Happy New Year!

Happy New Year to all, but how did it get to be the year 2026?

I grew up in a small farming community. I loved the freedom of playing outdoors, walking along the nearby beach, skimming stones in the water and watching the animals in the fields, especially the lambs playfully leaping in springtime. It was a carefree country childhood that I cherished.

I have a vivid memory of being about 9 years old, so in the late 60s, of the peripetetic art teacher coming to our primary school and explaining that by the year 2000 we would all be living under the sea as land would be depleted and unusable (global warming was known about even back then). We were to paint a picture of our future underwater living places.

I was devastated that I would no longer be able to watch lambs in springtime, collect mushrooms as they grew, look for treasure on the beach as the waves washed it up. And, good grief, I worked out I would be 40 years old in 2000! Unimaginable!

The turn of the century stuck with me through the next 30 years as a benchmark of the future. I would be 40 years old! A new way of life awaited. In the intervening years I grew up got married, had children of my own, the eldest of whom recently confessed he thought acid rain would play a bigger role in his life due to a similar school lesson conversation! Teachers, be aware that the strangest things stick with your pupils!

After I turned 40 I did begin a new life, not underwater but at university. It was an exciting time but I somehow forgot that the years kept passing. It has come as a shock that we are now more that quarter of a century past that benchmark future! How did that happen? The eldest Bomber is now over 40 himself. Another conundrum as I, myself, remain resolutely 28. At least in my head.

A Love of Portraiture

I am very fond of a good portrait, especially female portraiture (as artist or subject), as I have mentioned in previous posts. Therefore, on my wee escape from real life, I made a point of visiting the Scottish Portrait Gallery, which has several exhibitions on currently. I started at the top of the building and really enjoyed The Scots in Italy exhibition where I discovered the Swiss artist, Angelica Kauffman. I will be investigating her and her work more carefully.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angelica_Kauffman

The Heroes and Heroines: The Victorian Age was, however, disappointing in the most part, not least as it began with a bust of Victoria and centralised, in a very grand velvet-curtained booth, a portrait of the young Victoria . I was very taken with a portrait entitled The Lullaby though. It reminded me of a similar portrayal of motherhood I saw at the Musee D’Orsay earlier this year. Motherhood and the stay at home mum were Victorian ideals but this portrait shows a mother that, to me at least, seems ever so slightly disenchanted with the role. I think there is a need for a thorough study of portraits of mothers and motherhood!

The Lullaby by Sir Joseph Noel Paton

The galleries with The Modern Portrait exhibition I had seen before but enjoyed another walk through. However, the highlight of my tour was the Alfred Buckham: Daredevil Photographer exhibition. From the first photograph, entitled The Loop, and especially the corresponding label, I was hooked! The label stated, “Despite the obvious danger, Buckham [1879-1956] had a laid back approach to safety. ‘It is not easy to tumble out of an aeroplane, unless you really want to’ he said ‘and on considerably more than a thousand flights I have used a safety belt only once, and then it was thrust upon me. I always stand up to make an exposure and, taking the precaution to tie my right leg to the seat, I am free to move rapidly, and easily, in any desired direction; and loop-the-loop; and indulge in other such delights, with perfect safety.'” Alfred was basically the Biggles of the photography world! I was completely unaware of the photographer and his work and while the photographs themselves are stunning I found the explanations of how he created his photos fascinating, The process involved layering various negatives of planes, clouds and landscapes together and subjecting certain parts of the image to different degrees of exposure. Finally he used watercolour paints to highlight areas of the final photograph. The results were truly works of art!

Get along to see the exhibition in Edinburgh if you can but if you cannot then feast your eyes here:

https://www.nationalgalleries.org/art-and-artists/artists/alfred-buckham

The most surprising find in the galleries was a portrait entitled The Cromartie Fool by Richard Waitt (1684-1733). It depicts the Earl of Cromarty’s Fool or jester holding a kail (cabbage) stock which has a burning candle on top. This object, according to the label ‘played an important role’ in Halloween festivities. Apparently Robert Burns, in his poem Halloween (1785) (one I have not read or previously known about) describes ‘the tradition of unmarried men and women uprooting kail stocks at this time of year, the shape of which revealed the character of their future partner.’

I leave the interpretation of ‘character’ to your own imaginations…

Running Away From Home

It has been a busy year. Trips to Paris and Manchester, illness, hospitalised family members and the recent birth of twin grandsons have meant an almost non-stop year. I have dreamed of time to myself-what parent/partner/grandparent doesn’t- but now I have snatched it. And so I have run away from home for a few days completely to myself with a pile of books and a pile of knitting.

My intention is to spend most of the time in bed enjoying catching up on reading and finishing yarn projects with occasional sojourns out into the world for cultural and dining indulgences. Tiny Bomber has suggested I can do this at home but The Wing Commander has an unappealing tendency of making sure I am out of bed by a certain time and, as he is also opposed to the day time wearing of pyjamas, I have had no option but to wave him adieu.

Therefore I have taken a train to a secret location. I am well aware that this escape is an indulgence and a privilege not everyone can choose but I intend to enjoy every minute, most of them in a very large, very cosy hotel bed

Labour. One Year On.

Last year many of us went to the polls hoping that there would be some kind of change in UK politics. One year on and I read my diary entry of the day after the election – “Labour win but will it mean change? Feel despondent.”

The Slough of Despond continues and deepens as I watch a supposedly left leaning party embrace right wing policies, a media that is, for the most part, unable or unwilling to present facts and a populace overcome by the seeming unalterable state of both.

I do have hope but, damn, it is hard to see its spark some days.

The Garden Experiment.

My vegetable garden experiment continues. There are pleasant successes and utter failures but I am hopefully learning something from both and not discouraged by the latter. Lettuce and mixed salad leaves are probably my biggest success, alongside potatoes. I now need to work on how many I plant at one time so that I do not get a sudden glut of salad leaves. There are, after all, only so many salads I can eat in a row!

My peas are growing well and I even got a small harvest of gooseberries – although I picked them too soon out of desperation as the caterpillers were munching their fill on the leaves. I need to work out bug spraying while the fruit is still growing.

On the negative side, my carrots, turnips and parsnips have been an utter failure. I planted my carrots directly into the ground this year as I only had very limited success by growing them in pots last year and planting them out as they grew. I have now replanted carrots in tubs to see if I can have nore success there. It is infuriating as Mum grew carrots effortlessly while expert advice I am receiving is that carrots are ‘very difficult’ to grow! I will continue to try to grow them but it is not as easy as I thought!

My eldest Little Explosion has been a great help in preparing and planting and is enjoying watching things grow. She still insists that peas are, and I quote, “Yucky” but hopefully she is, in some small way, learning about the food she sees on her plate and how it gets there. She has been instrumental in getting a blueberry bush added to the garden and she is looking forward to harvesting the apple tree and blackcurrants. The garden is therefore a double joy; learning to grow and tend my own food and watching my grandchildren take part in the the adventure.

The Reason.

In a previous post I promised to explain the ‘reason’ I was in Paris enjoying good food, culture and cemetery strolls. Unfortunately, excitement and life got in the way of a prompt explanation so here I am, over a week late, catching up on the news!

For many years I have been trying to get tickets to see Yo-Yo Ma in concert. I invariably miss his UK dates and many of his other appearances were Stateside which would have added considerably to the expense. Last year was no exception and in November, while browsing sites online to get inspiration for The Wing Commander’s Christmas present, I searched for Yo-Yo Ma concerts. As usual I had just missed a UK date, and the next one was in Europe the following week. I do love spontaneity but unfortunately the dates were too soon to succeed successfully around work and other commitments. I was about to give up in order to look at frivolous kitchen appliances when another website, in French, caught my eye.

After digging up my limited French knowledge I discovered that Yo-Yo Ma was playing a concert in France. In Paris. In the recently reopened Notre Dame Cathedral. And it was in March, sufficiently in the future to allow careful planning to minimise costs as much as possible. This one could not be missed!

So, on a chilly March evening, I took the Wing Commander’s hand and we strolled along the Seine to see inside the beautiful cathedral – the first time we had been inside since 2005- and to listen to the fabulous sounds of the cello as played by the wonderful Yo-Yo Ma! The concert was everything we could have hoped for even though we were unfamiliar with most of the music, even the Bach piece he played. As wonderful as it was to finally hear him play live, and in such a perfect setting, it was the children’s choir who really lifted the evening into something extraordinarily special. Their voices, alone and with Yo-Yo Ma accompanying them, were magical to behold, the sounds rising up to fill the renovated cathedral.

Walking back to our hotel we were in awe of the talant we had been lucky enough to witness and, self-indulgently, I gave myself a private congratulatory salute for managing to get the best Christmas present ever…doubly so as he also really likes the hot chocolate velvetiser I found in the ‘frivolous kitchen appliances’ search.

Shopping with a 4 year old

Of all the joys of getting older, being a Baba to my girl gang is one of the best. I love spending time with them and getting to know their personalities. I had the particular joy yesterday of taking my eldest Little Explosion shopping for wellie boots and slippers for playing outside and inside when she visits.

The shopping was easy and the salesman engaged with LE beautifully. It helped, of course that there were a range of choices in the wellie boot display. Not that it mattered as LE was completely focused on one particular pair – dinosaur boots! Luckily they fitted as she was determined there were no second choices. The same criteria were applied to slippers! And so it came to pass that dino boots and slippers were purchased! My only disappointment was they didn’t come in matching adult sizes!

Any shopping trip worth its name has to have a coffee-and-cake break so we stopped at a cafe where I had a tea and croissant and she had a juice and easter biscuit. This particular cafe, a well known chain, had wallpaper showing various stages of coffee production. LE let her imagination go wild and imbued each person portrayed with a characteristic. There were mummies and daddies, teachers, workers and bad guys! One ‘bad guy’, a woman in a business suit, had, she informed me ‘stolen all the money’. Luckily there were also ‘policemen’ in the tableau who were going to put her on the naughty step until she saw the error of her ways! I love how imaginative she can be. Her stories are now becoming more detailed and inventive!

After our break we were walking back through the shopping centre towards the car park. Suddenly LE announced that the floor was lava! Baba needed a lot of encouragement to avoid the dangerous lava tiles on the floor. There was jumping involved! First only the green tiles were lava, then the white tiles! Soon it was only safe to walk on the black ones! It was an adventurous and joy-filled shopping expedition and I can’t wait to do it again.

Cemetery Strolling

When I was a child I was frightened of cemeteries. I guess ghost stories had something to do with it. The thought of ethereal spirits or animated skeletal remains are scary to an active young mind. No one wants a bony finger tapping you on the shoulder.

We often confuse cemeteries as places for the dead, locations of grief when we lose a loved one, but they are also places for the living, where we can sit beside the last resting place of those we love and remember. I have spent some very sad moments in cemeteries but equally some very consoling and peaceful moments.

On another level, I find cemeteries evocative of the lives of others. A kind of people watching of the dead. Whether long or short, a life engraved on a memorial stone offers a glimpse of that person, even if only the dates between their birth and death show the time in which they lived. Often it shows who they loved and lived with. Sometimes a little window on what they did. All together these snippets of a life can create a small memory of that person even when we did not know them. When we lose someone dear to us, we are often told to say their name as a way to keep their memory alive. To remember them, to talk about them. Reading memorial stones is a way to do this for our forebears and even strangers.

I have a particular love of cemeteries and as I am currently in Paris I decided to pay a visit to Père Lachaise cemetery in the 20th arrondissement. It is an enormous cemetery with higgledy piggledy ‘streets’ of tombs to browse ordinary Parisians, many celebrities and renowned persons. I was particularly on the look out for three: Jim Morrison of The Doors, Edith Piaf, and Oscar Wilde.

The cemetery is a bit of a labyrinth but with some careful map reading I found all three. Morrison and Piaf are both off the main thoroughfares but are reasonably easy to spot, both by the numbers of visitors and the floral and other gifts left by admirers.

Oscar Wilde’s last resting place is very grand and in an art nouveau style. It has been shrouded in a Perspex shield with a notice which politely asks that visitors not deface the screen. And yet it is covered in lipstick kisses. I was left wondering what Mr Wilde would have thought about such female attention.

Oscar Wilde’s imposing tomb. The many dots are lipstick kisses.
A closer look at the adoring kisses.

Clean Plates.

Bonjour from Paris! I have been very excited about this trip (more about the reason later). Apart from a complaint I have to write to Air France our little holiday has started well.

Last night we had booked to eat at Bouillon Racine and it did not disappoint either in decoration, atmosphere, service or food.

There are several Bouillon restaurants to chose from and they all were founded to serve traditional and affordable food to working people in the city. Bouillon Racine was founded on 1906 and is decorated in the art nouveau style, a style I particularly love.

The restaurant is definitely popular so I am glad I made a reservation. It caters to young families, groups of friends, couples, young and old, but watching the customers queuing for tables there seemed to be a lot of younger people. All were treated with the same level of professional service.

Our waiter kindly complimented my (terrible) French but was happy to talk to us in English. I ordered the escargot to start followed by scallops while the Wing Commander had the foie gras and the Angus beef. The food was very good and I ate everything, using the bread to mop up any traces left on my plate!

I ordered the crème brûlée but the WC decided not to have dessert. Nevertheless, the waiter provided 2 spoons without being asked! After tasting mine the WC decided to order his own! Again the waiter provided 2 spoons. The second dessert prompted a long debate about what makes the best crème brûlée! My one was very creamy while the Wing Commander’s one was very crispy on top. He decided the crispy caramelisation led to a better product and I have to say he had a point. However, that creamy consistency won it for me.

Many, many years ago, on holiday in Brussels, the Wing Commander had a crème brûlée which he declared was the best one ever. For a long time after he didn’t order one as he felt it could never live up to that special one. I think he may have found, if not a better brûlée then at least one to match!

I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend Bouillon Racine and hope to be able to try out some of the others in Paris on a future visit.

Getting Up and Getting Old.

My mother always said ‘Old age never comes alone’. She lamented that after the age of 60 and a life of hard work she was not as ‘swack’* as she used to be. She continued to work hard in her garden and helping others until the end of her days at 88 years old but she found the aches, pains and other age-related limitations a challenge to her patience.

As a young thing I was proud that I could sleep till the last minute and still be on time after washing, dressing, breakfasting and getting out the door. It was a speed game but I could do it. Now I have to add extra time into the routine to allow for everything to get done. Interupted sleep due to the nightly toilet run is one humbug that I could do without but the morning routine is also getting longer and more complicated.

For a while it took just a few seconds to take the necessary medication; a couple of tablets, a puff of the inhaler and a couple of skooshes of a nasal spray. More recently I added hearing aids which need to be popped in each ear and checked that they have connected to the ubiquitous app. Today I have included attaching a granny chain for my glasses which spend as much time off my nose as on it. At this rate I will have to stay up after the mid-nightly wee to fit it all in before breakfast! A small price to pay to be able to continue enjoying my pensionista years.

*Swack is an Orkney dialect word meaning agile or flexible