Short Break

Just to say that I shall be back after 14th September.

Until then, here is a Northumbrian Red Squirrel, courtesy of a friend, to keep you company -



¡Hasta luego!

Memory Bank

Continuing with memories, I shall share an excerpt from 'Violet and Lavender' .... because ... just because



“Are we going to Memory Bank?" asks Pansy Soup. She feels excited. In her mind she sees Memory Bank as a large cave echoing with memories, “but it probably isn’t like that at all,” she thinks and shivers. She turns to Larry.
“I wouldn't like to find bad memories,” she whispers to him, “especially not in a cave.”
“Then we won’t look for them,” whispers back Larry. “I think that it's a bank. If it is, the memories will be locked away.”
“I don't want to travel on another watermelon, Violet Jelly,” shudders Lavender, interrupting Pansy Soup’s thoughts about memories. “That situation was far too sticky and striped.”
“Let us see what Laptop suggests,” answers Violet Jelly. She types in ‘MEMORY BANK'’ and presses ‘RETURN’.
A soft, damp mist comes down. It is refreshing and cool. The middle of the mist turns warm and feels cosy. They each become drowsy and light - so light that they float.
“I,” thinks Pansy Soup, but she is too drowsy to begin her thought and she drifts in the mist, mind and body.
“Lull - a - bye....,” Lavender's voice sounds out softly and slowly through the mist.
“Bye,” whispers back Violet Jelly.
“Zzzzzzzz....” Larry is snoring, until...
“Oyez! Oyez!” bellows a deep voice.
‘Clang! Clang!’ clangs a large, brass hand bell.
The cacophony of noise brings Larry to his senses. He rubs his eyes and thinks, “It’s my ears that are sore. I should be rubbing those.”
“Ooh! A Town Crier! I remember those days............”
“Do you remember when market stalls had coloured awnings?..........”
“The memory of Market Square - all the exciting sounds and smells..............”
"”here are these voices coming from?” Larry puzzles and looks around.
The mist is clearing. He sees Pansy Soup stumbling sleepily towards him.
“Is it morning, Larry?” she calls out.
“I can’t answer that,” Larry tells her, “but where are these voices coming from?” he asks Pansy Soup.
“I thought I was dreaming them,” she calls back still moving towards Larry.
“I don’t think so,” says Larry. “They are all around.”
“Move along!” orders a voice that sounds as if it is coming from a megaphone. “In FILE, please!” and, “You cannot stand there!”
Larry looks around for the second time.
“Is it speaking to me?” he wonders.
“Pansy Soup!” he exclaims and grabs her arm. She is about to stumble past him.
“Two of you!” the voice remarks loudly. “FILE UP!”
“Where are Lavender and Violet Jelly, Pansy Soup?” Larry asks and then he sees them drifting in his direction, still resting in soft mist.
Pansy Soup and Larry move forward to meet them. Pansy Soup taps Lavender on the shoulder, in case she is asleep, and Larry gives Violet Jelly a gentle nudge.
“We are at Memory Bank,” says Pansy Soup.
Violet Jelly and Lavender smile and stretch. The mist dissolves and they find themselves standing beside Larry and Pansy Soup.
“Oooh!” coos Lavender. “Lemon Curd and plump, fresh strawberries.”
“For tea, when we were young,” responds Violet Jelly dreamily.
“But not together,” states Lavender.
“I was remembering,” recalls Violet Jelly, “when we were children.” She smiles broadly.
“So was I, Violet Jelly,” says Lavender. “It was cool and green in the woods, with a mist of bluebells.”
“I was there, too, in my memory, Lavender. We took cinnamon biscuits and lemonade.”



And here we leave them to the rest of their adventure.

And leave you with thoughts of daisies

Gate of Dreams

I consider this 'my gate' with thoughts paused to gaze ... and in the distance, memories

Memories of standing watching
Memories of the warm smell of goat and donkey
Memories of soft muzzles, rough coats
Memories of evening walks, soft tread, and excitement at the rustle and rootle of hedgehogs, intent each on its own scuttling path

"Memories," speaks the gate to my mind, "to evoke time spent, long gone, but memories remain, linger on

Harmony with Bats

Sitting, whilst evening transcends day, sipping a cool glass of white wine as birds retreat and bats swoop, flit, is special - calm and relaxing;

a time to share
a time to reflect
a time to feel joyous for all that has gone before;
the character building ups and downs of a life -

definitely a time to relax and reflect with a cool glass of white wine

Queen of the Pixels

This was my favourite hibiscus, so flawlessly yellow.
It has since died.
Because this hibiscus is from our first days in Spain,it evokes nostalgia, excitement and the sense of adventure that beginning a 'new life' brings.
But ... there is more!
this hibiscus inspired 'The queen of the Pixels' (a character in my book Violet Jell.
A book needs a queen, or similar, and this is how my thoughts and photographs entwined to create her.



I used this photograph, which I rotated. I cut out the part I wished to use and placed it onto a transparent background in Photoshop.
I drew in her silhouette face, popped on her small shoes and pulled forward her hood to shroud her.

And here she is - returned resplendent to her hibiscus throne.



For me, that my illustrations each encompass a part of my life gives them a deeper meaning, as a part of me lies there, too.

Sheep Recipe

More fun ... a remnant from a 'woolly' life in Ireland.














Sheep recipe

Full, fat, woolly fleece
rolled to shape.
Ram in four blackthorn legs,
scooter ears,discoloured acorn face
complete with mechanical baa
in varied pitch.
Multiply by forty or fifty
and place on verdant green
smooth hummock-hill.

There leave your flock of sheep
to safely graze the
pasture opposite your eye;

to butt and race wool-wobbling
daily rituals, whilst you,
behind confining window,
perform a daily ritual;
watching them.








** And today marks an occasion - my book 'Violet Jelly' is now for sale on amazon.com - so I hope that many 8-80 years, plus, will read it ... for fun! **

Oddities

This is what I love about life and the unpredictability of fun; that it is certainly more crazy than any fiction.

My Spanish neighbour insists that one of his small 'rescued' dogs, Yani, has a degree from Oxford (cap, gown and all) and that its reason for trotting down the mountainside to visit me is to study for a degree in English.
Yani is delighted to have such an excuse to avail of the fuss and garden soft furnishings!

More summer, or all the year round, madness - I turned from tidying something into a drawer to type in my email user name only to find that it had been done for me (incorrectly, I hasten to add). I looked away from the screen to find Rupert, my black cat assistant, sitting innocently at the side of the keyboard intimating that it was nothing to do with him and that had it been so there would certainly be no errors. At least I think that that was what he inferred.


'Rupert the Panther' taking time out from computing to play with 'Sean Cuddler Kitten'

Back to earth and sanity as I discover the need to redo sixteen illustrations that are in the incorrect resolution.
Life.

On the Horns of a Dilemma

Easily, I can visualise that phrase. To me, it is a brilliant assemblage of words. So much so that, having explained the meaning to my grandson, I asked him if he could draw a 'Dilemma'.

And here it is .... for sharing ....



He explained that it has to be insect like in order to see all around, that it can transform and that it has fire at the base of its right leg.
All in a day's play for a seven year old!

Hope you enjoy it.

Newcastle City Library

Well, I made it, ran the workshop and managed the podcast - thanks to a fantastic team of librarians.

This library is amazing in itself - an inspiration. All glass and many floors, it is littered with seating areas, places to relax, read, take in the city views (pigeon perspective).

The stars were the children, who produced words, pictures and storyboards, each so individual; each mind and imagination a unique treasure chest from which to create.
A truly enriching and humbling experience .... which I am to be fortunate enough to repeat in the future.

And, I return to find, so much original weaving of words and pictures to delve into on my favourite blogs.



Contented!

A Surprise Post, slotted in

Look! The first Passion Flower opened its bud to reveal an intricately woven centre and loose, abandoned fronds, twisting and curling, presided over by the precise machinery of stamens.
Beautiful, magnificent, truly amazing!

And now - ¡me voy!

Newcastle Bound - but not on a coal boat!

This is my last July post as I am absent from my writing space. But, I hope to catch up with all of your posts via friends on my travels, if and when possible.

The cover is the original cover of my first book in the 'Violet Jelly' trilogy. It heads this post as I am excited that, during my time away, I have been invited to talk about writing and illustrating to children at Newcastle City Library on the twenty seventh of the month. I am even to do a podcast for their web site!

www.newcastle.gov.uk/libraries

That my hope is for as many children as want to to have the opportunity of reading the book makes this a special venture for me. Also, to encourage the scribbles and word weaving of others is always a delight. Children are honest, so I shall know where I stand if nothing else.

I shall be back in August. I leave grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of an enjoyable afternoon!

Davenport

To bring to a close my summer scribbles thoughts, I leave you with this poem, written a number of years ago in memory one of my favourite aunts;


Davenport

I remember where the polished, walnut davenport
was placed against an ideal wall
between two sash windows open on the first floor
to Market street's feet-on-cobble bustle
of an awning bright shopping day.
espresso coffee aroma drifts upwards
from ice-cream parlour below into
cool, dark interior of a silent lounge.
So many words written here,
where wood and leather meet invitingly
and the rocking blotter sucks dry
lines of business and of pleasure.
Pristine paper set in readiness
for metal nib poised to dip.
I can see spider-writing
and your hand;
thoughts scribbled on your mind;
picture you from behind, hair soft, frail figure -
image of a maiden aunt busy penning fond, endearing
phrases, or setting immaculate figures in columned
ledgers. Creeping up on you
I run my small hand round the desk edge,
absorbing solid smoothness through my fingertips
and long to spider-write there too.
Now, the strong clawed feet of the davenport
stand here, letters fill a drawer
and the warm lustre of your presence
creeps up on me as I write.