my childhood! Perhaps your know it too? It goes like this:-

Twas on a Monday morning
When I beheld my darling,
She looked so neat and charming
In ev'ry high degree.
She looked so neat and nimble, O,
A-washing of her linen, O,
Dashing away with the smoothing iron, 

Dashing away with the smoothing iron, 

She stole my heart away.

 Each succeeding verse deals with another aspect of laundering, and ends with the Sunday girl 'A-wearing of her linen, O." So when I saw this week's prompt from Monday's Child, my mind was full of' 'washday blues', and I wrote this as a little light relief!  

                                                     

Illustration by Elizabeth Webbe

                                                     

Goosey Lucy was quite choosy,
liked her ribbons smoothe.
So she ironed out the creases
said "No wrinklies, if you pleases,
crinkly clothes won't suit my mood-
I'm a spic-and-span type dude!"

Do You Have A Foot Shaped Mouth?

I heard this expression used yesterday, and it has set me to wondering. How many of us can honestly say they have never noticed this apparently inbuilt human deformity in themselves?

Of course, first we have to understand the old, English cliché "Putting your foot in it", which is used to indicate an unintentional blunder. From this, it is a small step to understanding fully the significance of "Opening one's mouth only to put one's foot in it."

Hence we arrive at the delightfully succinct description "He/She has a foot shaped mouth"... There must be some interesting equivalent phrases in other languages, which I'd love to hear, if any reader can supply them!

So with my mind cogitating on the pitfalls of "What you thought you heard I said, is not necessarily what I meant", I have written 160 characters to offer to Monkey Man for his Sunday challenge.


The sunshine of our love hides behind clouds of mis-communication. Once the raindrop tears have washed the skies, then perhaps there will be chance of rainbows.

Green Fingers

After telling you the tale of Perry Caunter and the carrot weeding lesson, I thought I'd show you this delightful snapshot of the boy who would one day be his pupil!

My husband obviously started practising early to be a gardener. Of course, by the time I knew him, the wheelbarrow had become a somewhat grander affair, and the headgear conspicuous by its absence, but the love of gardening remained!

I have no pictures of him as a child with any of his Devon born relations, but I do have a rather faded snapshot of his Grandfather, holding the hand of his brother Bertie, the one who died in childhood.

It's plain to see how the rural setting would have influenced the lives of any children who had the good fortune to grow up amongst its wide open spaces. It's also a great illustration of the special link that can often be found between the very young and the very old...

Now I'm going to link this up to Sepia Saturday, where you can see other examples of old, or not so old, photographs that might interest you.

Old Hat

Just for SmitoniusAndSonata, here is the picture I took in 2009 of small granddaughter with large hat and red eyes, because I failed to use the correct camera setting!

In a comment yesterday,  S&S asked what colour the original object was, though this has absolutely no bearing on the end result after I played with it using Arcsoft magic.

It just so happened, that when 'The Cockerel' appeared before my eyes,  I chose to save it, and it was mere chance that the orangey reds, greens and golds were not a million miles remove from the original colour range of the Easter bonnet.

 However, I now have on file a selection of other variations, ranging through blues, greens and pinks, one of which I shall now insert for all pink lovers amongst you. The permutations of colour and form when using the program are virtually limitless, and the end user has only to decide when 'enough is enough', in order to produce a stunning result.

Painting Without Paint

This feels like a cockerel. It started life as a photograph of my granddaughter's Easter bonnet- I am hooked on Arcsoft!

The world of computer graphics opens doors to possibilities my own brain would never have dreamed possible.

What is so incredible, the selfsame photograph also gave rise to this totally different blue creation.  
 
Can you understand the attraction of this modern day equivalent to painting by numbers?

Cousins, Minus Kissing?

What serious exchanges were being made by these two tiny girls? I can't work out the exact time of year, for the trees don't give any clues, but as my daughter (on the right) walked at eleven months and was born in December 1967, there's a fair chance this photo was taken Spring or Summer of '69.
Her cousin, six months her senior, appears to be giving her a lot of good advice on how to grow up into a beautiful young lady!
It was undoubtedly a conversation in a language known only to themselves at the time, but even after all these years, it appears to hover in the air for us to hear too, if we concentrate for a moment.
From the length of the shadows, I'd say it was taken towards the end of day of  'Getting to know you', and it looks like they'd arrived at a satisfactory conclusion before nightfall...

This is my short but sweet offering for Sepia Saturday this week, folks...

Sleepy Time Gal

 Image by telegraph.co.uk

I have morphed into one of these. Thanks to some anti- histamine pills, I've had more sleep in the past twenty four hours than I have for many a moon, but it's plain to see blogging is the last thing on my mind. Normal service will be resumed a soon as possible - or when I've finished taking the pills. Blog on, Blogpals...

Thanks Be To Edward Lear

You may have guessed I'm partial to a little Lear Lunacy. Wandering around Blogland this week, I happen upon this lovely illustration of his, thanks to Grandma's Goulash. She had set folks the task of coming up with a caption of sorts, expressed in exactly 140 characters.  Now, I like such challenges, so yesterday I played with some ideas on this handy Character Counter, which takes all the stress out of the exercise. After one or two abortive attempts, I finally made my words tally.

 Confucius he say, "Squalling cat and shrieking woman equal madness for man caught between. Remember, silent tongue worth more than rubies!"

I often feel as old as Confucius, though less wise, and this morning was no exception. I started the day in a happy way, by going to say "What have I got, Doctor?" to my favourite medic - the one who sorted my BPPV - or benign paroxysmal positional vertigo, to give it its full name. Today I had more oddness to show him. Blotches. Not spots. Hot, red blotches, mostly on the front of my shins.  And what was his diagnosis? Dry skin! And his remedy? Six printed A4 size sheets of information about Atopic Eczema, some anti-histamine pills, and a huge carton of Dermol cream. This can be used as a soap substitute in the shower, as well as a daytime moisturiser. I may be about to turn into a very slippery character - or at least, body! Snorts and giggles as I 'slip' away to apply the first lot...

Playtime!

Well, it was for me this morning. No moans about it being Monday, or dull and damp, or the start of another working week. No sirree. Thanks to the Poetry Bus Driver  JoAnne McKay, passengers were asked to write about various animals for their Ticket to Ride. I've been creating a couple of my own odd wildlife graphics. My limericks you can read HERE, but my doodles you can see right now!

Silly Billy

Sydney Snake

Down In Devon

Here's a photo of South Pool after a dry summer, when the ducks had to search hard for somewhere to swim! The second cottage in from the right was where my husband's Grandparents lived, and next comes a picture of my daughter and my Mum when we visited the village in about 1973.









You can see it was still a quiet, rural place, far from the hustle and bustle of modern day life.


I already told you the story of the gentleman we met that day, called Perry Caunter, the person who taught my husband to be patient when weeding a field of carrots by hand, and here he is for you to say hello to, as well.

These are my little trio of time warp pictures for this week's Sepia Saturday. I think they each tell their own stories, without my help.

Trying Another Tack

Coming of Age

“Hal - look what your Father has brought for you! Come out here, you wastrel"

"But Mother, I've been up since dawn !" laughed the boy as he pulled back the entry curtain and joined Marta where she stood by their Fire Stones.

"And who carried that great load of kindling for you, ready for The Great Feasting we've been looking forward to for days? Did you see anyone else staggering under their load?"

But his wide smile soon turned to a serious stare as he saw what was fastened on a nearby sapling. "Goodness, just look at that shield! Do you mean it will really be mine after the Initiation Ceremony?"

"Indeed it will, though you won't be wielding it in battle for a good many years yet, my son. Twelve summers are not enough for such a trial! The Warrior Brotherhood must teach you all their skills before your life, and maybe ours, will truly be within your hands."

Hearing this, he bent closer to the shield and ran his fingers over the intricately carved surface.

“Oh! Look at the details... They are the most wonderful I’ve ever seen – they’re sending a tingling feeling all up my arm as I touch them."

"The Carver was paid many pelts to make you this shield. He told your Father the metal studs took days to perfect, let alone the boss... and the design he created especially is meant to ward off evil spirits.  No wonder you can sense its power!"

A sudden gust of wind whipped his blonde hair into his eyes, making them sting until he almost thought he could feel tears beginning... His cloak was flapping around his bare legs like a banner, tugging at the silver clasp fastened on his shoulder.

“Mother, I never thanked you for this cloak and clasp you left by my bed.  It must have taken many moons for you and my sisters to spin and weave enough wool. It’s so thick and warm – come, let me show youu !”  And he whirled its folds around his mother, as he hugged her.

“Enough of your silliness! Get you gone and help your Father and the others with the livestock. It’s going to be a very busy day…”

“Yes Mother right away Mother.” He gave a mock salute and ran to join the men. Today, he would be welcomed as one of them.                                                    

Is This A Vignette I see Before Me?

The ceremonial shield hung on a pole, outside their tent. Later that day, his father would present it to him, as a symbol of his coming of age. But it would be years before he would  wield it in battle. The Carver had been paid many pelts to produce it, for the metal studs and boss took days to perfect, and the intricate carving had been designed to ward off evil spirits.He ran his fingers over its surface, marvelling at the details, and feeling their hidden power tingling up his arm.

Hal was twelve summers old, and his blonde hair tickled his face but stung his eyes as the wind whipped it harder. His cloak too, was flapping around his bare legs like a banner, tugging at the silver clasp fastened on his shoulder.  His mother and sisters had been working for months to spin and weave enough cloth to make it, and had given him the silver clasp only this morning, in honour of his initiation. The Warrior Brotherhood would teach him all the skills he would need to become a worthy member of their tribe.

Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales asked for a poem or vignette inspired by her photo of this shield. I already wrote a humourous poem, but wanted to try something more serious, so who better to tell me whether this constitutes a vignette, than fellow Blogpals? Can't wait to hear your opinions...

Stretched Out Birthdays

I can recommend one of these. By having several action replays of  my latest one, it gave me time to absorb the fact in a most civilised manner. I could begin with admitting 'I'm sixty nine plus one day', before I had to awake to the unalterable truth 'I'm seventy!' Hehehe!
I'd like to thank everyone who 'penned ditties for Pen', and ask them all to share in a sniff of these flowers which my kids sent on The Day.

When the grandchildren came yesterday, they brought me a cake with just enough candles to avoid a conflagration, but enough chocolate to satisfy their souls and mine.

Eldest granddaughter had wanted to make biscuits to bring, but after a rush job the night before at 8pm, they were voted too sweet, and were consigned to oblivion. To recompense her hard word, she and I retired to my kitchen, and she cooked a less sugary batch, which she pronounced 'Fine' - but they disappeared quickly, so no pictures!

Youngest granddaughter brought her Fairy Castle, a rather '3D jigsaw puzzle' of a palace, which took much concentration to erect, as the instructions had got lost one time, in transit. It is a well travelled castle.

While we girls were playing, No.1 son got to grips with my computer, but despite installation of a new sound card, it, and therefore I, remain in a silent place for the time being.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible!

Baby Bertie

I thought today I'd post this cherubic picture of my husband's elder brother, who died in infancy - about the age of  three, I think.  I have no idea of the cause of his death, but he certainly looked hale and hearty on the day this photograph was taken...

 His elegant Mama, called Topsy by her family, was a younger sister of the Dorothy I showed you in an earlier Sepia Saturday post. Her real name was Eliza Jane and this portrait must have been taken in the late 1920's, for my husband was born in October 1929 and I believe Bertie was already dead by then.
I wish I knew more about the story. The little I do  know was told me by Auntie Dorothy, who also gave me the picture.

Topsy went on to have three more children, two boys and a girl, and tragically, after the birth of her daughter, she developed what in those days was called 'milk fever'.As a result she never recovered enough to take care of her children from then on, and another  sister, Auntie Lettie, came to Portsmouth to look after them.

Topsy's husband, Arthur, died before the end of the war, as far as I know, and the children were sent to stay with relatives in South Pool, in Devon. There was only one bomb which dropped on the village, and my husband , then a youngster, was on his way to bed holding a lighted candle when it fell.

He never spoke much about his childhood, but he loved life in the country, working on his Aunt and Uncle's farm, and he would have liked nothing better than to be a farmer when he grew up... Anyone can dream!

And What Does Friday Mean?

A chance to write 55 words of wisdom to keep Mr G-Man alive and kicking! I've used my ration to let you all peep into my Diary - A Day To Day Diatribe from a newly minted septuagenarian who still hasn't learned to keep stumm for any length of time. There are too many words waiting to be born anew...

Is There A Doctor In The House?

My screen has laryngitis – it hasn’t got a voice.

It really is a nuisance! It isn't very 'noice'

not to hear some music via YouTube like before -

nor listen to the Archers on my favourite Radio 4.

I hope my son will fix it soon - a bit of sound is such a boon!

 More fifty-fivers  will be available free at Mr Knowitall's emporium!

I Shouldn't Have Counted My Chickens!

So far the day has had some hitches -
in fact, it started with two glitches!
Wide awake at four am
I only went to sleep again
when the clock crawled close to seven.
Then I dozed right off. Ah, heaven!
At 7.30 there's my Bro,
phoning from New Zealand!. So -
here I am, now rather dozy,
proud possessor of a posy
from my pal who came to lunch,
plus owner of a super bunch
of flowers from my son and daughter.

They are safely tucked in water,
while I am heading towards my bed
for a little nap instead!

Morning mishap made me curse -
my computer died, or worse.
Two hours later, clever son
had more or less the battle won
and there was Blogger good as new,
so I could come and talk to you,
My birthday's not quite been ball,
but thank you people one and all...

And it can only get better from here in! LOL

Hats Off, People!

Why? Because it's only polite when you come to call at Napple Mansions. Tomorrow, 16th March, I will need help to blow out the seventy candles that will be adorning my tiny cup cake.

A year ago, I gave Blogpals  fair warning that I would be expecting a little rhyme written for the occasion, which would then give them the right come to my party as an honoured guest.

I'm thinking it will be a rather extended affair, and I envisage it going on for the best part of a week, while I wait for your muse to strike.... I think I should start the ball rolling...

Invitation! 

Amid the bombs in '41 I came into the world.

But now I want to celebrate, so get the flags unfurled!

String 'em all round Blogland, red and white and blue,

and please come to my party - yes, you , and you, and you!

Write a little ditty, but not TOO rude , I pray,

and help me live it up a bit on my special day!

Hello Yesterday?

 She stared at the clockface. The hands were creeping round in the wrong direction! Time wasn't simply standing still, it was reversing... 
Whenever would it stop?

The image was supplied by Monkey Man  for his Sunday 160 prompt. I think all of us would like to be able to make our clocks do the same thing occasionally!

Now it's after lunch, and I've rewound  time to about 1985 when I first joined a barbershop chorus. Within three weeks, I was standing on these risers in Worthing I think it was, for a Music Festival. The pink and white tops we fondly referred to as 'throw ups', due to the shocking pink and sequin glitter. But they were exceedingly easy to adapt in terms of alternating the pattern we formed, should singers need to change places. We simply swung them round, until pink became white and white became pink. Not many stage costumes are that adaptable.
Although I missed writing a Sepia Saturday actually on Saturday, my Sunday 160 has allowed me to go backwards and rectify matters! LOL That makes the second offering for the same day - here was the first!