A Butterfly In The Winter Woods *

Good Morning Dear Friends! 

First and foremostly, let me begin this verbal onslaught with a dollop of the seasons finest greetings; and, as that season happens to be winter and also because Saturnalia is approaching with almost indecent rapidity, I thought I'd illustrate my salutation with a charming portrait by the Swedish artist Carl Larsson of his daughter Britta as the goddess Iðunn.

If you're up to speed with your Norsk mythology - and who isn't? - you'll recall that Iðunn (pronounced like Eedun) is associated with apples and youth; it is told how the mischievous god Loki is forced by the giant (or jötunn) Þjazi (a bit like Thiazi) to lure her into leaving Asgard her home and into a wood by promising her interesting apples.  The said Þjazi changes into an eagle, snatches her from the wood and takes her home.  Her absence - and that of her apples - causes the gods to grow old and so Loki promises to return her which he duly does . . . so I suppose at this time of the ageing year, we need her and her eternal youth to remind us that, although it may seem dark and gloomy, Spring is not too far away. 

It's also worth considering that this beautiful illustration has given Britta a form of enduring presence; we look and see a portrait of a delightful child who was born some 120 years ago; that's one of the reasons why I love paintings and photographs but I also feel that the same result can be achieved by writing down and recording the story of peoples lives; we make them immortal and keep their memories safe beyond the touch of time . . . which is my new project for next year - I shall keep you informed.

In other news, yesterday  - as well as being the birthday of my oldest and dearest friend and architect extraordinaire Mr DCR H. who, instead of sunning himself on Marco island as is his wont at this time of year, is sadly laid up in hospital and, it must be said, being missed ferociously - was the day in which dear old Myrtle House became Myrtle House Creative Publishing Ltd! This means that, along with a resurrection of the blog for that side of things in the very near future, some of the short stories and whatnot concocted by Yours Truly will slowly begin to filter into a wider sphere than before . . . be afraid; be very afraid! I will also be looking at other material and am happy to hear from anyone who feels they might like to see their name blazoned for all to see  via digital means as well as, it is hoped in the nearest of futures, as a 'real' printed book too !

Output on the writing front has been steady but not overly prolific due to the amount of time I'm spending having tremendous fun with a varied bunch of displaced persons masquerading as professionals. In between the giggles we are actually working on a fantastic and world-changing proposition which has me tingling with excitement; I am tremendously lucky to meet and work with the people I do; they are are,  to a man/woman/upright-hoover, immensely talented and dedicated but more importantly have not lost the ability to dream and, what is more, to believe in those dreams with a passion! 

I forgot to mention that all this tip-tapping is taking place down in the The Barn in deepest Cheshire where, beyond the arched window, the day (which has never really got its act together in terms of being properly light) is growing darker and the rain more insistent; I fear I shall be in for a dowsing on my way to the station . . . ah well, never mind; I shall perch on my eyrie-seat in the buffet on platform 6 at Crewe and indulge in some comestibles and a large green tea . . . its all about trying to remain positive and seek the sweetness in everything.

So I shall end where I began; with another of Carl Larsson's lovely illustrations -  this time of another of his daughters, Kersti in her sleigh . . .  Hmmm, it would be so good to have snow instead of rain - then again, I don't suppose there would be any trains running if that were the case! 

So until next time, which I'm sure will be sometime around the cusp of the new year, I shall say toodle-pip and wish you all the very merriest and most peaceful of Yuletides and, with the sound once again of The Incredible String Band ringing in my head I ask

May the long time sun shine upon you  

All love surround you  

And the pure light within you  

Guide your way on 

'til next time

Be Seeing You !

 ॐ

 

*They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods - Edith Wharton

Winter Is The Time For Comfort ... *

Good Morning Dear Friends!

Welcome once again to the wintery blast that is December - with a somewhat tardy trio of Snow Hares to usher in the first of the month of course - and today finds Yours Truly viewing the world via the study window in the barn in Deer Crossing, a tad further south than normal, in deepest Cheshire . . . I'm here housesitting as artisans splash paint and ensure boilers keep the home fires burning as, beyond the Velux, the day crisps nicely !

So, what's been occurring since last you popped by? Well, work has been progressing on a number of short stories, though not as many as originally planned due to other fun-filled tasks connected with some lovely folk I've met in the Wigwam who - as well as sharing a vision about just how nice the world could be if we were all just that bit more connected and friendlier to each other - have elected to share their time and talents with moi-même in order that together we can create a nouvelle vogue that will, tsunami like, wash away the old order . . . and, what is more, we're going to have fun doing it!  I'll also be showing these people these meanderings for the first time too in this post so a huge hello to you all - you know who you are!

I'm also working with groups of fledgling writers alongside some not-so-recently out of the nest and enjoying the process immensely; it's really rewarding to see people who perhaps haven't written very much since leaving school suddenly find the courage and the will to commit their thoughts and emotions to paper.  I'm also very fortunate that the groups contain others with much more skill and experience than this poor scribbler who inspire and encourage their peers more than I could ever hope to do.  Anyhow, we meet and drink tea and eat cakes and chocolate and gossip and counsel and cajole . . . we even sometimes write!

Meanwhile the day drifts on and I have a list of jobs to do before the light fades; I am being entrusted with the de-tangling and subsequent arrangement of over 1200 lights ready for the seasonal festivities about to befall us all in a mere 18 days or so; they are, I have to say, very subtle and small lights and I do have some experience of the task in hand . . . still, I'm sure I will be unable to complete it without some personal injury or affront to my dignity; not to mention a probable appearance of a few degrees of frost bite around my extremities! Still, I suppose its all part of the great and glorious festival we all call Saturnalia . . . don't we? Oh! 

I hope I manage to get a least one more post out to you good people before the festivities begin;  you are more than welcome to drop in here for a cup of something warming and cheery and an assuredly warm welcome.  In the meantime. please try not to get too stressed about the business of buying presents and what to wear etc; I'm happy to reassure you that were you to come empty-handed and dressed in rags there would always be room in this particular virtual inn

I hope you have a truly wonderful week and that there is enough warmth and cheer in your soul to keep your toes and hearts from freezing; if the snow arrives please use both it and the time it affords wisely and with love . . . perhaps by sitting by the fire and reading what I think is my favourite book of 2012 . . . there is a lot to be said for surrendering to solitude and peace and quiet and an equal amount to gained by offering your company to those who need perhaps just a little more love in their lives

Thank you for popping by; I hope you have a super time and enjoy yourself in the coming days . . .

Whoops - I must away; The gas man commeth!

'til next time



Be Seeing You !


 ॐ 




* "Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home" Edith Sitwell

What's Gone, and What's Past Help, Should Be Past Grief*

Good Afternoon Dear Friends! 

First of all, I must completely, totally and unreservedly apologise for the recent dearth of posts here; whilst it true there have been momentous difficulties and problems to deal with and still more to overcome, I have to say that  I have been a tad neglectful of you, my dear readers and loyal visitors to this verdant plot that is forever Myrtle House ...
... where, interestingly enough, were you to pop your ever-welcome phizzog around the door jamb you would find me not at my desk, head bowed in the waves of creative productivity but rather as an altogether more dishevelled creature, fleeced and somewhat forlorn on my bed as I seem to have succumbed to some viral visitation or other.  Anyhow, the lack of movement such infestations afford mean that I can attempt a tippytaptoe version of said blog on the lovely iPad whist attempting to focus and stop shivering long enough to compose a line of text!

Talking of which, and whilst we wait for the kettle to thrub and sing in order to allow us the excellence of a warming tisane, I can take the opportunity to tell you about a number of new works which have seen the light of day since last we spoke:

"Choosing" was written for and submitted to the Salt Short Story Prize and concerns two women and their lives as viewed on a rainy Wednesday evening in the car park of a local sports and leisure centre. It examines the choices - or lack of such - that they each feel they have and must make and I really rather like it! 

I've been doing some preliminary work on a community- memory project; I want to do a bit of a Cecil Sharp and collect the memories of local residents and weave them into a collection portraying the lives of people seventy plus years ago ... I feel one important aspect of this work is to persuade the contributors that their lives, their stories,  are as important and as worthwhile as anyone else's and deserve to be written down  In an attempt to introduce this concept, I quickly wrote a very short yet I feel timely piece entitled "Remembrance Day" which uses one tiny, momentary fragment of my life which I recall happening one Remembrance Day Sunday when I was nine or ten years old ...  And since that day so many moons in silence, have swum across the sky and gone below - as dear old Bertie Brecht said when remembering Maria A but it is the tiny things that make such memories fascinating and vital. 

Another such fragment of my memory was the starting point for a submission to the Book Week Scotland 2012 Flash Fiction competition; in less than five hundred words one was asked to consider one of four images from the special collections department from The University of Aberdeen and be thus inspired; the one I choose was entitled " On Thin Ice" which also became my story title. It showed a Victorian couple skating and was rather a bland image but for me the immediate feeling caused by memory was of blueness; that special blue of a midnight sky with snow; of frozen Norwegian landscapes from thirty years ago and of the colour of an illustration in an Andy Pandy annual I possessed as a child. The story is a brief, psychological insight into the female skaters thoughts and she follows the man silently across the thin ice.

I do believe I can hear the kettle whistling to attract my attention; not to mention the grumblings and rumblings surfacing from beneath my bed as The Famous Sally Dog tries to decide just what to do with a raw hide bone nearly half the length of her good self - simply eating it is not an option, of course, it must be carried around, hidden under cushions and behind tables, rediscovered and exhumed and carried about once more - along with the more amusing aspects such as leaving it in my bleary-eyed path whenever possible in order to watch me express myself in the terpsichorean mode whilst howling and holding my foot aloft ... Such are the joys of canine companionship!

Which reminds me, if you think you are beginning to see double and that images are repeating themselves on this bloggage, fear not! You are correct; it seems that Google who operate Blogger the software I use for blogging want me to download their atrocious Google+ software in order to upload pics from my iPhone or iPad; naturally this is not going to occur and so, for the time being at least, you may have to suffer a monotonous round of very familiar pictures, for which I can only apologise. 

Ah well, the light is fading in direct relation to my energy and so I shall take my leave of you; if you'd like to help yourself to tea on the way out please feel free, I won't join you just at the moment as I'm aching rather more than I want to and can feel the lure of a swift kip of the serene in the offing!

I hope you've enjoyed this brief sojourn at my bedside; and I hope not to have to do the same for you - may you be in rude and ruddy health, both hale and hearty and have a week simply overflowing with all possible love and sunshine. 

'Til next time


Be Seeing You !

I Saw Old Autumn . . . *

Good Afternoon Dear Friends!

And with a liberal sprinkling of the customary White Rabbits which were due as usual on the very first day of October, I welcome you, somewhat tardily, to the blog on this second Monday in the month!

As per the last time I wrote, you have tumbled upon my personage once again ensconced in the cosy environs of Sunshine House where plans are forging ahead to provide the good folk of Wigan with the opportunity to learn how to blog as badly as I do.  Along with other vastly secret plans -  which are thrilling beyond this poor writers imaginings -  these are some of the many ways  of  providing yours truly with the chance to earn a modest crust whilst having massively good fun with the collection of characters who gather around and share their experiences and good humour.

The stories are flying off the presses of my imagination thick and fast; some speeding off immediately to find their fame and fortune whilst others sit and wait their turn impatiently in the waiting room of my memory; one such Dick Whittington of a new short-short one is entitled "The Strand" and is set to appear in a forthcoming publication namely "The Wee Seaside Book" which should be available just in time for Christmas - what better gift with which to please your loved ones? What do you mean - you have a list? Hmmm ... Anyhow, I shall certainly furnish you with more details of that as they become available as they say and I look forward to your lavish praise as well as the royalties!

Whilst a this wonderful house of sunshine last week, I took the opportunity of reading three of my pieces - the above mentioned Strand, Miss Powell's Chair and Cutting The Mustard - to the Friday morning reading group.  It was such a marvelous feeling to be 'performing' again and to see peoples instant reactions to the twists and the turns in the narrative. We spent two hours in reading, chatting and discussing writing in general with the very positive outcome that the members of the group began to believe that their lives were as important as any one else's and should be written down for posterity which surely is a massively important part of the writer's role of providing inspiration as well as hopefully entertainment .

Life has become very full and busy over the past weeks with masses of opportunities and links being forged, meetings to attend, plans to hatch so hence the scarcity of postings here; I shall endeavour to make sure the frequency of these ramblings increases as I get more settled into some kind of a rhythm and that you are kept up to date with events as they unravel.  You may have noticed that I have deleted and deactivated my Facebook account which may mean that you're not getting notifications of postings etc. I am sorry about that but from now on I shall only be using Twitter to inform of such things; a new Myrtle house Facebook page may appear in the not too distant but, to be honest, the less I have to do with FB the better in my humble opinion.  If you are on Twitter and FB and would like to post when a blog is published on my behalf I would be more than happy and grateful.

The afternoon is drawing to a close and my time here is nearly at an end for today; I hope you are enjoying the Autumnal weather and are basking in the warmth of friendship and love despite the nippy eves!

'til next time


Be Seeing You !



 ॐ 


*I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand, shadowless like Silence, listening
To Silence.Thomas Hood

And These Days Dwindle Down To A Precious Few . . . *

Good Afternoon My Dear Friends!

It is indeed a goodly while since I last put pen to paper - or cursor to screen in this case - in fact, as I look at the dates it seems that I owe you two sets of three white rabbits at the very least!

This lack of communication is not because of any lack of impetus on my part but to severe technical difficulties which have afflicted me for fast approaching a year now but which will, I hope, soon be sorted and finally laid to rest .

Circumstances are changing rapidly and I'm now able to put more time and energy into my writing and also in the formation of the old e-publishing business which has the vaguest chance of becoming a reality in the near future . . . so there will be, at some point, a resurrection of sorts and Myrtle House will appear not only here but on its own website and blog - but you'll have to bear with me a tad longer for the details.

I'm actually writing this not too far away from the said House of Myrtle, in a rather swish room in the gorgeously named Sunshine House, across the river and into the trees near my old abode; this is one of the places where I hope to be flogging my wares shortly and bringing writing and blogging to a wider audience - well, one can but hope! Sunshine House has the distinction of being a veritable hotbed of creative activities as well as a thriving source of inspiration for yours truly and I am here under the auspices of the energetic Barbara who refuses to let anyone with an iota of any kind of talent pass by her doors without dragging them in and bombarding them with tea, cake and kindness . . . so stand by for more juicy details of my activities as they emerge!

Talking of creativity, as I am wont to do, I have been positively bursting with it recently; a new (very) short story entitled "Miss Powell's Chair" popped into my head from a dream and another is currently in progress whilst the novel  - which is the main Work in Progress - is up to chapter five . . . so you see, I haven't been lazing on my laurels whilst I've been away, have !?

Yet so soon it is September and with it comes not only the season of mist and mellow fruitfulness but also a round of birthdays.  Today is the celebration of the birth my wonderful Japanese 'daughter' Mana Takeshita whose email today to her rather crusty old English 'Dad' brought even more sunshine into this house; on Sunday the lovely and ever-tranquil Akashadevi celebrates her coming into being and I suddenly realise it is nearly thirty years since we used to walk together on the strand in Aberdeen . . . and of course this Friday would have been the eighty-ninth birthday of the Old Duchess... it's strange how time slips by without us hardly even noticing; perhaps, because these people never leave our hearts we forget that they are not around in our everyday life . . .

But enough of such musings; like the crocodile in Peter Pan the clock in my tum tells me it is time for tea and, in the best traditions of Alice, I shall hare home to prepare some for myself and, of course, the Famous Sally Dog who is still as waggy and 'fragrant' as ever . . . I think I need to employ her services in my writing projects to distract the poor folk attending and make them believe that they have had a good time - this is, along with biscuit location,  something she is uniquely talented in doing.

So I shall leave to to your evening; I hope you have a lovely one and that the weather fills you with the urge to spread a little sunshine and love to those around you.

'til next time

Be Seeing You !

ॐ

* September Song by Kurt Weill

The Flashing Bars of July*

Good Morning Dear Friends!

And, as it is the first day of July allow me once again to fill your bleary Sunday Morning eyes and ears with visions - in triplicate - of those members of the Leporidae clan, with particular reference to those devoid of pigmentation; to say nothing of mild fisticuffs of the order of pinching and punching ... where have the previous six months fled to? Anyhow, this is to be the very shortest of blogs, just to wish you a wonderful month ahead.

Beyond the study windows a steady sheet of rain drapes over the day making it seem like an unwanted and forgotten piece of furniture, in a locked and unremembered room; it is said that we see what we feel and hence my dismal imagery, for it has been a trying and troublesome time and, between you, me and the gate post, I've had more than enough of the stuff that life throws at one ... Oh hum!

Any old how, on a brighter note, I've just heard from friends taking part in the Sun Walk at Battersea Park in the great wen that is Lungdung that the weather is lovely and that a joyous carnival atmosphere pervades all which is, of course, brilliant news! The walk - which is just over thirteen miles- is in aid of Breast Cancer research and so the vast majority of walkers are parading around in undergarments decorated appropriately which must add to the party spirit ... Sadly, Rigby and Peller failed to have mine delivered on time and so I must content myself with cheering from the sidelines - these lines being drawn somewhere in the vicinity of the newly refurbished Costa where, very shortly, I shall be partaking of breakfast tea and cake with Sam and Andrew, aka Mr and Mrs Gecko... talking of which I had better begin the long dance of transformation in order not to shock the waiting world too much . . .

And now it is later and, thanks to a flying visit to the shire of cheese, I too can see the shining face of Pheobus and very nice it is too!  I'm spending a few hours here and taking the opportunity to continue this scribblage in the quiet and peaceful hamlet of Deer Crossing, where the only sound to break the mirror surface of the day is birdsong and the tip tapping of Yours Truly as the words fall like the rain and pain I've left behind.

I hope the new month fills you with joy and the promise of much more to come; sorry this is so brief but time is short and I need to recharge my jaded old soul somewhat in the few hours left.

'til next time

Be Seeing You !

 ॐ

*"The Summer looks out from her brazen tower,
Through the flashing bars of July."
- Francis Thompson, A Corymbus for Autumn  



Don’t Be Dismayed At Good-Byes*

Good Morning Dear Friends!

Welcome to the study at Myrtle House where, after over five hours delay due to technical problems, today's blog is finally taking shape. It is, of course Father's Day and one can suppose that everywhere dads have been somewhat reluctantly tucking into burnt offerings and cold cups from their offspring, whilst looking faux-appreciatively at the inevitable ties and socks and cheesy Hallmark products festooned in vintage cars, cricket bats or below-the-belt remarks regarding bodily functions; let no-one ever tell you that being a man is easy! Such events, of course, do not take precedent here in the heart of the Victorian Quarter; Sal assures me that a lack of funds and opposable thumbs, alongside the inability of shopkeepers to understand her requirements, have resulted in the lack of appropriate cardage but personally I think she simply forgot!

More to the forefront of my mind today however, is the fleetingness of time. Mad and impossible though it seems, today is the first anniversary of the death of the Old Duchess; several times, over the past few weeks and cups of tea and cake with Sister Cate, the realisation has struck us quite forcibly that time seems to be increasing in momentum and that we barely have time to grasp today before it is gone; and certainly never with such impact as when considering the fact that it is a full year since May died.  In many ways it seems as though she has been gone forever; her house is now lived in by someone else; her belongings which she had collected over a lifetime are scattered -  as are her ashes -  to the four winds and the seven seas yet, at one and the same time, it seems only yesterday that we last spoke to her. 

The fact that she lives on in our memories, as vital and vibrant as ever,  helps to blur the distinction between what was and what is. She was a remarkably resilient woman and one I was incredibly proud of and I, personally, find myself reminded of her at the oddest moments. I was re-watching "84 Charring Cross Rd" the other day and remembered sitting watching it for the first time together with her one afternoon and her remarking how much she enjoyed it; like "Brief Encounter" it was the perfect film for May; no violence or suspense, nothing to worry her and perfect for a good weep on your own when no-one else was around. She wasn't a great believer in worrying other people with her troubles, though it has to be said her life wasn't exactly free from such worries and I'm sure I was quite a significant cause of many of them. 

It seems almost facile to say I miss her; I had known her every moment of my life and when that presence is suddenly taken away it isn't easy to come to terms with but, in many ways, I am glad she had the death she did, the death she wanted; independent and without being a burden (her greatest fear) and after the shortest of illnesses.  She was alone when she died but, then again, we all are; it is the one thing we can guarantee no-one else can share with us. So I hope you'll excuse me taking up so much of our time talking about this; I wanted to mark her anniversary in this way and I know she would be very pleased, though probably not a little embarrassed,  to know we were all thinking of her.

Time is up to its old tricks again and I see, with some sense of shock, that it is already past lunchtime, that I have been up and about some seven hours and am quite incredibly hungry; mumbles and grumbles from herself inform me that I am not the only one and surely a walk is in the offing on a quite remarkably dry day? I suppose it is, and with that I shall leave you for this afternoon.

I hope the rest of your weekend astounds you with its sheer wonderfulness and that the week ahead stretches golden-like and full of promise.

'til next time

Be Seeing You !

ॐ

*Don’t be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends. Illusions, p132,  Richard Bach