30 September 2010

Willow's Ball...

This is a terribly long post, so I apologise in advance. Today has been full of things to do and places to go, and all of a sudden I look at the calendar and the Third Annual Willow Manor Ball is here!
I rushed to the bus station to go home and change as I was attending the Over the Edge Reading tonight. It was lovely as always, and I was able to see much more this time, though my mind did drift a little. Hey, I'm a writer, what do you expect? Wonderfully a poem read early in the evening won the poetry section of the Over the Edge New Writer of the Year. MM and I got coffee and a chocolate éclair at the local bakery. Mind you, this was at eight pm. Then we strolled down Shop Street, listened to Key West playing.

When I returned home, I remembered the Manor Ball, so of course I had to rush! I had my dress, my shoes, my accessories, my car... I decided to go dateless, as there are so many wonderful people attending, perhaps I shall just steal...But no, I am too polite for that, I will soak up the atmosphere while reposing on the sofa. Not for the whole night mind you, have you noticed the moon? Moonlight and my dress go so well together...
Here, my stylists have worked so hard I can't let their magic not be showcased.
The car ( a customised Bentley GT Continental) of course, will rush down the roads, taking the bends dangerously.

Lucky I have already applied lipstick! Just before the manor it slows to a crawl, silently sliding up to the entrance. What is the first thing you see as the driver opens my door?

Blue Carvela satin shoes. Ah lovely, and not so expensive. But there must be a dress, perfect for dancing and moonlit strolls and I have found it.

And that necklace I am also wearing, complete with a twig ring , Hercules-knot bracelet, and chandelier earrings (earrings from here), all below.


My hair (it's dark brown by the way) is coiled in an elegant Victorian coiffure, seen below. 


You will perhaps have noticed that my theme is timeless elegance and simple grace. Achieved?

Now if you will excuse me, I just have to sample something chocolate. My guess is that there is a great variety. I myself have taken the liberty of asking my personal chef to prepare the same cake he baked for my birthday. It is made with Lindt 70% Cacao Noir and Belgian powdered chocolate. It is simply named Death by Chocolate.
I do believe I see him now, the cake elegantly wrapped in brown paper and ribbon and deposited in the wicker basket of his penny-farthing.
Here, chef!

 If you patiently look you will likely find the owners and makers of these images and objects. I apologise that I have forgotten some and have provided links for the ones I knew that you can follow by clicking on the pictures. If you see your own and would like credit or for me to remove it, contact me through my profile, link on the sidebar to the right.

21 September 2010

Unexpected Growth

No one would have believed that such a little seed

could grow to blossom so grandly with flowers so large

that all the other plants died in the shadow of the weed

Carry On Tuesday

19 September 2010

Joie de Vivre

The time spent in biting into fresh fruit,
in looking out at the rain and smiling,
in making a bed with clean sheets at sunset,
that time is an ingredient in an immortal recipe
for joie de vivre, and it is not wasted.

One Single Impression 

18 September 2010

Autumn and Winter

It was simple, the littlest whisper of change, but everything noticed it. Even as I sit here, the rain is slapping onto the window and the wind is flinging the potato leaves. The clothesline is swaying back and forth, if you stood near it the clothes pins would take your eyes.
My hands are cold, even though I am wrapped in a jumper and neck warmer and hat.
In one day, suddenly, without warning, autumn was here.
There was hot sun for a week, brown grass, scorched leaves. Then, that night, the rain started. It thundered and poured and when we woke up, it was autumn.
Now we will have the slightest glimpse of the sun, perhaps, every few days. No uncomfortable heat. No sweat without exertion.
Then, slowly, winter's icy fingers will tear at autumn, until it litters the ground like so many dead leaves. The frost will glisten on grass every morning, every breath will steam the air.
Perhaps there will be snow, only enough to linger for an hour, then the rain will wash it away. Or it will not snow at all, only the ground will be covered in icy tufts that seem like snow, and in between it seems clear until you are looking up at the sky on your back.
But the rain does not come unwelcomeed or uncelebrated. Autumn is my favourite season, and winter has many merits. Colder weather brings people together around fires, back from international summer holidays, back home.
And still, for weeks the roses will bloom, and the blackberries will ripen on their bushes. The sea will stay not icy not warm for many weeks yet.
But the cold has come.

15 September 2010

Sepia Scene #100

Buttons are so varied in both colour, size, and shape, that I though 100 of them would look great in sepia, emphasising aspects different to those we might notice in a colour photo.

14 September 2010

Fishing Village

One misty moisty morning, the sky woke up as grey
And the people living locally cursed the dark damp day
The mountains were clothed in wispy shrouds,
Day-star stayed hidden behind the menacing clouds
The ocean thrashed and hissed at the shore
But the boats out deeper were losing the war
Salt-water rushed to fill each small hole
The Atlantic claimed each celestial soul
When the storm might have passed...
though the day was still grim,
The keeners mourned over a single woven jumper...
though no one was within.

Carry On Tuesday

13 September 2010

The Passing

You went out on the darkest night, a tiny candle all you had for light. And if you met the devil, he didn't let on. How I wished you had stayed inside.

He shuffled the sails of a thousand ships, and sank them one by one. Then he laughed a loud laugh, hummed a jig, and it had begun.

"Play with me here, where shadows are feared, it's only a little game! I roll, you roll, whoever rolls most...Wins! Wins! Wins! The loser, if you, dies a horrible death, but if me, you are free. Sound fair? I will roll first, look at that! Double six with the flick of a wrist. Shall you tie me, or shall you die by my hand?"

Dare you even choose knowing so well you could lose? One roll of the dice and you daren't think twice, for the man with the knife knows you gamble your life and the women three watch like banshees, just waiting for the snip of the yarn.
And there you sit still, undecided, the dice cold and cracked in your hand.White moonshine illuminates the truth of your fate and your body leans lopsided.You are covered in the yarn of a thousand years and still they sit and spin.

Just roll the damned dice, it's only your life!
Remember, you still could win.

One Single Impression

12 September 2010

Sunday Scribblings...Treatment

How faeries treat death:

with soap bubbles
blue ribbons
white linen
and mud.

Sunday Scribblings

09 September 2010

Musical Glass

Oh that she could see the kaleidoscope of seafoam greens, cotton candy pink and cabernets. Instead she thrilled at the bird-like melodies that sifted through each chime as it waltzed into the embrace of another. Her ears made up for the blindness and allowed her to hear each peal resonate long after the stillness had silenced them.

The image is from here.

Thursday Tales

When I Die...

When I die I will not say
'do not disturb my circles'
I could say 'don't let me go'
or even 'drop that sword (or gun)'
I could whisper on my dying breath
'at least I have lived this life'
or 'I see the light, it's getting closer'
I could leave everyone disappointed
having died while asleep
or have no words and just weep
but it's more likely I'll try to be profound...
then either I will run out of time...
or lose my voice...
or say something funny instead
how ashamed that would make them feel,
laughing around my death bed.

 Theme Thursday, where interpretations run amok.  This was inspired by the prompt "reason." Take it how you will.

Stained Glass

 Sunbeams flicker like fireflies though glass stained with paint. Paint pulled from the earth and pounded and mauled into paste. Water, dirty water, from the brown river mixes with it into a soup. The soup has lumpy vegetables, which stick to the sides and the bottom and hide. Simmering it gently with rocking arms and a stick makes it perfect, light, translucent, coloured.
The best taste it, the soup they have mined and mashed and swirled. They know the secret of creation, it is not creation but discovery, the choice of the matter not the maker, what to become. They see it for the living things it was, the living things it will portray, they see the life hidden under colour.
The worst let it sit by the window, growing filmy with the sun and impatient for death. They force their ideals onto it and it lumps and sticks.
The best know to paint when it calls them from the dark floor, the dirt and dead flies cushioning it in dormancy.
The worst pick it from the windowsill and stir it and swish it and force it to make something.
The best take their brush like a sword, like a feather, and carve. The paint guides them.
Then both take a basket of rushes and the best weaves a new basket but the worst uses an old basket. They pack the painted glass, the best swaddles and ties each one, but the worst slots them between lunch and a stool.
The best sets up their stall away from the others, in the shade.
The worst sets it up right in the centre, blocking a passage.
The best waits, but the worst shouts.
You might think justice goes to the best, who has laboured and packed and sits in the shade.
But the worst shouts and people listen.
The sun cracks the paint on the glass, but it gets in the eyes of people buying so they don't notice.
Soon the worst is eating lunch on the stool. Almost all the glass is gone.
A woman and her child pass by the stall of the best. The child gazes up at the glass. The sun makes a kaleidoscope over her face.
She reaches out to touch one...
But her mother has seen the stall of the worst and already he is getting up from his stool and smiling.

 The image is from here.

08 September 2010

The Hill

Beware lest they charm you into the hill
and concoct a robust feast from your bones
and gnaw and chew, enjoying the kill
Yes, beware, beware of the hill

Three Word Wednesday

Sepia Scenes #99

Some things just lend themselves so well to Sepia, and Coole Park is one of them. Yet another sepia scene from Coole.

06 September 2010

Like Ink

You don't know about me, but the river knows.
And when it snows, the vultures know.
They know of carrion frosty beneath the hardened earth
They know the sound of cold steel shovels turning dirt.
The vultures know of windy places where the trees are dead
Where if you close your eyes, the birds will take your head.
Where branches claw for skin and stone is cold and wet,
that's where the vultures take you if you can't escape their net.
In the forest there are arches, but the third is a lie
beneath the king key stone one false step and you die
Bone is white is white as snow
and colder is night is night than you'll know
softer is death is death than you think.
Where the vultures wheel, blood flows like ink.

Carry On Tuesday

This is an ante-dated post. My apologies. The internet was down and so I had to wait to post it.

05 September 2010

New Friends and a Martello

Sometimes things just feel right. Moving here was one of them. Often I have had occasion to think that this just could have been the worst decision ever made. But sometimes things just...fall into place...and I know it was meant to be.
Like yesterday for instance.

We were planning to go see an old Martello Tower nearby (here is a little side story, feel free to skip ahead...We saw the red dot for Martello Tower on our Ordnance Survey map, they are the most amazing maps, and if you ever need a great, detailed map of a portion of Ireland, do get one of the OSI maps, they are genius. A bit about Martello Towers; Inspired by a round fortress on Mortella Point, in Corsica. The British copied the design but got the name wrong. Fifty Martello towers were built around Ireland, with most on the East coast near Dublin and seven in Cork.)
MM and DD fell asleep (!!), and when DD woke up, it was after six and he didn't seem inclined to going. I, originally neutral to the idea, now really wanted to go toady, NOW. MM woke up (cough) and we decided to go (yay!).
There we thought we were acting spontaneously, but...
We found it okay, first going too far and getting directions from someone. We saw two people standing taking photos and we left them to themselves.

Martello towers have a raised entrance normally and this was no different. DD climbed the ropes (left by local teens presumably) and reported there was really nothing inside, not even stairs to the top :(
I decided later to try my hand at climbing them and was standing there with DD when their dog came around the tower, so I quickly untangled myself from the rope.
They said hi, we said hi.
The they asked where we were from.
DD said where we lived...
But originally?
They had lived in Boston but had moved here a few years ago.
We just clicked.
They had decided just the day before that they needed to find a good computer person to help them.
DD is great at computers.
She is a photographer, me too.
He and MM have things in common.
It was like it was pre-destined.
If MM and DD hadn't fallen asleep...
If we hadn't gone becuase it was late...
If we had given up when we took the wrong road...
If we hadn't been standing by the tower when they left and said hello...
He was able to tell us there was a staircase inside the walls of the tower to get to the top.

Sometimes thing are right, and this was one of them.
These things that reassure me it was the best decision to move here.

04 September 2010

Sepia Scene #98

This was supposed to be posted around last Wednesday, I'm catching up... A paddle-wheel boat taken from a pier.

Until the Ropes Break

Once upon a time, there was chaos. There is no trying to control chaos. The important thing is recognising chaos as a good thing. Leave the little things to blow in the breeze and tie the important things down one by one. But don't grieve if you miss one, because the others are still there.
I am not an organised person. I am a person who plans and prepares and then decides to watch television instead.

I can try to do everything and have it all fall down. Or I can try to do some things that are important to me and keep juggling to save the world.
So I am going to do some things. I am going to do every single piece of work I am assigned in school instead of leaving some for last-minute rushing. I am going to keep blogging, mainly on the weekends. I am going to write. I am not going stop watching television, because I enjoy it. I am not going to spend all my time doing work or blogging or dossing.

Today I spent the morning reading blogs I had missed during the week due to homework and going to bed earlier. I spent three hours and had only read posts that were posted a day ago. Now I will do like other people and read posts that look interesting, that I might comment on, instead of all of them.
I felt bad that I could not read some people's posts (most of the ones I read I commented on but not all) but I am only catering to my own limitations.

Expect to see me lurking at the edge of the spider's web, where I can travel the strands to anywhere but cannot get tangled.
Also expect to see either a load of posts published today or pre-scheduled throughout the week for last week's memes (I fully maintain better late than never).
Thank you.