Salt of the Earth

Just some really excellent salt.

Educating Rita

Another BBC radio gem.
This time listened to in the middle of the night as I was too cold to fall asleep...

I found Educating Rita inspiring.
The tale of a married 20-something hairdresser who was determined to study and understand English litirature in opposition to her husband's wishing of settling down and starting a family. I think I could identify, to some extent, with the feelings of disatisfaction and longing to excell at something. Although I am in no position to complain about my educational opportunities. I think it's probably true of a fair number of people...wanting what you can't have or longing to be good at something you have neglected in the past? I often muse on my choices about further education and whether or not I am doing the right thing. I think I was talking to someone about this the other day...but I wonder sometimes where you should leave dreams behind and accept reality. When does it becoming 'giving up' or 'not trying' as opposed to just being realistic and sensible?
Anyway...that's drifted a little bit from really what I thought I was going to talk about, which is reading and literature and passion.

I love reading, but I really wish I knew more about 'litrature'. I acutally quite miss the discussions we used to have in English classes at school about what the writer really meant, and discovering the depth of some of the passages in novels. It's so much more rewarding to discuss with someone else than simply read on your own.

I want to read more peotry. But I'm too lazy to get around to doing it.

Mayb one day I'll join one of those book groups where you do that.
We attempted one a few year ago but it dissolved pretty rapidly into just drinking wine...

Forest Bathing

On Saturday mornig I indulged in some warm and wonderful Radio 4 listening.

I was delighted to stumble upon a feaure called "The Secret Power of Trees". (Perhaps you can also enjoy this programme at http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b01p7fgv/The_Secret_Power_of_Trees/)  It was a fascinating programme about how we interact with forests and how they might impact our health....

I like really liked the idea of Japanese Forest Bathing, or 'Shinrinyoku' as it is known in Japanese. Apparently an age old practice of strolling through the woodland... Sound prety idyllic and has been shown scientifically to improve not only psychological but physical well-being. Boosting the immune system! It was also shown that exercising in a forested environment, as opposed to an urban one, lowers your blood pressure and other physiological parameters further. That's pretty neat, if you ask me.
 (Some of the scientific evidence to back up a good walk in the trees being good for you... http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2793346/ http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2793341/)

The Aude valley with Rosa; August 2011

 



I was also really intrested in the social and cultural aspect of this programme.
It explored our relationship with forests and woodland. In Great Britain, we have quite an affectionate view of forests, perhaps related to classic childhood novels such as Winneh the Pooh's 100 Acre Wood. Other countries, such a Germany, have more sinister tales of woodland, with the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm associating forests with witches and wolves, danger and secrets.

Tentsmuir forest with Imogen; March 2010

 

Finally, I just want to reflect on trees and why humans seem to develope the relationships they do with them; because I doubt I am alone in holding them in great esteem.
They are pretty amazing organisms. Some of the largest living things on earth, but so non-threatening. There great age seems to instill them with a sense of wisdom and understanding. And their great height with some sort of property of reaching into the heavens and being above the trivialities of human exsistance.  All these things make it even more sad when woodland and forests are destroyed...

Lake District; October 2010

Letters

I've said it before. I will say it again.  There is nothing more delightful than a handwritten letter. Even better when you come home from a long week working away from home and it's sitting nestled in your bedclothes, waiting to be read, enjoyed and treasured.


Delicious.

Better?

 

 

 

Yes, better.

Twelve Short Walks

This time last year I travelled to The Baltic in Newcastle to see the Turner Prize nominees for 2011. Primarily to see Karla Black (after my flat mate Holly spent last summer working for her exhibition in the Venice Biennale).

That weekend I fell in love with Martin Boyce (both person and work). We were lucky enough to catch him giving a talk about his work... He loves trees. I love trees. It's a match made in heaven.  I didn't even realise he was the same person who's exhibition I had enjoyed previously in Dundee two years ago...

So

I was over joyed when he won the 2011 Turner Prize.

 

 

But I didn't being this post to talk about Martin Boyce. I wanted to speak about George Shaw.

He was also nominated for the Turner Prize in 2011. I found his exhibition at the Baltic really disappointing. And thought no more about it.  On a recent visit to London, I think, I stumbled across some beautiful etchings of trees by a man named George Shaw. I thought the name rang a bell so I noted it down.

Today I found that note and made that google expedition... It is the same George Shaw.

George, why did you put rubbish photos in your Turner patch?

 

 

 

 



Reading

I always have, and I believe always will, love cake.

When Saturday feels like Sunday.

Electricity

I do a lot of thinking in the shower.


Perhaps that's why our electricity bill is so high....

A passage about human exsistence

This is an extract from the book I am reading, Tess of the D'Urbevilles by Thomas Hardy, which I found really moving.  It is in reference to the death of Tess's new born illegitimate child. She has named it Sorrow.

So passed away Sorrow the Undesired - that intrusive creature, that bastard gift of shameless Nature, who respects not the social law; a waif to whom eternal Time had been a matter of days merely, who knew not that such things as years and centuries ever were; to whom the cottage interior was the universe, the week's weather climate, new-born babyhood human existence, and the instinct to suck human knowledge. 

I think though the events are tragic and unfortunate this passage is actually really beautiful and wonderfully describes the innocence of infancy.

Evolution

£2 coin; given to me on the bus today.

When I was younger I spent hours debating over dinner with my family about why we needed money.

Why couldn't we all just be nice to each other and exchange goods and skills?

I still don't understand economics.

In A Box

Eu gosto de apanhar legumes

Today I cycled through the morning mist to join in hoeing and weeding and harvesting (my favourite past-time) in the glorious greenery of the Dundee Botanical Gardens.

My fresh stash

Who would have thought getting my hands a little muddy could make me so happy!  It reminds me of being back in France in the sun shine and without a care in the world; even if it started to rain very hard about 30 minutes in...
During the rain we sheltered inside the hot-house with the cactus and ate cake. That was also delightful.

Cycling along made me realise I am very unfit. -_-

Sunlit studying

Moth on Wall

A Poem

The Hug

It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined
Half of the night with our old friend
Who'd showed us in the end
To a bed I reached in one drunk stride.
Already I lay snug,
And drowsy with the wine dozed on one side.

I dozed, I slept. My sleep broke on a hug,
Suddenly, from behind,
In which the full lengths of our bodies pressed:
Your instep to my heel,
My shoulder-blades against your chest.
It was not sex, but I could feel
The whole strength of your body set,
Or braced, to mine,
And locking me to you
As if we were still twenty-two
When our grand passion had not yet
Become familial.
My quick sleep had deleted all
Of intervening time and place.
I only knew
The stay of your secure firm dry embrace.

Thom Gunn

Juddging

I recently discovered Donald Judd. I would like to visit his pad in Texas.

Hook, line and sinker

Some pretty porcelain in Summerhall

Foraging

Went to a delightful and insightful 'art' the other night.

Composed by 3 men from down in England somewhere; they had come to Scotland with a few vegetables from an allotment and with these objects, and others foraged in and around Edinburgh, they began a process of bartering for food.

The result was two delicious soups, salads and a very potent wild raspberry vodka concoction.

There was also an aray of edible plants.

Sorrel was my favourite - it tasted like raspberries.

I'm looking forward to growing vegetables in te allotment in Dundee soon.

I enjoy pudding.

 Or as some Americans may insist 'Dessert'

 

This is my lovingly crafted Tira-mi-su with amaretto. 

It went down very well.

Cakes; even better shared.

Local Lochs

I like water.
I like Scottish Water.

I consistantly like apples.

Always.

Sometimes, I like pop stars.

Sometimes, I like art.

Here's hoping.

I googled "farming in france" to help me revise. This is what I'm lead to believe my summer will be like.

My life as a turkey

I had a presentation and viva yesterday about my honours project, accounting for 25% of my degree mark this year. I was rather nervous about it but in the end it all went very smoothly, and I came out the other side feeling rather content. As a treat I took the evening off and watched a programme called My Life as A Turkey.

The title made it sound quite bad; some stupid overhyped channel 4 documentary. My assumption could not have been further from the truth. It was stunning. I was so moved by it!

This guy spent over a year living day and night with a clutch of 16 wild turkeys whom he had reared from hatching. It was a fascinating insight into the life cycle of these turkeys. The part I enjoyed particularly was how this man became integrated into the local woodland wildlife. It seems that as he was integrated and accepted as at one with this brood of turkeys he was also accepted as one with all of the other woodland creatures. The whole programme was so captivating! So many delightful shots of the turkeys being fascinated with tortoises and their innate ability to know which snakes were dangerous and which animals were harmless. I was so touched by how attached this man became to his turkey family; and how much he felt he learnt from them. I really can't find words to express how charmed and delighted I was.

I would really, really love to have an experience like this at some time in my life. The chances of that happening are slim. But probably only by my own obstacles. I imagine it would be very hard to give up your comfortable and material driven life for on win the forest. But at the same time I think it would be incredibly liberating and invigorating. Maybe when I'm having a mid-life crisis at the age of 40 and want to reinvent my life.... I can't wait. http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b0133r58/Natural_World_20112012_My_Life_as_a_Turkey_Natural_World_Special/

The Answer?

I hope my summer holidays are like this :

Easter Accomplishments

Wild Mountain Thyme.

I can't relly imagine a life without Fotheringay.
I am forever indebted to HKYfor this.
Many Thanks Pumpkin.

Good things come to those who ate.

Peeling an orange and looking at google homepage I was treated to a delightful animation relating to the largest snow flake ever to fall from the sky.

38000 centimeters in diameter; Fort Keogh, Montana, United States, 28th January 1887

New Window

I used to miss the view out my window at 105A Nethergate. But this new one ain't so bad.

A great re-discovery

Yes. Yes I want you back.

This refers to the above snack. Not a person. Just for clarification.

Recently Read

Since returning to university I have read a little.
For my die-hard fans I have written a little about what I thought on the novels in question.

If This is A Man by Primo Levi.
This book was incredible. It was both fascinating and horrific. The most poignant and tragic moment for me was the very last page of the book. Reminding you it is not a novel with a happy ending but a true account man's life ruined and tortured forever. And not only this single man but a whole generation of Jews. It describes him finally arriving home to his family in Italy after years in Auschwitz and journeying home. Although he returns to find his family alive, his house intact, he still wakes in the middle of the night and believes he is back in the lager. And his return was nothing but a cruel dream.

	You who live safe
	In your warm houses,
	You who find, returning in the evening,
	Hot food and friendly faces:
	Consider if this is a man
	Who works in the mud,
	Who does not know peace,
	Who fights for a scrap of bread,
	Who dies because of a yes or a no.
	Consider if this is a woman
	Without hair and without name,
	With no more strength to remember,
	Her eyes empty and her womb cold
	Like a frog in winter.
	Meditate that this came about.
	I commend these words to you.
	Carve them in your hearts,
	At home, in the street,
	Going to bed, rising;
	Repeat them to your children.
	Or may your house fall apart,
	May illness impede you,
	May your children turn their faces from you.

Night by Elie Weisel
This was another, much shorter, personal account of a young boy's time in Auschwitz.
Although this was also a very moving and horrifying book, it was not as poetic as If This Is A Man. And being a lot shorter it did not go into the same dept and descriptions. I'm not sure I particularly enjoyed reading this book, although it has received a lot of praise. Perhaps had I read the two in the opposite order, or further apart in time I would have appreciated it more.

I don't want to read much more about concentration camps for a while. I keep having dreams about being in one.

Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald
I quite liked this book. However, focusing mainly on indulged Americans living in the Mediterranean I can't say I felt much empathy with the characters. It reminded me a little of Human Traces by Sebastian Faulks - mostly because a man set up a sanatorium and the issues to do with mental health. Human Traces is a much better book though.

I also decided recently that The Grapes of Wrath is probably my favourite book. For the poignant ending and the whole chapter devoted to a turtle crossing the road. That part is really great.

Oh! And if I remember correctly it also contains a bit about a boy coming home from school with toads and lizards in his lunch box. That's my favourite part of a book ever. (I have since found out that it is actually The Red Pony, also by Steinbeck which has section about boy with lizards in his lunch box)