Poets, painters and puddings. These three things make the world as it ought to be.

The Vaucluse

The little creak near to my friend Kristi's home, I have just spent a very short time there, and it was concentrated bliss, and then I came home. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOh God we are tidying David's barn, I cannot tell you what a nightmare it is, we are into week three and I am demented, I have to stop today other wise, I might, well all sorts of things to horrible to mention.

Let me try and explain a little, not to the detriment of David, or to men in general, but some men, just don't put away, they use something and they dump it, and when you think that this can be done over and over again thousands and thousands of times with thousands and thousands of differant little things, over many years and nothing thrown away, but more gleefully collected from any cunning Tom, dick, Harry, Mary of Jane, who knows of Davids love of collecting junk, who cares to stop by and use us and Davids barn as their local tip. Well then think of a least 40 boxes filled with an assortment, of dirt, screws, nuts and bolts, selotape, ballons, hand cream, tap fittings, ancient light fittings from old houses in england, old computor plugs, old tv plugs, plasters, nappies, cotton wool buds, lead piping, oh goodness you name it, you can find it in the barn, knives forks, plates, jugs, love letters, scattered in the wind resting against the dirt and the broken sacs of cement whose powder has solidified into a nasty mess, and the broken chairs waiting to be mended, pile up in a nasty heap, on top of rotting mattresses and rotting carpet, and the cement blows in the wind, and the broken tiles lie scattered in heaps of dust anywhere and everywhere, ancient car tyres that will not any modern day vechule, endless plastic cannisters with small bits of car oil in, to be found anywhere and everywhere in this mind blowing heap of chaos, a boat, boat bits, a trailor, I could go on ad infinitum, but I am begining to calm down. It is all getting the better of me.

Three weeks ago, I thought if we worked really hard together it would be done in a week, but now we are in week three and although we are nearly finished, so am I. I have neglected my life, my art completely and of course, I am angry now and hissing at David, he comes through the door, my neck thickens and rises and my forked tongue lashes out, leaving a cut on his cheek and a pain in his heart, he looks at me stoicly and I can see him, controlling himself and trying to be loving. I should not blame him, blame is approaching evil, he is who is, messy, so what, the barn is almost tidy, it was my idea, and I most certainly should not blame someone with my idea, it's just, well it's just I cannot bear to see it looking so awfull, so messy so folorn, you can actually hear the barns sigh of relief as It is tidied. We need to do it if we are to use it for our wedding, and it is almost done, by tomorrow I will be painting in my studio and doing my own thing, and I must remember to be grateful, even be grateful for a barn full of junk. I have a home, I have so much love in my life and I am a very lucky very happy woman.

I shall write tomorrow because I would like to tell you of my lovley trip to see my friend.

Tara

There is everything you need to know just resting in the afterglow

Or the morning glow. Today was a differant sort of day, it rained ice last night, not hail not snow, just ice, it froze, oh yes yesterday in the afternoon the sun came out and melted the top layer of the snow, during the night it froze, and then it rained ice, this morning the sun shone brightly, the snow looked like it had a thick layer of glossy varnish, quite amazing the icicles glistened on the trees, I took some great photos but have not yet downloaded them. Every one is in a rush for christmas, I cooked yesterday dinner for the family, roast chicken roast potatoes, roast parsnips, carrot courgette and ginger stuffing, and we all ate a lot and played christmas carols and sang loadly, it was very jolly and I feel happy to be alive and to have such lovley people in  my life. A demain

In a Winter Wonderland

I left France a sunny warm morning, well not that warm.\, it just sounds quite nice to the ears, and I arrived in New York in a snow blizzard they were unsure if we would land, and when we did I was unsure if anyone was going to pick me up, I panicked a bit, jet lag can do nasty things to me, expecially when one is waiting in a godforsaken place like JFK. but the lovley Michael was there to pcik me up and we drove back here to a crisp snow filled night where icecles had taken over the landscape and wrapped themselves around every branch every tree, every wire and fence, an unusual sight for someone who lives in the south of France, entranced with the tall trees and the frosty out look I have been taking photographs since I arrived.

New Years Day

All the leaves are gone and the sky is grey. Actually it is grey out there today, and a bit rainy, so it has been a good day to sit and reflect about the year past and the year to come. All the things that I can let go of, all the fears and anxieties that don't really belong in my life, considering I am one of the luckey few on this planet. What is it 8% of the world's population are privaliged the rest of the world either lives in abject poverty or in war zones or in some kind of catastrophe natural or otherwise. So it is a time to count my luckey stars of which I must have zillions for all the love that is in my life, the choices that I have, the friendships, the warmth, the chickens that come running when they hear my voice, the cat that rolls over and purs when I walk into the room, the dogs that leap with joy when they see me, and the most glorious part of the world to live in. Who could ask for anything more.

Teddy the Teller of Terribly Tall Tales

Just to take you back to the evening of the explosive thanksgiving dinner, just for now, we won't have to go there again, but I have a shocking tale to tell on behalf of Teddy the Teller of Tall tales.

Clara was admiring a wooden sculpture behind her, and asked Samanatha to tell her about it, and this is what she said:

" It is beautiful isn't it? by an amazing artist ( I cannot remember his name) he went to Africa on a tour to paint and sketch and wandered into a lovley village where he met Teddy, now Teddy was akin to the Village fool, but was no fool at all as is usually the case. Teddy would clown around to make people laugh, something he had always enjoyed since childhood, he made up stories and exagerated real life happenings, the village people would crowd around him as he sat in his favourite place, an old tatty wooden bench in the shade of the Baobab tree, there his freinds would lay entranced as he told tale after tall tale. Now one day a new policeman and his family moved into the village, not that they had ever had any need for policing up to now, but the local governement thought it was a thoroughly good way of generating more work and keeping those lazy village people who idled their time away listening to a no good story teller under control.

The new police man was strict and very ugly he had a huge scar on the side of his face from some fiercesom fight he had been in. The village started to whisper and very soon little tales about this man and his nasty family were set in motion, Teddy listened with glee and started to make up his own terrible tale. So on one regretable sunday afternoon under the shade of the Boabab Tree, Teddy started to tell the villages his exagerated tale of the SCAR on the policemans face. Unbenkownst to Teddy scarface was not even 20 meters away taking in every tall word that Teddy spoke. He arrested him, and under his local governments law, had Teddy's tongue cut out in full veiw of all the villagers, then to make Teddy's degredation worse, Teddy was forced to wear his very own tongue around his neck on a peice of string. The young artist who had witnessed this barbaric event, fled the village, and when he came home to France made a wooden sculpture of ten faces with ten tongues that you could either put back in the mouths or take out, and this is the sculpture, I bought it, not just because of its beauty but also because of the tale it tells."

Clara did find it difficult to eat after that, every mouthful she thought of Teddy and where she alive today, I am sure she would say be carefull what you say, don't mess with the truth too much, it could get get you in trouble.

Now what I worry about in the country I live in is not that I tell tales, but quite how tall I can tell them. Luckily here I will not get into trouble as long as it is innocent.