Handcuffed?

I can hear you asking "Why is one piece of orange-red plastic firmly anchored to the other?" Well, it's a health and safety issue, of course... No, not for the plastic, but for passing pedestrians.

You see, the council, in their wisdom, has decreed that Havant needs new street lights. 

The one outside the house next door to mine, had long been temperamental, to say the least. It would glow piteously through some days, and remain like the Black Hole of Calcutta to match many a night.

True to an Unwritten  Law for British Workmen, the activity which gave rise to my second photo, appears to have come to a grinding halt.  After the original flurry of yesterday, this morning The Hole with Implants (incomplete) is devoid of human occupation... Who knows when the next influx of eager council employees will return to complete the switch, and switch on the the new, taller, smarter addition to our cul-de-sac? So far, I'm impressed with the fact that it appears perpendicular...

Men At Work?

There's a hole in the road!
Well, I'll be blowed...
and two lamp posts, not one.
You can see from the sky
it's a dull old day, without a scrap of sun,
and all is quiet around the hole
and there isn't a single, curious soul, 'cept me,
to stand and admire the fenced in light,
and wonder if it will shine tonight...

It Grabbed My Attention

Interesting words, but how different they are in meaning from 'seeking attention', for one happens by chance, whereas the other is a deliberate attempt to make others notice us, or our achievements...

I started pondering  after reading this sentence on Braja Sorensen's blog, Lost and Found in India, this morning:-


People praise the rich and variegated plumage of the peacock, and he is himself blushing at the sight of his ugly feet.

Do you know people who go through life thinking the same way, underestimating the good they do and never giving themselves credit for what they've added to others' lives? I reckon we could all come up with some examples, if we tried...

Quiet People

Some walk through life without creating waves
which ruffle surface calm from day to day,
and yet their wake will leave a trail to follow
for those who  seek a sign to guide their way.

Turning

Yep, you can tell, the year is turning; daylight doesn't appear so insistent at 4 a.m. anymore, for which I am grateful. For too long,  it had a habit of prodding my eyelids and brain into action long before my sleep-deprived body could appreciate it.

Now there is a feel and a scent in the air which reminds us, along with September, that school looms, as summer recedes into a haze...metaphorical, as well as physical at times.

Will today's youngsters remember their summers as long and idyllic, when they are old enough to start reminiscing? Or will the UK's capricious weather gods have blighted their rose coloured glasses for good? I wonder!

Anyhow, the thought prompted me to write this, just now...

O, England my England! The summer's near done.
We've had silly-type weather; some, rain, and some, sun.
But these days it always seems Over The Top...
the sun brings a heat wave, the rain floods a lot!
Where are those comfortable days of our youth?
Or am I just trying to whitewash the truth?
Were the times quite as rosy as our memories think -
or are we now teetering upon the brink
of senility's whitewashing, 'Wasn't life grand?'-
a retrospect idyll that's got out of hand!

Time Travel Through My Blogland

This 'one thing leads to another' seems to be a recurring theme at the moment. A chance encounter with the date 17 January 2010, had me zipping back to see what I was Blogging around that time, and soon, I was having a memory fest - reading old writings and comments, in particular the ones on this post.
There, all of a sudden, the name Shrinky caught my eye, and BOOM! She shot me into the future, as it seems September lives already - at least in her corner of Blogland. Hehehe!

I've missed trolling around the magical World of Blog the way I used to, before writing courses and craft projects interrupted my computer capers over the past months. I realise how much fun I had letting my grasshopper mind do it's own thing, and making words, not pictures, the order of the day...

So I will see how going back to simply waffling pans out. Watch this space - anything could happen from here on in! :)

For Example:-

I write in prose, I write in rhyme,
but only when I have the time.
But lately, folks, I've drawn the line -
NOT to write is the biggest crime!

One thing always leads to another...

And the little jackets in my last post had No. 1 daughter wishing for a similar garment for herself, as soon as she saw those tiny versions.

After scouring the web, Sirdar patterns provided this delightful variation on a theme, but then, daughter's request was for a black one. Help! My old eyeballs quaked at the thought, but as it happens, the yarn is not causing too many problems - at least, under a good 'daylight' lamp.

But heavens to Murgatroyd! What is up with the Sirdar Pattern Department - or the printers thereof? Once again, I'm having to scribble copious notes regarding questionable figures given for the various sizes. Thank goodness for my inbuilt sense of pattern combined with common sense which has averted disasters...

But I pity any novice crochet person who attempts to slavishly follow the directions as they are printed, for I fear they would experience 'many a slip twixt cup and lip', as the saying goes.

That said, doesn't it look delightful in their leaflet's photograph?  I wonder how long it will be before granddaughters start wanting one each? Hehehe! Don't you think I chose an appropriate title for this post? :)

No Prizes...

...for realising I've been conspicuous by my absence for yonks. I discovered many years ago, that with only so many hours in a day, there are times when something has to give - especially as I only have two hands and one brain, more's the pity. I'd like to have as many arms as an octopus.
My dexterous digits have been smitten with a knitting bug, and thereby hangs a tale - or two. I have discovered that badly written pattern instructions can cause mayhem, if they are strictly adhered to. Salvation comes when one 'plays it by ear', or rather eye, and lets instinct override the printed word.
So when I let you see a picture of two of the four small garments I've produced, don't think their size bears any relation to the hours of frustration incurred during the making thereof. Hehehe!

Holiday By Proxy?

"What on earth are you waffling about today?" I hear you mutter as you read the title. You'll soon understand. My Blogtastic NZ niece has returned from her holiday with a plethora of pictures which she's permitted me to rifle through and re-post for your delight.
Where do I start? Hmmm...spoilt for choice - but how about this bird's eye view for starters?

 

or would you rather back off a little... so you can

admire the headgear...

and I've had an afterthought, strictly for the birds, you might say -

The peacock wears a feathered hat

and very fine he looks
with it's rippling shades of blue and green -
but a cockscomb's red, which woos the chooks!

Whew!

A poem a day may not keep the doctor away, but it has kept many Bloglanders out of mischief this month, as they celebrated National Poetry Month. Wonder who invented that? Aptly enough, the kick off started on April Fool's Day, and today sees the close with the thirtieth offering - for those who kept going, that is - like me! Hehehe!

I may have missed the beginning, but have more than fulfilled the required thirty offerings since then... as a quick scroll down Alias Jinksy would soon prove, if you doubted my word.

I did, however, treat the whole thing in a lighthearted vein - unlike those experienced or perfectionist poets who dazzled us with their acumen, although with varying degrees of poetic proficiency. The crux of the matter comes down to the question "What is a poem?"And to that, will come as many answers as there are people who reply.

But who could deny the poetic beauty of this photo which a green fingered Blogpal sent me last week?

Shy Violet - Me?

I am a Violet What Flower Are You?

I saw a link to this questionnaire on a fellow blogger's blog, and was tempted enough to waste time and tick all the boxes, to see what I turned out to be! I think it's a fair comment of how I started out in life, but maybe age and wisdom have added other flowers to the posy which is Penny now! Why not see how you get labelled, and let me know? LOL. Have fun. :)

Today

The news is on, with pictures and replays of Lady Thatcher's funeral. Once again England shows how an occasion is made into an occasion by superb organisation and timing. Since the advent of television, it's something which guarantees a spectacle like no other which may be witnessed in the comfort of one's own home.

The stupidity of some young people who were not even ALIVE during her time as Prime Minister was unbelievable, but they were outnumbered by the support of thousands of people who lined the route - some of whom had camped out all night in order to witness the procession.

A few days ago I wrote something which I am posting again here, as many Napple Notes readers don't follow my more poetical offerings on either Alias Jinksy, or In Tandem. R.I.P. Maggie.

In Memoriam

The name of Margaret Thatcher hit the news
again, not due to governmental coup
or parliamentary problem, simply death -
her own - not those of troops in Falkland's war.
Some mourn and some rejoice that she is gone,
but chroniclers will none the less record
her place in British history as the first
woman elected to head our Ministers.
A prime position, in name as well as fact,
despite the humble start she had in life.
Now, at its end, what higher tribute
could be paid, than that the Queen herself
attend her funeral service, with respect?

Loquacious?

Who, me? Well, I could hold my hand up to being this on a good day - show me a woman who couldn't? But for now, I am being penny pinching with my words - nay, my characters, even, and limiting myself to a mere 140, including spaces. And for why? Ask Grandma. She posted this picture, and I counted to 140...

Strewth, whatever next? In our youth the table was never this bare. It's enough to make a horse laugh even while his belly rumbles. Heehaw.

   

Alternative Reality?

Anyone who has noticed that I tend to play with images a lot over on Alias Jinksy, won't be surprised that I've been dabbling with those freesias that featured in a straightforward picture yesterday.
In this shot, where I skewed the camera to start with, I've add a 'bulge' feature now, and I loved the way the composition took on a new life all its own. It 'spoke' to me in a different language...I wonder if it does the same to you? Or perhaps this second variation speaks louder...

Snowmen? Nah...

If you pop over here today, you will see what spurred me on to grab my camera, and take a picture of these measuring cups, which are cleverly disguised as Russian Dolls.

They were a Christmas present from my daughter, but thanks to the appalling weather and various winter bugs which bugged the family, they didn't reach me until February, but hey, who's counting? A prezzie is a prezzie at any time of the year!

And on that subject, the black background with lime green swirls in this photo, is none other than a posh box in which a luxurious M&S bath towel arrived at my door - but for a birthday present. So you see how I'm sticking to the subject in a round about kind of way...

Often the careful wrapping of gifts gives us but a momentary appreciation of the giver's thoughtfulness, and is consigned to a re-cycle bin with no more ado... But here, posh box is recorded for posterity, and will be hoarded until I find a better use for it than feeding a Green Bin.

Of course, some gifts come with no more than a sheet of cellophane around them - like these pretty freesias which accompanied a box of chocolates which we all enjoyed on Saturday, when my kids and grandkids came for the day.

And now I can share their beauty, thanks to a nudge from Doctor FTSE's son-in-law, a natty wee camera and the magic of the internet. The picture is a little gift to delight the eyes of all blogpals, old and new, who may happen across this post. Have a good day, folks!

Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh! I have just been informed by Blogger that this is post number 666! Should I be worried? LOL

Not An Ordinary Day

.

...At least in the UK.  It's  Mothering Sunday, as it used to be called in the days when servants were allowed a whole Sunday off work in order to go and visit their families - especially their Mums. Now it's called Mother's Day, and has got commercialised to the Nth degree, with flower prices soaring and cards getting more opulent every year.

But there is still a modicum of originality at work in some places! Like on my computer screen this morning, when I opened an email from my son, for this is what it said:-

In lieu of a card and gifted, wrapped clutter,
I thought in their place these words I'd utter.

They are not mass produced you see,
Just written with love from me to thee.

You are my mum and that's a fact,
And I am me because of that. 

Who I am is because of you,
Take the credit because it's truly due.

Your gentle guidance when I was small
Has paid off now that I am so tall.

So on this Mother's Day be clear
Your number one son is grateful he's here.

Thank you Ma for being you,
I love you wholeheartedly. It's true. :-)

Megga big hugs,

No. 1 son.

xxxxx

My lovely No. 1 daughter was organised enough to get the postman to deliver her bundle of love to me yesterday morning, while Night Owl No. 1 son 'posted' his at 00.5 am this morning! Bless 'em both! I love 'em to bits.:-)

An Ordinary Day

And an ordinary thing to do - fill up a bowl with hot water, ready to do the washing up - but today, instead of putting crockery and cutlery in while the tap was running, I let the water trickle into a bowl containing nothing but a squirt of Ecover liquid.

Look what happened...As the tap water ran into the top left hand corner of the bowl, it somehow set the surface spinning into a galaxy of bubbles...

Then I played with the image, and here it is...

White Magic?

Once again, the Malignant Washing Machine Fairy ensured that I failed to remove a Kleenex tissue from some obscure pocket in either my jeans, or my navy blue, fleece backed trews. As a result, the latter have emerged with a bad case of White Measles, while the denim jeans have sundry white pimples, but to a lesser degree.

I've decided to wait for both pairs of Kleenex adorned trousers to dry, in the vain hope that paper pieces will adhere with less determination. If I didn't know better, I'd say that Fairy was a follower of the black arts, but on reflection, I've chosen to assume she is an advocate of White Magic, instead, for obvious reasons...

P.S. Don't you think this looks like a night sky with assorted snow flakes? LOL

Is The World Ready For This?!

Hehehe! Not Armageddon, folks, merely the results of my latest absence from Blogland. Here I give you proof positive of my activity, in a nightmarish rendition of a Growling Jinksy Viking - or should that be 'Viqueen'?

I was inspired by a picture on Google, and I didn't rest until I'd tracked down a pattern by Tessa Murray which was available as a PDF downlosd from this website  www.mamachee.etsy.com   

For a modest PayPal transaction, the hat pattern was with me in a twinkling of a mouse click, but the horns and the beard were another matter all together...
Eventually, a horn pattern was found here,  and a basic beard base here. 

But I added many of my own adaptations to both of these, not least of which were the 300 double strand threads which I looped onto the base to produce a beard like you never saw before! 

To make the photo as realistic as possible, I tried layering lipstick over my eyebrows, to give them a reddish tinge, but the result was strange, and I had to top that with mascara. Then in an attempted to get into the swing of things, I growled a war cry as I clicked the shutter...

The whole ensemble is now in the hands of the Post Office, as it wings its way up country to a friend who had a yen to own such a creation, and for me, it's back to the crochet hooks as my brother and sister-in-law have ordered his-'n'-hers, iron-coloured horned hats, but minus beards. If any of you thought I was mad before today, well, now you can be certain!

And it being Friday an' all, here's a late addition of 55 words for G-man!

In days of old, brave men and bold
like Vikings, fought for glory; 
but me, I stand for womenkind-
and that’s another story.
I never fight - except with words
over patterns less than perfect-
but now this headgear is complete
and I can hold my head erect
with a beard that looks all gory!
 
 

Time To Rant

For the first time in 2013!  BT Telecom are well known for making enormous profits. I have been a customer of theirs for way over forty years, and would expect their phone service to be just that. A service.

However, with the growth in technological wizardry which allows scam artists to ring home phone numbers with spoof messages, I think they need to pull their socks up, or their fingers out! After receiving a growing number of nuisance calls recently, I rang BT for advice. I have long been a member of the TPS ( Telephone Preference Service ) but that has obviously not been doing a satisfactory job, either.

BT could only offer me 'call blocking' service as a choice - IF I PAID A FURTHER THREE POUNDS A MONTH !!! Talk about adding insult to injury.

I've started writing down the numbers these calls are supposed to come from; two today were as follows: 02921390035 and 01133100149, the area codes of which purport to be Cardiff, and Leeds, but both numbers, when dialed, have an American sounding voice saying 'This number is not in service.'

Service? Huh! Total non sequitur.

I wonder whether Blogpals across the pond get similar hassles?

Back To The Drawing Board?

But only figuratively speaking. At the start of 2013, when the traditional cries of Happy New Year have had a somewhat off-key overtone for so many people, thanks to a countrywide proliferation of winter germs and illnesses, I wonder whether those poor souls whose homes have been flooded over recent weeks have been able to say the phrase to each other with any degree of hope, let alone truth?

It raises the question of what is meant by the word 'happy'. Happy to be alive? Happy to be well? Happy just to BE? That is maybe the hardest one of all to achieve, for it implies  no  dependence on material wealth to achieve a state of happiness...

As the first few hours of the new year creep around our world, I can do no better than to wish you all you might wish yourselves, with perhaps an added reminder to 'Be careful what you wish for...' But on a more positive note, I  shall once again dust off and share my old poem with its crop of new dreams attached!

New For Old

Seasons roll forward,
Earth spins onward
in its elliptical round.

Old Year to New Year,
time’s cogs change gear.
Bells herald it with their sound.

Flaunting its drab gown,
Old Year winds down,
greeting the year that’s to come.

Wipe all the slates clean,
then dream a new dream.
Happy New Year everyone!

To One & All!

Wherever you are, whoever you're with, come best wishes to you and yours this festive season, with special Blogland Hugs from Jinksy. Thanks for dropping by!

Sunglasses?!

Believe it or not, I was glad I had mine with me this morning, despite the day starting at 0°C. I had a stock pile of milk bottles to take to a bottle bank, because my local dairy switched suppliers of the sterilised, skimmed milk I prefer, and their new, 500ml bottles have to be re-cycled.

You wouldn't believe how much of a nuisance this proved to be. My standing order was for three pints a week, and the bottles went back to the dairy with the milkman when they were empty.

A change to the lesser measures meant I began ordering more bottles, ergo more trips to the bottle bank. With recent weeks of wet weather, I decided to wait until my glass bottles filled the whole of my trolley,  rather than regularly ending up like a drowned rat taking a single week's worth of glass to the recycle point.

I should have counted how many clonk, crash, shatter noises I created as I slid glass containers down the chutes to meet their fate, but I didn't. Suffice it to say I had a smashing time...

The six foot high metal bins with their three Black Holes of Doom for Glass on their front slope panels, stand like sentinels on the wide pavement near Havant's former Post Office. Now it's no more than a Parcel Office which opens each morning for people to collect items the postmen haven't been able to deliver for them.

As the day crept nearer to noon, the heat of the sun was a whopping 4° (so said the BBC forecast) and I parked on the friendly bench in front of the Parcel Office to do some people watching.

A gent had hands plunged deep in trouser pockets, rouching up his windcheater and inadvertently hoisting his trousers to half mast as a result: a lady with yard long, spindly legs teetered by on huge wedge heeled ankle boots, for all the world like a  human giraffe: a young lad in a track suit wore his red laced trainers untied, and the laces were like writhing snakes up each shoe front.

Considering the low temperatures, it was surprising to see how many braved them in summer like clothing, with no more than a cardigan topper in deference to the chill - though they probably had parked their warm cars just around the corner, while they picked up their parcels, or posted their letters in the box alongside the bins.

The sun was directly facing me, and I was glad I had sunglasses in the depths of my trolley - a leftover from the last of the summer days - so there I sat, with them perched on my nose, completing the strange picture of what I was wearing - boots, jeans, duffle coat, gloves and  a thermal beanie hat! Oh, to see ourselves as others see us!

It's About Time...

I treated myself to another rant.
As ever, it's about WORD VERIFICATION NUMBERS. I have yet to find, after joining the Blogworld in December 2008, that this universal menace has ever had any great bearing on the amount of SPAM, or indeed, Corned Beef, that one receives as a result of removing it from one's blog.

For all Blogger's faults and foibles, of which we know there are many, I do think they have improved their options for SPAM control. The best, I've found, is the COMMENTS page which allows you to mark comments as SPAM, and the FOLLOWERS page which allows you to then remove the perpetrators of said SPAM comments from your corner of Blogland.

There are some people who clearly have a hidden agenda when they sign up to follow you, e.g. somebody who calls themselves a strange name like 'MrXIsWatchingYou', who runs a blog entitled 'HolidayTrips round Timbuktu in a Micrometeorite' my well be assumed to have nefarious motives, not to mention a dodgy assortment of undercover agents waiting to pounce on unsuspecting lady bloggers around the world and send them a deluge of SPAM, though still probably no Corned Beef.

The photo I took this morning, shows what dire methods I often need to resort to in order to decipher the NUMBERS which have recently inflicted the already wobbly-word-verification-nightmare, thus adding insult to injury. They are mostly fuzzy, odd angled shots of peoples' gateposts or front doors, and without the aid of my trusty magnifying glass, as shown, are completely indistinct, illegible and indecipherable, even though I AM NOT A ROBOT!

Obviously, my picture is out of focus, as I was holding the magnifying glass in my left hand, while trying to manipulate my camera controls with my right, and my eyeballs have yet to learn the trick of looking in two places at once,

I'm working on that... But only if you promise me to at least THINK about removing Word verification from your blog...

Recycling Circles?

Back in 2008, one of my first few posts was about Freecyle, an organization which helps recycle 'stuff'. Members offer, or request items and no money changes hands. After my initial enthusiasm, I put my membership on hold - until recently.

A large , black, Dalek shaped compost bin I'd bought with ideas of being 'green', turned out to be a white elephant, as my kitchen and garden waste proved to have the wrong ingredients for making compost.

So I rejoined Freecycle a week ago, and within twenty four hours a keen gardener had come and collected my, to me, useless bin...

I must explain, it was designed to stand on the earth - not my unavoidable concrete slabs - thus it had no base. Once he had taken it on his merry way, I was left with this...

Don't you think it look's like a dragon's nest, where all the baby dragons have struggled from their eggshells and flown away, back to a land of myth and magic?

If you click on the word Freecycle at the start of this post, you can read how this all started!

Learning zone?

Found a wonderful piece of advice on Mr Kindergarten's blog, and possibly the best way for you to enjoy it too, is to sit back and enjoy the six minute video right here.


Toolbox Project Introduction (2012) - 6:30 from Peter Hwosch on Vimeo.

I think the world would be a happier place if adults could have their own toolbox always on hand, too..

What, you missed me?!

 Sorry, Merisi and anybody else who's come calling on the off chance of a Napple Note or two. I've been caught in a whirlwind of writing classes- poetry and prose and editing for other people- and so the days go by with Napple taking a back seat.

And to prove I've been having fun, I'm going to let you read my latest flight of fancy and see if anybody can think up a good plot line for how this yarn might develop?! The working title is 'The Cottage'...

 It started as an ordinary day. Ever increasing daylight infiltrated like a spy, and the room came into focus through the lingering darkness. A chest of drawers cowered beside a Granddaddy wardrobe; a laid back nursing chair as good as yawned at me from one corner, while a swing mirror stood like a sentry in another.  The usual crowd of onlookers was waiting for me to perform my Morning Ritual Dance.

This always started with a Quilt Arabesque, while each foot fought to be the last to touch the cold floor. My Aunt’s cottage was basic. No central heating, but with an afterthought bathroom added downstairs and old sash windows in every room which made sure fresh air was compulsory , day and night.  At least the pump out in the yard was now decorative only, and hot and cold water was on tap. Very civilized.

A quick pas de deux with my dressing gown, once my toes had wriggled into sheepskin slippers, and I was ready to exit left with a bundle of clothes no costumier would countenance: jeans: T-shirt: sweater and as many thermal undies as possible.

But the curtain came down on my light hearted, theatrical mood as I opened the bedroom door, for there on the landing was my Aunt’s body, throat ripped apart and congealed blood puddled on the floorboards. Even if the cottage had been connected to a telephone line, I couldn’t have found the breath to call for help…

The blanket of silence over the cottage reassured me that whoever the killer had been, they were long gone, and I was in no immediate danger, but it was difficult to find courage enough to step round blood and body to get to the bathroom – which I needed desperately now, before I added further to the mess on the floor, either by being sick or wetting myself...

Once I’d made it there and both stomach and bladder were under control, I was thankful for the hot water that helped stop my shivers – at least, those due to the cold; the ones caused by shock were liable to take longer to disappear. But somehow, I dried, dressed and readied myself to run down to the village.  Thrusting my feet into the boots I’d left on the rug below my duffle coat, I grabbed scarf and gloves from the shelf above, and was glad to close the front door behind me.

At the end of the lane, I looked back up the hill.  From this distance, the cottage looked welcoming, but… I knew what lay inside…

On The Assumption...

You can't have too much of a Good Thing,  thanks to Mutti, here is Bunce in Amalfi, too! Yesterday, Mutti was in the picture on her own, and she has now presented me with Bro, ditto. LOL

I also have this picture of the Arno, in Florence, to keep you in holiday mood, but am tempted to  photoshop out that crane. I bet they had nothing like that to help them build the original houses along that stretch of water...

And here's another bridge in Florence, for good measure...

Wish You Were Here?

Doesn't it look like the start of a perfect evening? My Bro and Sis-in-law pootled around Italy, after they left England, and now they are safely back in New Zealand, some pictures are filtering though for me to 'Oo' and 'Ah' over, so I thought I'd let you join me in 'Ooing'at this one..
Just imagine how grand it would be to have a view like this from your balcony...

I Am A Magnet....

...I collect. What? Well, anything, really; not from a conscious, rational decision, but a sort of 'creeping-up-behind-me-accumulation-of-stuff'' effect. It all depends on what I've been busy doing over the past few days, or weeks, or let's face it, months.

At the heart of this colourful still life is a clip top storage box, designed to accommodate exactly the kind of small items any craft addict will understand. But then, the lid of this handy box turns into a shelf and in next to no time, certain items take root and the whole assemblage begins to acquire the appearance of a Still Life arrangement for Budding Artists. Note the capital letters, which imbue this statement with gravitas.

Now the 'stuff'' becomes merely an interplay of form and colour, something to be appreciated in its own right, and my sense of propriety and tidiness flies out the window. It has its own persona, this group of items, with a story ready to sprout from each one.

A box of rubber bands I bought while I was still at work, which dates them as being at least five years old, were recently brought into play when I needed to bundle something up - I forget what (!) - but their bright blue carton goes so well with the blue clip on the box, and contrasts delightfully with the  green, Scotch Magic Tape container in the foreground...

Then there's an added visual zing from the pink and turquoise pair of compasses, attached to a sad, red and black pencil which has seen better days.  It echoes the scarlet head of the bird who's lost his tweet and, at the top of the picture, the ribbon badge, unraveled, which was once the emblem of some charity campaign.

There's a delicate, wooden filigree  bookmark which came all the way from China - a gift from a workmate - and it's silken cord adds its rich gold tone to the acid yellow of the bird's underbelly. He was a Christmas present from a neighbour, who knew well my sense of fun. For several years, the slightest movement would start up a tweeting song from this warbler, but now his battery has expired, and there's no way to replace it.

So to the casual observer this may be a heap of detritus, but to me, it's a living story, still being written today, for the box of pins, there amongst the heap, will aid me in a dressmaking enterprise this very afternoon!

And In The Daytime

One tiny blue star from my nighttime photo in the previous post, comes into its own, against the dappled foliage. While the sun shone, I took my new camera outside, to see how the screen visibility fared in the bright light, and I must say, I was impressed.

 As luck would have it, an obliging butterfly
flittered to rest on the shrub, long enough for me to click the shutter. There have been far fewer around this year than last, so I was pleased this one was not camera shy today.

I couldn't blame his friends from staying away from my garden, which has had containers devoid of any blooming plants all summer - and the word blooming may be read as an expletive, as well as a horticultural expression! Extremes of sun and rain made my paved sun trap an inhospitable place for pot plants, although the few shrubs with their feet firmly planted in the soil have battled on bravely to create a symphony in shades of green, for which I have been extremely thankful. Mother Nature is such a great gardener when left to her own devices!

The Night Garden

During the past week when my brother and sister-in-law stayed with me, the Autumn weather was particularly kind. It blessed us with much sunshine, which was rather astonishing, as S-i-L is renowned for being a bit of a rain goddess on the quiet! As the intrepid travelers have zoomed around the world during their long years together, many countries could bear witness to this fact. Hehehe!

But this time, the sun smiled - except of course at night. The darkness tempted me to try the 'night mode' setting on my latest camera, and I rather liked this Flower Moon with its tiny, satellite bud which appears to shed its own light on the Choysia leaves in the foreground. I was surprised at how the rest of the nearby foliage remained in shadow...

Anyhow, it prompted me to create this blog post, which has to be a good thing, when you see how long ago it was that the previous one made it to the screen - says she in apologetic fashion...

And also from my night garden, here's the little blue stars that were twinkling at me, too.  How small and shy they look, dwarfed by the spray of huge leaves beside them. Who knows, perhaps my next post will have some daylight pictures, too...