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Mietze has taken to raw food like a fish to water. No coaxing, convincing or mixing in required. She prefers her dinners raw.
More here: makedoandmendnovice.blogspot.com/2018/03/an-update-on-pic...
Lessertia frutescens
Common name: Balloon Pea, Cancer Bush
Family: Fabaceae
Formerly known as Sutherlandia frutescens.
This plant is one of the most talked about in the ethnobotanical world because it has a strong reputation as a cure for cancer and now increasingly as an immune booster in the treatment of HIV/AIDS. Research on its properties is ongoing.
It has long been known, used and respected as a medicinal plant in southern Africa. The original inhabitants of the Cape, the Khoi San and Nama people, used it mainly as a decoction for the washing of wounds and took it internally to bring down fevers. The early colonists regarded it as giving successful results in the treatment of chicken pox, stomach problems, and in the treatment of internal cancers. It is still used as a wash for wounds, to bring down fevers, to treat chicken pox, for internal cancers, and farm workers in the Cape still use it to treat eye troubles. It is also used to treat colds, 'flu, asthma, TB, bronchitis, rheumatism, rheumatoid arthritis and osteo-arthritis, liver problems, haemorrhoids, piles, bladder, uterus & 'women's' complaints, diarrhoea & dysentery, stomach ailments, heartburn, peptic ulcers, backache, diabetes, varicose veins and inflammation. It is also used in the treatment of mental and emotional stress, including irritability, anxiety and depression and is used as a gentle tranquillizer. It is said to be a useful bitter tonic and that a little taken before meals will aid digestion and improve the appetite. It is considered to be a good general medicine.
There is as yet no scientific support for the numerous claims and anecdotes that this plant can cure cancer, but there is preliminary clinical evidence that it has a direct anti-cancer effect in some cancers and that it acts as an immune stimulant.
Sutherlandia should not be regarded as a miracle cure for cancer, its real benefits are as a tonic that will assist the body to mobilize its own resources to cope with the illness. It is known to decrease anxiety and irritability and to elevate the mood. Cancer patients, as well as TB and AIDS patients, lose weight and tend to waste away. Sutherlandia dramatically improves the appetite and wasted patients start to gain weight. It is also known to improve energy levels and gives an enhanced sense of well-being. It is hoped that treatment with sutherlandia will delay the progression of HIV into AIDS, and even remission of the disease is hoped for.
On Explore May 18, 2008 #118
www.youtube.com/watch?v=jmQ88PWzvR0
Because Christmas spirit is not about consuming, it's about love... so let's put some love in our hearts, let's soften our feelings, let's ignore a little bit our egos.
Εάν ταις γλώσσαις των ανθρώπων λαλώ και των αγγέλων, αγάπην δε μη έχω, γέγονα χαλκός ηχών ή κύμβαλον αλαλάζον. και εάν έχω προφητείαν και ειδώ τα μυστήρια πάντα και πάσαν την γνώσιν, και εάν έχω πάσαν την πίστιν, ώστε όρη μεθιστάνειν, αγάπην δε μη έχω, ουδέν ειμι. και εάν ψωμίσω πάντα τα υπάρχοντά μου, και εάν παραδώ το σώμα μου ίνα καυθήσομαι, αγάπην δε μη έχω, ουδέν ωφελούμαι. Η αγάπη μακροθυμεί, χρηστεύεται, η αγάπη ου ζηλοί, η αγάπη ου περπερεύεται, ου φυσιούται, ουκ ασχημονεί, ου ζητεί τα εαυτής, ου παροξύνεται, ου λογίζεται το κακόν, ου χαίρει επί τη αδικία, συγχαίρει δε τη αληθεία. πάντα στέγει, πάντα πιστεύει, πάντα ελπίζει, πάντα υπομένει. η αγάπη ουδέποτε εκπίπτει. είτε δε προφητείαι, καταργηθήσονται. είτε γλώσσαι παύσονται. είτε γνώσις καταργηθήσεται. εκ μέρους δε γινώσκομεν και εκ μέρους προφητεύομεν. όταν δε έλθη το τέλειον, τότε το εκ μέρους καταργηθήσεται. ότε ήμην νήπιος, ως νήπιος ελάλουν, ως νήπιος εφρόνουν, ως νήπιος ελογιζόμην. ότε δε γέγονα ανήρ, κατήργηκα τα του νηπίου. βλέπομεν γαρ άρτι δι΄εσόπτρου εν αινίγματι, τότε δε πρόσωπον προς πρόσωπον. άρτι γινώσκω εκ μέρους, τότε δε επιγνώσομαι καθώς και επεγνώσθην. νυνί δε μένει πίστις, ελπίς, αγάπη, τα τρία ταύτα. μείζων δε τούτων η αγάπη.
Ύμνος στην αγάπη. ΠΡΟΣ ΚΟΡΙΝΘΙΟΥΣ Α΄ ΚΕΦΑΛΑΙΟΝ ΙΓ΄
If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a tinkling symbol. And if I have prophecy and know all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.
And if I dole out all my goods, and
if I deliver my body that I may boast
but have not love, nothing I am profited.
Love is long suffering, love is kind,
it is not jealous, love does not boast,
it is not inflated. It is not discourteous,
it is not selfish, it is not irritable,
it does not enumerate the evil.
It does not rejoice over the wrong, but rejoices in the truth
It covers all things,
it has faith for all things,
it hopes in all things,
it endures in all things.
Love never falls in ruins;
but whether prophecies, they will be abolished; or tongues, they will cease; or knowledge, it will be superseded.
For we know in part and we prophecy in part. But when the perfect comes, the imperfect will be superseded.
When I was an infant,
I spoke as an infant,
I reckoned as an infant;
when I became [an adult],
I abolished the things of the infant.
For now we see through a mirror in an enigma, but then face to face.
Now I know in part, but then I shall know as also I was fully known.
But now remains faith, hope, love,
these three; but the greatest of these is love.
a.1 Corinthians 13:1
Fly agarics resp. fly amanitas (Amanita muscaria) in a forest near the village of Mosbach, Franconia (Bavaria)
Some background information:
Amanita muscaria, commonly known as the fly agaric or fly amanita, is a mushroom and psychoactive basidiomycete fungus, one of many in the genus Amanita. Native throughout the temperate and boreal regions of the Northern Hemisphere, Amanita muscaria has been unintentionally introduced to many countries in the Southern Hemisphere, generally as a symbiont with pine and birch plantations, and is now a true cosmopolitan species. It associates with various deciduous and coniferous trees.
Arguably the most iconic toadstool species, the fly agaric is a large white-gilled, white-spotted, usually red mushroom, and is one of the most recognisable and widely encountered in popular culture. Several subspecies with differing cap colour have been recognised, including the brown regalis (often considered a separate species), the yellow-orange flavivolvata, guessowii, formosa, and the pinkish persicina. Genetic studies published in 2006 and 2008 show several sharply delineated clades that may represent separate species.
Although classified as poisonous, reports of human deaths resulting from its ingestion are extremely rare. After parboiling—which weakens its toxicity and breaks down the mushroom's psychoactive substances—it is eaten in parts of Europe, Asia, and North America. Amanita muscaria is noted for its hallucinogenic properties, with its main psychoactive constituent being the compound muscimol. The mushroom was used as an intoxicant and entheogen by the peoples of Siberia, and has a religious significance in these cultures. There has been much speculation on possible traditional use of this mushroom as an intoxicant in other places such as the Middle East, Eurasia, North America, and Scandinavia.
A large, conspicuous mushroom, amanita muscaria is generally common and numerous where it grows, and is often found in groups with basidiocarps in all stages of development. Fly agaric fruiting bodies emerge from the soil looking like white eggs. After emerging from the ground, the cap is covered with numerous small white to yellow pyramid-shaped warts. These are remnants of the universal veil, a membrane that encloses the entire mushroom when it is still very young. Dissecting the mushroom at this stage will reveal a characteristic yellowish layer of skin under the veil; this is helpful in identification. As the fungus grows, the red colour appears through the broken veil and the warts become less prominent; they do not change in size, but are reduced relative to the expanding skin area. The cap changes from globose to hemispherical, and finally to plate-like and flat in mature specimens. Fully grown, the bright red cap is usually around 8 to 20 cm in diameter (3 to 8 in), although larger specimens have been found. The red colour may fade after rain and in older mushrooms.
The free gills are white, as is the spore print. The stipe is white too, 5 to 20 cm high (2.0 to 7.9 in) by 1 to 2 cm wide (0.5 to 1 in), and has the slightly brittle, fibrous texture typical of many large mushrooms. At the base is a bulb that bears universal veil remnants in the form of two to four distinct rings or ruffs. Between the basal universal veil remnants and gills are remnants of the partial veil (which covers the gills during development) in the form of a white ring. It can be quite wide and flaccid with age. There is generally no associated smell other than a mild earthiness.
Amanita muscaria is a cosmopolitan mushroom, native to conifer and deciduous woodlands throughout the temperate and boreal regions of the Northern Hemisphere,[26] including higher elevations of warmer latitudes in regions such as Hindu Kush, the Mediterranean and also Central America. Fruiting occurs in summer and autumn across Europe and most of North America. This species is often found in similar locations to Boletus edulis, and may appear in fairy rings. Conveyed with pine seedlings, it has been widely transported into the southern hemisphere, including Australia, New Zealand, South Africa and South America.
Amanita muscaria poisoning has occurred in young children and in people who ingested the mushrooms for a hallucinogenic experience. Amanita muscaria contains several biologically active agents, at least one of which, muscimol, is known to be psychoactive. Ibotenic acid, a neurotoxin, serves as a prodrug to muscimol, with approximately 10–20% converting to muscimol after ingestion. An active dose in adults is approximately 6 mg muscimol or 30 to 60 mg ibotenic acid. This is typically about the amount found in one cap of Amanita muscaria. The amount and ratio of chemical compounds per mushroom varies widely from region to region and season to season, which can further confuse the issue. Spring and summer mushrooms have been reported to contain up to 10 times more ibotenic acid and muscimol than autumn fruitings.
A fatal dose has been calculated as 15 caps. Deaths from this fungus Amanita muscaria have been reported in historical journal articles and newspaper reports, but with modern medical treatment, fatal poisoning from ingesting this mushroom is extremely rare. Many older books list Amanita muscaria as "deadly", but this is an error that implies the mushroom is more toxic than it is. The vast majority (90% or more) of mushroom poisoning deaths are from eating the greenish to yellowish "death cap", or perhaps even one of the three white Amanita species which are known as destroying angels, Amanita virosa, Amanita bisporigera and Amanita ocreata.
Fly agarics are known for the unpredictability of their effects. Depending on habitat and the amount ingested per body weight, effects can range from nausea and twitching to drowsiness, cholinergic crisis-like effects (low blood pressure, sweating and salivation), auditory and visual distortions, mood changes, euphoria, relaxation, ataxia, and loss of equilibrium.
In cases of serious poisoning the mushroom causes delirium, somewhat similar in effect to anticholinergic poisoning, characterised by bouts of marked agitation with confusion, hallucinations, and irritability followed by periods of central nervous system depression. Seizures and coma may also occur in severe poisonings. Symptoms typically appear after around 30 to 90 minutes and peak within three hours, but certain effects can last for several days. In the majority of cases recovery is complete within 12 to 24 hours. The effect is highly variable between individuals, with similar doses potentially causing quite different reactions. Some people suffering intoxication have exhibited headaches up to ten hours afterwards. Retrograde amnesia and somnolence can result following recovery.
The wide range of psychoactive effects can be variously described as depressant, sedative-hypnotic, psychedelic, dissociative, and deliriant. Paradoxical effects such as stimulation may occur however. Perceptual phenomena such as synesthesia, macropsia, and micropsia may occur. Some users report lucid dreaming under the influence of its hypnotic effects. Unlike Psilocybe cubensis, Amanita muscaria cannot be commercially cultivated, due to its mycorrhizal relationship with the roots of pine trees.
Eating an abundance of junk seems normal to today’s generation. Over the past few years, in urban metropolitan cities, the tradition of eating home cooked Indian food is swapped by quick fix snacks, chips and biscuits etc. Easy availability and low cost are a major cause for the growing fad for junk food among kids. Junk food is a classic example of unbalanced diet usually characterized by high proportion of carbohydrates, refined sugar, salt, fats and low nutritional value, which can raise various health concerns like obesity, cardiac disease, diabetes, high cholesterol, high blood pressure etc. These food are processed and refined in such a way that they lose most of the key nutrients, have low fiber and poor water content. Effects of junk food on our digestive system: Junk food is unhealthy for digestive system as they slowdown the digestion process making the stomach bloated. In order to digest food, stomach needs enzymes and fast food does not have them. When food is absorbed by the intestine it requires fiber and water to excrete but they don't have such nutrients which leads to poor digestion and irritable bowels. Carbs and sugar in fast food and processed food can increase acids in your mouth. These acids can break down tooth enamel. As tooth enamel disappears, bacteria can take hold, and cavities may develop.
Obesity can also lead to complications with bone density and muscle mass. People who are obese have a greater risk for falling and breaking bones. It’s important to keep exercising to build muscles, which support your bones, and maintain a healthy diet to minimize bone loss.Fast food may satisfy hunger in the short term, but long-term results are less positive. People who eat fast food and processed pastries are 51 percent more likely to develop depression than people who don’t eat those foods or eat very few of them.Excess calories from fast-food meals can cause weight gain. This may lead toward obesity.Obesity increases your risk for respiratory problems, including asthma and shortness of breath. The extra pounds can put pressure on your heart and lungs and symptoms may show up even with little exertion. You may notice difficulty breathing when you’re walking, climbing stairs, or exercising. For children, the risk of respiratory problems is especially clear. One study found that children who eat fast food at least three times a week are more likely to develop asthma.Most fast food, including drinks and sides, are loaded with carbohydrates with little to no fiber. When your digestive system breaks down these foods, the carbs are released as glucose (sugar) into your bloodstream. As a result, your blood sugar increases. Your pancreas responds to the surge in glucose by releasing insulin. Insulin transports sugar throughout your body to cells that need it for energy. As your body uses or stores the sugar, your blood sugar returns to normal.How many carbs should you eat in a day? » This blood sugar process is highly regulated by your body, and as long as you’re healthy, your organs can properly handle these sugar spikes. But frequently eating high amounts of carbs can lead to repeated spikes in your blood sugar. Overtime, these insulin spikes may cause your body’s normal insulin response to falter. This increases your risk for weight gain, insulin resistance, and type 2 diabetes. Swinging through the drive-thru or hopping into your favorite fast-food restaurant tends to happen more often than some would like to admit. According to the Food Institute’s analysis of data from the Bureau of Labor Statistics, millennials alone spend 44 percent of their budget’s food dollars on eating out.
Junk food is a pejorative term for food containing high levels of calories from sugar or fat with little fibre, protein, vitamins or minerals. Junk food can also refer to high protein food like meat prepared with saturated fat. Food from many hamburger outlets, pizza and fried chicken outlets is often considered as junk food.
Concerns about the negative health effects resulting from a "junk food"-heavy diet, especially obesity, have resulted in public health awareness campaigns, and restrictions on advertising and sale in several countries.
Contents
1Origin of the term
2Definitions
3Popularity and appeal
4Health effects
5Anti-junk food measures
5.1Taxation
5.2Advertising restriction
6Behavior problems
7See also
8References
9Further reading
10External links
Origin of the term
The term junk food dates back at least to the early 1950s,although it has been reported that it was coined in 1972 by Michael F. Jacobson of the Center for Science in the Public Interest.In 1952, it appeared in a headline in the Lima, Ohio, News, "fish, 'Junk Foods' Cause Serious Malnutrition", for a reprint of a 1948 article from the Ogden, Utah, Standard-Examiner, originally headlined, "Dr. Brady’s Health Column: More Junk Than Food". In it, Dr. Brady writes, "What Mrs. H calls 'junk' I call cheat food. That is anything made principally of white flour and or refined white sugar or syrup. For example, white bread, crackers, cake, candy, ice cream soda, chocolate malted, sundaes, sweetened carbonated beverages."The term cheat food can be traced back in newspaper mentions to at least 1916.
Definitions
Andrew F. Smith, in his book, Encyclopedia of Junk Food and Fast Food, defines junk food as "those commercial products, including candy, bakery goods, ice cream, salty snacks, and soft drinks, which have little or no nutritional value but do have plenty of calories, salt, and fats. While not all fast foods are junk foods, most are. Fast foods are ready-to-eat foods served promptly after ordering. Some fast foods are high in calories and low in nutritional value, while other fast foods, such as salads, may be low in calories and high in nutritional value."
Junk foods have empty calories, i.e. the energy content is not complemented with proteins and lipids required for a nutritious diet. François Magendie showed by experiment in 1816 that dogs died when fed only sugar.
Foods commonly considered junk foods include salted snack foods, gum, candy, sweet desserts, fried fast food, and sugary carbonated beverages. Many foods such as hamburgers, pizza, and tacos can be considered either healthy or junk food depending on their ingredients and preparation methods.[14] The more highly processed items usually fall under the junk food category, including breakfast cereals that are mostly sugar or high fructose corn syrup and white flour or milled corn.
Especially in the case of ethnic foods, a classification as "junk food" could be perceived as rather offensive, given that such foods may have been prepared and consumed for centuries and may contain healthy ingredients.[citation needed] In the book, Panic Nation: Unpicking the Myths We're Told About Food and Health, a complementary point is argued: food is food, and if there is no nutritional value, then it isn't a food of any type, "junk" or otherwise. Co-editor Vincent Marks explains, "To label a food as 'junk' is just another way of saying, 'I disapprove of it.' There are bad diets - that is, bad mixtures and quantities of food - but there are no 'bad foods' except those that have become bad through contamination or deterioration."
Popularity and appeal
Junk food in its various forms is extremely popular, and an integral part of modern popular culture. In the US, annual fast food sales are in the area of $160 billion, compared to supermarket sales of $620 billion (a figure which also includes junk food in the form of convenience foods, snack foods, and candy). In 1976, "Junk Food Junkie", the tale of a junk food addict who pretends to follow a healthy diet by day, while at night he clandestinely gorges on Hostess Twinkies and Fritos corn chips, McDonald's and KFC, became a Top 10 pop hit in the US. Thirty-six years later, Time placed the Twinkie at #1 in its "Top 10 Iconic Junk Foods" special feature: "Not only...a mainstay on our supermarket shelves and in our bellies, they've been a staple in our popular culture and, above all, in our hearts. Often criticized for its lack of any nutritional value whatsoever, the Twinkie has managed to persevere as a cultural and gastronomical icon."
America also celebrates an annual National Junk Food Day on July 21. Origins are unclear; it is one of around 175 US food and drink days, most created by "people who want to sell more food", at times aided by elected officials at the request of a trade association or commodity group. "In honor of the day," Time in 2014 published, "5 Crazy Junk Food Combinations". Headlines from other national and local media coverage include: "Celebrate National Junk Food Day With… Beer-Flavored Oreos?" (MTV); "National Junk Food Day: Pick your favorite unhealthy treats in this poll" (Baltimore);"Celebrities' favorite junk food" (Los Angeles); "A Nutritionist's Guide to National Junk Food Day" with "Rules for Splurging" (Huffington Post); and "It's National Junk Food Day: Got snacks?" (Kansas City).
It is well-established that the poor eat more junk food overall than the more affluent, but the reasons for this are not clear.[29] Few studies have focused on variations in food perception according to socio-economic status (SES); some studies that have differentiated based on SES suggest that the economically challenged don't perceive healthy food much differently than any other segment of the population.Recent research into scarcity, combining behavioral science and economics, suggests that, faced with extreme economic uncertainty, where even the next meal may not be a sure thing, judgment is impaired and the drive is to the instant gratification of junk food, rather than to making the necessary investment in the longer-term benefits of a healthier diet.
Health effects
When junk food is consumed very often, the excess fat, simple carbohydrates, and processed sugar found in junk food contributes to an increased risk of obesity, cardiovascular disease, and many other chronic health conditions.[33] A case study on consumption of fast foods in Ghana suggested a direct correlation between consumption of junk food and obesity rates. The report asserts that obesity resulted to related complex health concerns such upsurge of heart attack rates. Studies reveal that as early as the age of 30, arteries could begin clogging and lay the groundwork for future heart attacks.Consumers also tend to eat too much in one sitting, and those who have satisfied their appetite with junk food are less likely to eat healthy foods like fruit or vegetables.
Testing on rats has indicated negative effects of junk food that may manifest likewise in people. A Scripps Research Institute study in 2008 suggested that junk food consumption alters brain activity in a manner similar to addictive drugs like cocaine and heroin. After many weeks with unlimited access to junk food, the pleasure centers of rat brains became desensitized, requiring more food for pleasure; after the junk food was taken away and replaced with a healthy diet, the rats starved for two weeks instead of eating nutritious fare. A 2007 study in the British Journal of Nutrition found that female rats who eat junk food during pregnancy increased the likelihood of unhealthy eating habits in their offspring.
Other research has been done on the impact of sugary foods on emotional health in humans, and has suggested that consumption of junk food can negatively impact energy levels and emotional well-being.
Anti-junk food measures
A number of countries have adopted, or are considering, various forms of legislated action to curb junk food consumption. In 2014, United Nations Special Rapporteur on the right to health, Anand Grover, released his report, "Unhealthy foods, non-communicable diseases and the right to health", and called for governments to "take measures, such as developing food and nutrition guidelines for healthy diets, regulating marketing and advertising of junk food, adopting consumer-friendly labelling of food products, and establishing accountability mechanisms for violations of the right to health."
An early, high-profile and controversial attempt to identify and curb junk food in the American diet was launched by the so-called McGovern Committee, formally, the United States Senate Select Committee on Nutrition and Human Needs, between 1968 and 1977, chaired by Senator George McGovern. Initially formed to investigate malnutrition and hunger in the US, the committee's scope progressively expanded to include environmental conditions that affected eating habits, like urban decay, then focused on the diet and nutritional habits of the American public. It criticized the use of salt, sugar and fat in processed foods, noted problems with overeating and the high percentage of ads for junk food on TV, and stated that bad eating habits could be as deadly as smoking. The findings were heavily criticized and rebutted from many directions, including the food industry, the American Medical Association, and within the committee itself. In 1977, the committee issued public guidelines under the title, Dietary Goals for the United States, which became the predecessor to Dietary Guidelines for Americans, published every five years beginning in 1980 by the US Department of Health and Human Services.
Taxation
In an attempt to reduce junk food consumption through price control, forms of Pigovian taxation have been implemented. Targeting saturated fat consumption, Denmark introduced the world's first fat-food tax in October, 2011, by imposing a surcharge on all foods, including those made from natural ingredients, that contain more than 2.3 percent saturated fat, an unpopular measure that lasted a little over a year.[45][46][47] Hungary has also imposed a tax on packaged foods that contain unhealthy concentrations, such as beverages containing more than 20 mg of caffeine per 100 ml.Norway taxes refined sugar, and Mexico has various excises on unhealthy food.[49] On April 1, 2015, the first fat tax in the US, the Navajo Nation's Healthy Diné Nation Act of 2014, mandating a 2% junk food tax, came into effect, covering the 27,000 sq. mi. of Navajo reservation; the Act targeted problems with obesity and diabetes among the Navajo population.
Advertising
Junk food that is targeted at children is a contentious issue. In "The Impact of Advertising on Childhood obesity", the American Psychological Association reports: "Research has found strong associations between increases in advertising for non-nutritious foods and rates of childhood obesity."[51] In the UK, efforts to increasingly limit or eliminate advertising of foods high in sugar, salt or fat at any time when children may be viewing are ongoing.The UK government has been criticized for failing to do enough to stop advertising and promotion of junk food aimed at children.
Controversy over junk food promotions during Australian cricket matches was reported in the news media in early 2015. A Wollongong University study showed that junk food sponsors were mentioned over 1,000 times in a single match broadcast, which included ads and branding worn on players' uniforms and on the scoreboard and pitch. A coalition of Australian obesity, cancer and diabetes organizations called on Cricket Australia, the sport's governing body, to "phase out sponsorships with unhealthy brands", emphasizing that cricket is a "healthy, family-oriented sport" with children in the audience. Many countries have restricted advertising of junk food.
Behavior problems
In a study by the European Journal of Clinical Nutrition, the frequency of consumption of 57 foods/drinks of 4000 children at the age of four and a half were collected by maternal report. At age seven the 4000 children were given the Strengths and Difficulties Questionnaire (SDQ). The test was divided into 5 sections: hyperactivity, conduct problems, peer problems, emotional symptoms and pro-social behavior. A one standard deviation increase in junk food was then linked to excessive hyperactivity in 33% of the 4000 children. In conclusion, children with excess junk food at the age of seven are more likely to be in the top third of the hyperactivity sub-scale; however, there is not enough correlation between junk food and the other sub-scales such as emotional symptoms and peer problems.
安平運河夏天的午后 - 火爆的天氣 / 水畫白雲乘輕風 - 俗世不擾笑一聲
The summer's afternoon of the Anping Transport river - The irritable weather / The water and white clouds as the picture ride the light breeze - The laughter over the river and anything does not harass
La tarde del verano del río del transporte de Anping - el tiempo irritable / El agua y las nubes blancas como el cuadro montan la brisa ligera - La risa sobre el río y cualquier cosa no acosa
安平運河夏の午後に - 盛んな天気 / 水は白い雲をかいてそよ風に乗ります - 俗っぽい世1回迷惑をかけて笑わせません
Der Sommernachmittag des Anping-Transportflusses - Das reizbare Wetter / Das Wasser und die weißen Wolken als die Abbildung reiten die helle Brise - Das Gelächter über dem Fluss und nichts bedrängt
L'après-midi, été, du transport fluvial Anping - Le temps irritable / L'eau et les nuages blancs comme image montent la brise légère - Le rire au-dessus du fleuve et de n'importe quoi n'harcelle pas
Anping Tainan Taiwan / Anping Tainan Taiwán / 台灣台南安平
蒼海一聲笑 - 笑傲江湖 / Instruments Version
{川および湖を通るべき笑い声/The laughter to pass through the rivers and lakes }
{My Blog / 管樂小集精彩演出-觸動你的心}
{My Blog / Great Music The splendid performance touches your heart}
{My Blog / 管楽小集すばらしい公演-はあなたの心を心を打ちます}
{Mi blog / La gran música el funcionamiento espléndido toca su corazón}
{Mein Blog / Große Musik die herrliche Leistung berührt Ihr Herz}
{Mon blog / La grande musique l'exécution splendide touche votre coeur}
書中風起雲動 劍下虎嘯龍吟
The book stroke have the clouds to move under the sword the tiger's roar and dragon to recite
誰知成敗早已天定
Who knows the success or failure already to decide for GOD
回首江山依舊 入眼夕陽正紅
Who looks back on the landscape as before pleasant setting sun is red now
但願人長久情長在
Hopes the persons long-time sentiment exist
熱蘭劍士無悔無憾
The Zeelandia's swordsman regretless not regrets
*opens up storybook* Ehem, this is a little bit of a lengthy travel, just so you guys are all prepared to read the trials I went through.
FIRST! I must thank Lyholy for her AMAZING hair tutorial. It saved my life, seriously. I also must thank my bestbestbest buddy Mewdle for 1). telling me to go for making this and inspiring me to break away from little India's cotton candy hair for once. 2). Putting up with me this morning when I was crying my eyes out and in mass panic and distress. If I didn't have you to talk to I think I would have just went total batshit.
Now next, I must give credit to the amazing picture on devart that inspired me. (No. I am not creative enough to think that picture in my head, sorry =/ ) Here.
OKAY! So I started working on this at like 8 last night and I wasn't really sure what I was going to do but I was bored and didn't feel like RPing at Port Mercer (SHAMELESS PLUG!) Anyway so I worked on this and ya know about the time I have the base pose down im all, HEY! this looks better than I thought!! So I keep going and going and going....like energizer bunny, ftw. But I really grew proud of it.
I DREW THAT DRESS SKIRT!!!! which reminds me that I was supposed to crop this picture closer...OH WELL!
So I get to the hair and I am all :| its over now, failure. I can't draw hair worth crap and I did try Lyholy's tutorial before but I was a little distracted and wasn't really focusing so it kind of went to crap, sadly. But I decided to give it another go and it turned out GREAT! I was so excited.
SO THEN! THE TROUBLE!!!!! So its like 5am. im finally DONE except for a background so I just want to get it over with so I do Ash's tutorial and Im all doot doo doo when it STOPS RESPONDING! But oh no! Thats not the worst. So im like OKAY OKAY UNFREEZE! but then stupid vista turns my whole screen ugly ass greytinted so now im seriously crying. like im sitting here bawling my eyes out cause I spent 10 fucking hours on something that was GONE but if I was going to have to reboot the program I was going to have proof of what I did so I scoot the lighting box over and snap the top half of the greyed out pic. so I restart it and im sitting here trying to figure out what the hell to do. tears are streaming Im like having attacks and like virtually shaking mew as hard as possible. and she kept asking me questions and i was irritable and I was just like WAHHHHHHHHHHHH! So I open up the greyed out screenie, and I went to shadow/highlight and it like FIXED perfectly, like I didnt even have to play with sliders so im like *gasp* I HAVE THE TOP HALF! HOORAH! MY LIFE ISNT OVER! so then I go in photobucket and grab the pic that I saved to show a few people my progress and I paste her on a bottom half and HALLELUJAH!
So, I posted it, went to sleep and that's what brings me here.
THIS IS INDIA!!! Incase you can't tell.
I love halloween so it's only natural that India would love halloween too. So she does and she decided to be a puppet this year...although I seriously think that tattoo on her chest is staying cause I totally love it.
OKAY! DONE NOW! :D I LOVE YOU ALL!
O mother-my-love, if you'll give me your hand,
And go where I ask you to wander,
I will lead you away to a beautiful land,--
The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder.
We'll walk in a sweet posie-garden out there,
Where moonlight and starlight are streaming,
And the flowers and the birds are filling the air
With the fragrance and music of dreaming.
There'll be no little tired-out boy to undress,
No questions or cares to perplex you,
There'll be no little bruises or bumps to caress,
Nor patching of stockings to vex you;
For I'll rock you away on a silver-dew stream
And sing you asleep when you're weary,
And no one shall know of our beautiful dream
But you and your own little dearie.
And when I am tired I'll nestle my head
In the bosom that's soothed me so often,
And the wide-awake stars shall sing, in my stead,
A song which our dreaming shall soften.
So, Mother-my-Love, let me take your dear hand,
And away through the starlight we'll wander,--
Away through the mist to the beautiful land,--
The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder.
Eugene Field
(2 weeks late in uploading this)
i know i haven't been the best daughter that one could wish for. i haven't been too responsible. neither too concerned but for myself. and definitely too conceited than what you wanted to me to be.
i know how so many times i've gone by a day without much of a conversation with you. and how too often i'd have a locked door, too busy with this or that to come and ask how your day turned out to be. and i can definitely not count the number of times i've been rude. or irritable. or plain nothing.
but i also know that when you're not around i go into your room and sit by your bed, and remember all the childhood games you and i used to play. i know that i can recognize the slight whiff of magnolia in your lotion anywhere in the world. that when i fall ill you're the only one i want around to be with me. that when i think of you, i think of God, and when i close my eyes every night, i'm glad that you brought me into the world.
yes. i may not have said this to you too often, but i love you Amma. and i am so so so glad that it's you who's my mother and not anyone else. i hope that someday i get to be everything that you'd like for me to be, and that you're there through out that journey.
Happy Birthday
Mafunyane was the only one of the Magnificent Seven who was well known before Paul Bosman's work made the others equally famous. His tusks reached to the ground and were long white pillars upon which his head rested. Their tips were worn to chisel bevels from scraping the ground as he walked. Even the famous "Ahmed" of Kenya's tusks didn't reach the ground so Mafunyane, in his time, was the greatest elephant that walked the earth.
" it was an easy walk through a hot and humid morning - and we found the great Mafunyane. He had been dead for about 3-4 weeks. His carcass had been torn apart and devoured by hyaenas and vultures. All that was left was his dismembered skeleton, his drying skin, the damp patch of earth where his stomach contents and body juices had oozed into the soil. Vulture feathers and excrement scattered all around, hyaena spoor and chewed ends of Mafunyane's ribs all bore sombre testimony of the return of his great body to the mineral cycle. In death Mafunyane was no different from the most humble duiker"
(All of the above quoted from "The Magnificent Seven and other great tuskers of the Kruger National Park)
I'm lucky enough to have a copy of this book which, besides being beautiful, is also a great read.
Elephant hall
Letaba Camp
Kruger National Park
Limpopo
South Africa
Green Heron (Butorides virescens), Mill Pond outside the Rocky River Nature Center. There were actually two little greenies around today and for whatever reason they were not their usual extremely shy selves.
The Green Heron is one of the few tool-using birds. It commonly drops bait onto the surface of the water and grabs the small fish that are attracted. It uses a variety of baits and lures, including crusts of bread, insects, earthworms, twigs, or feathers. I actually watched this particular bird dropping pieces of leaves and bugs into the water to fish which was VERY cool. (I have some pictures I'll post at a later date of it with fish prey).
While the green herons were cooperative, I did get a loud honking from the Great Blue Heron who was in a nervous/irritable mood. He took off right after I got there, so I spent the entire day photographing the greenies. Of all my shots, including with prey, this was my favorite.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however, we have travelled a short distance south from Cavendish Mews, past Grosvenor Square and its Georgian terraces, beyond the Grosvenor Street establishment where Lettice’s oldest childhood chum, Gerald Bruton, sells designer frocks to wealthy British ladies, near to the Royal Academy of Arts to London’s most fashionable shopping strip in London where Lettice and her mother, Lady Sadie are shopping.
For nearly a year Lettice had been patiently awaiting the return of her then beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, after being sent to Durban by his mother, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wanted to end so that she could marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Having been made aware by Lady Zinnia in October last year that during the course of the year, whilst Lettice had been biding her time, waiting for Selwyn’s eventual return, he had become engaged to the daughter of a Kenyan diamond mine owner whilst in Durban, Lettice had fled Lady Zinnia’s Park Lane mansion. She returned to Cavendish Mews and milled over her options over a week as she reeled from the news. Then, after that, she knew exactly what to do to resolve the issues raised by Lady Zinnia’s unwelcome news about her son. Taking extra care in her dress, she took herself off to the neighbouring upper-class London suburb of Belgravia and paid a call upon Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.
Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John was until recently still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intended to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. After an abrupt ending to her understanding with Selwyn, Lettice in a moment of both weakness and resolve, agreed to the proposal of marriage proffered to her by Sir John to her at a gallery exhibition opening they both attended. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them.
The news of Lettice’s engagement to Sir John was lukewarmly received, at most, by her family. The announcement was received somewhat awkwardly by the Viscount initially, until Lettice assured him that her choice to marry Sir John has nothing to do with undue influence or mistaken motivations. Even Lady Sadie, who Lettice thought would be thrilled by the announcement of her engagement to such a wealthy and eligible man as Sir John, received the news with a somewhat muted response and a tight smile, and she discreetly slipped away after drinking a toast to the newly engaged couple with a glass of fine champagne from the Glynes wine cellar.
Now, some seven months on, plans are starting to be laid for the wedding, albeit at a somewhat glacial pace. Earlier in the week, alerted to it by the sound of raised voices echoing down the corridor in Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife Arabella, the Viscount had walked into the flower room and come across Lettice and her mother arguing bitterly, before Lettice slipped away, her face awash with tears. Several weeks ago, when Lettice and Sir John were taking tea with his younger sister, Clemance Pontefract, who as a widow, has recently returned to London and set up residence in Holland Park, Lettice suggested that Clemance might help her choose her trousseau*. Thinking that Lady Sadie’s ideas will doubtless be somewhat old fashioned and conservative when it comes to commissioning evening dresses and her wedding frock, Lettice wants to engage Clemance’s smart eye and eager willingness to please Lettice as her future sister-in-law to help her pick the trousseau she really wants. Knowing that the subject would be difficult to discuss with her mother, with whom she has a somewhat fraught relationship, Lettice decided to approach Lady Sadie face-to-face. Unsurprisingly, Lady Sadie did not take kindly to the suggestion, any more than she did the idea that Lord Bruton’s son, Gerald, making Lettice’s wedding frock. In the end, Lady Sadie wouldn’t countenance the idea of Gerald making Lettice’s gown, since she felt it would be embarrassing for her youngest daughter to appear in a frock made by the son of her family friend and neighbours, Lord and Lady Bruton, as well as have Gerald as a guest at the wedding. It was this definite final pronouncement that drove Lettice away in tears. Appealing to her father to help her, being his favourite child, Lettice disclosed a secret shared with her by Sir John about his sister, indicating why she has taken such a keen interest in being involved in Lettice’s wedding plans. Clemance had a daughter born the same year as Lettice, that she and her husband lost to diphtheria when the child was twelve. Upon hearing this revelation, the Viscount agreed to talk to Lady Sadie and try and sway her to allow Clemance to be involved in the acquiring of Lettice’s trousseau, a task that is usually the preserve of the bride and her mother, but made no promises. In the end, Lady Sadie agreed to Clemance’s potential involvement in the purchasing of Lettice’s trousseau, but only under the proviso of a formal introduction to her, and Lettice’s promise to visit each and every ‘approved’ Court dressmaker on Lady Sadie’s list without complaint or procrastination.
So it was that Lettice and Lady Sadie journeyed up from Wiltshire to London by railway, and are now part way through a list of appointments made by Lady Sadie with dressmakers, glove makers, milliners and ‘appropriate’ Court dressmakers.
“So,” Lady Sadie sighs, withdrawing her small sterling silver edged green dyed crocodile skin notebook from her reticule**. The old fashioned Art Nouveau curlicues of the silver repoussé work*** on the notebook’s cover catches the sunlight streaming through the taxi window as she pulls out a small silver pencil from within a concealed compartment in the spine before opening the book. “We’ve decided that Madame Yvonne**** is a no, then.” With a satisfied smile, she draws a definitive line through the name and address of the couturier known for her fashionable frocks – her crossed out name joining those of Mrs. Pickett*****, Frederick Bosworth****** and several other notable London court dressmakers.
“You’ve decided.” Lettice replies peevishly as she sits in a sullen way, her back pressed into the polished dark blue leather seat of the taxi, her arms folded defensively akimbo.
“Now, now, Lettice my dear,” Lady Sadie chides her daughter. “I thought we’d agreed that we would visit these court dressmakers together with a unified front.”
“How can we have a ‘unified front’,” Lettice rolls her eyes to the white leather lined interior roof of the taxi as she parrots her mother’s words. “When our tastes are so different, Mamma?”
Lettice knows that she has agreed with her father to try and stay on her mother’s good side by following her to the premises of every London court dressmaker and couturier in the capital’s West End the older woman has carefully curated in her notebook and deemed as ‘appropriate’ for Lettice’s trousseau without protest or procrastination. However, as the day has worn on, with any glimmer of hope of a fashionable wedding frock quickly growing more and more remote as only the names of staid designers and old fashioned London stalwarts like Redfern*******, Maison Lewis******** and Cooper and Machinka********* remaining without a line drawn through them, Lettice is finding her patience and resolve to keep her promise to her father growing thin.
“Come now Lettice,” Lady Sadie tuts as she slips the pencil back into its compartment, and returns her notebook to the pink crochet and beaded bag on her lap. “You must admit that for all her pretty fabrics and colours, Madame Yvonne’s modes********** are a little… well…”
“Well what, Mamma?”
“Well, a little racy.” Lady Sadie shudders as she utters the last word. “All that stockinged calves showing beneath those layered hems.”
“But that’s the current trend, Mamma.” Lettice replies in an imploring tone. “Surely you don’t want me to get married in an ankle length gown like existed before the war! It’s too ridiculous! I’d be a laughing stock!”
“I didn’t suggest you should, Lettice my dear.” Lady Sadie replies coolly, trying not to revel in her ability to wield such power over her daughter regarding something so important to her youngest child as her wedding dress. “However,” She wags a white kid leather glove clad finger at Lettice. “I do think a modicum more of modesty is due, especially on your wedding day. God doesn’t want to see your knees as you walk up the aisle, and nor should any of your wedding guests.” She snuggles back into her corner of the taxi.
“They weren’t that shocking, Mamma.” Lettice counters.
“The lengths of Madame Vyonne’s hemlines were,” Lady Sadie releases another sigh. “Regrettably short, Lettice.”
“Well, I still think Gerald is the best placed to design something perfect for me for my wedding that you will find agreeable, Mamma.”
“No Lettice!” Lady Sadie holds up her hand to silence her daughter. “And,” she goes on warningly. “I won’t hear another word on the subject of Gerald Bruton making your wedding frock! I thought I had made it perfectly clear already that as the son of your father’s and my dear and longstanding friends, not to mention neighbours and members of the local country gentry, and therefore a guest at your wedding, we simply cannot countenance having gerald make your frock.”
“But Mamma!” Lettice implores.
“No Lettice!” Lady Sadie repeats, turning away from her daughter and looking out the taxi’s window at the passing shopfronts of New Bond Street*********** as the taxi battles the London traffic and inches up the road.
The mother and daughter fall into an awkward silence: not a truce, but rather a silent standoff, with neither obstinate woman wishing to give ground to the other.
“Besides, I thought you gave your father your word that you would agree to come to every London Court dressmaker I deemed suitable in return for me meeting your…” Lady Sadie cannot bring herself to call Sir John her daughter’s fiancée without a wave of nausea sweeping over her. “Sir John’s sister, this Mrs. Pontefract, and perhaps allowing her to have some minor involvement in the planning of your trousseau.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Lettice asks, unfolding her arms and spreading them widely in a questioning gesture across the taxi’s leather banquette towards her mother. “And I don’t remember Pappa suggesting it would only be a minor involvement. Remember that if Clemance’s daughter had lived, she would be my age by now, and perhaps she might have been helping her plan her own wedding, had not death robbed her of the chance.”
“I’m well aware of Mrs. Pontefract’s unfortunate situation, Lettice, which is why I acquiesced and agreed to have tea with her this afternoon.”
“Poor Clemance has been at such a loose end now she is back in London, and even the gesture of her giving me fashion magazines about wedding frocks has brought her so much pleasure, purpose and drive. John and I want her to be more than a little involved. Please be nice to her, Mamma.”
“Well of course I’ll be nice to her! Just remember though, Lettice my dear,” Lady Sadie adds in a cautionary tone. “You cannot expect to bring other people’s dreams to life at the expense of your own.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing now, Mamma?” Lettice spits bitterly. “Where do my wishes about my wedding frock I dream of fall on your list of ‘appropriate’ maisons************?”
“Don’t be churlish with me, Lettice.” Lady Sadie scolds. “It’s rude. Your father and I didn’t raise you to be discourteous to either of us. It’s most unbecoming and doesn’t suit you.”
The pair fall into silence again, each almost imperceptibly retracting away from the other, pressing themselves more compactly into their corner of the taxi.
“You won’t mention to Clemance that you know about her lost daughter, will you Mamma?” Lettice finally asks, breaking their awkward quietude. “I mean, John only told me in the strictest of confidence when I asked him who the little girl was in the painting with her that hangs in her entrance hall.”
“Do you really think me so socially inept, Lettice?” Lady Sadie snaps. “Of course I won’t! I’d never bring up something so distasteful: a subject so hurtful to the poor woman, over afternoon tea.”
“No… no…” Lettice stammers with embarrassment. “No, of course not, Mamma.”
The pair fall into an awkward silence again, observed by the taxi driver from his cab through his rear vision mirror. The two women face away from one another. Lettice faces to her left out the window, arrayed in a neat pink dyed straw boater set at a jaunty angle atop her waved blonde hair and a light orchid pink coloured chiffon frock with a large silk flocked flower affixed to her hem, her arms folded defensively akimbo again, her parasol standing guard between she and her mother. Lady Sadie in her more conservative afternoon frock of floral sprigged creamy georgette with its layered and pleated hem that pools around her brisling figure peers to her left out her passenger window from beneath a white straw hat overed in pink satin roses and white feather plumes as she clutches her parasol in one lace glove clad hand and her reticule in the other. They both watch the passing facades of the New Bond Street shops, three, four and five storeys high adorned with pillars and ornate tracery around their windows, each trying to out impress the other with their grandeur. Some have blinds and awnings in bright colours drawn over the windows against the summer sun to keep the rooms inside shaded and cool. Signs advertise milliners and jewellers, furriers and shoemakers, glove makers and perfumiers, mantle makers and dressmakers. Fenwick’s************* awnings advertise a ‘great sale’ of its mantles, silk goods, dresses, fabrics and trimmings. The Fashion Shoe Shop with its striking newly renovated street front façade featuring its highly fashionable Art Deco sunbursts in stained glass display a dizzying array of gentlemen’s and ladies’ shoes for every occasion. Gold chains, pocket watches and sparking rings and brooches bask in the sunshine filtering through the plate glass windows of Finnigan’s**************. Along the pavements on both sides of the street London businessmen in morning coats and top hats or bowlers stride with purpose, whilst elegant ladies smartly turned out in colourful frocks and hats, some escorted by gentlemen in cream coloured summer suits and straw boaters, parade and perambulate at a more leisurely pace as they stop to admire the latest fashions and luxury goods on display through the large windows of each shop. Even through the closed windows of the taxi, Lettice and Lady Sadie can hear the vociferous sound of muffled chatter over the purring of the taxi’s engine and those of the other motorcars in front and behind them as they continue to edge along the shopping strip.
“Here we are, mum” the taxi driver says with a quiet sigh of relief as he pulls up to the curb before a beautiful cream painted three storey classically Georgian style building with a black painted front door secreted beneath a pillared and arched portico, “Number 47 New Bond Street. That’ll be five and six, mum.” he continues through the glass divider between the driver’s compartment and the passenger carriage.
“Frightful!” Lady Sadie exclaims scornfully as she delves into her reticule for her coin purse. “Five and six!”
“Traffic down Bond Street is always heavy, mum.” the taxi driver offers up, unapologetic in his explanation as he leans back in his seat and holds out his hand through the small open hatch in the window.
“I dare say it would have been much cheaper if you hadn’t taken us on such a circuitous route.” Lady Sadie quips.
“Just pay the man, Mamma.” Lettice replies irritably. “Or I will. It won’t get any cheaper, even with your complaint.”
Accepting the money foisted into his hand by the older woman, the taxi driver tips his flat cap in deference to the well dressed ladies in the back seat of his taxi as Lettice opens the door and steps out onto the shopper populated pavement and basks in the sunshine afforded her on the glorious summer’s day, lifting her face to absorb the sun’s warmth.
“Don’t idle on the street like that, blocking people’s way,” Lady Sadie chides her daughter, breaking Lettice’s moment of bliss. “You’ll ruin your complexion***************. Come along!”
A short while later, under the sleek and unhurried guidance of a vendeuse**************** with a fashionable head of marcelled waves*****************, dressed in a chic black velvet frock with an understated string of imitation pearls lying in contrast against her collar, Lettice and Lady Sadie are ushered into Madame Handley-Seymour’s salon. A spacious room scented lightly with the fragrance of roses, asters and bluebells from ornate fresh flower displays, the salon was elegantly appointed in pale colours so as not to detract from Madame’s modes. Muted watercolours of pre-war fashions in white frames hung upon the peach coloured flocked papered walls. The vendeuse seats Madame’s honoured guests in two comfortably upholstered cream and white Regency striped chairs before Madame presents herself.
“Welcome Your Ladyship, Miss Chetwynd,” Madame Handley-Seymour says in silvery, well elocuted tones, that don’t betray her origins in Blackpool, as she sweeps into the room dressed in an afternoon frock of blue and pink patterned georgette with an embroidered lace collar, nodding her head in deference to both ladies. Clutching the real pearls cascading down her own front, she continues, “I wish you every happiness on your engagement to Sir John, Miss Chetwynd******************.”
Lettice nods her head in acknowledgement, whilst Lady Sadie’s mouth puckers almost imperceptibly in distaste at the mention of her daughter’s forthcoming nuptials******************* to the odious Sir John.
Either unaware of Lady Sadie’s reaction, or perhaps more out of feigned ignorance, Madame Handley-Seymour continues, “I’m very honoured to have you consider my Maison for your wedding gown. Nanette,” She turns her attention to the vendeuse. “Tea for our guests.”
“Yes Madame.” the vendeuse replies as she obsequiously bows her head and withdraws to fetch refreshments for Lettice and Lady Sadie.
“Now of course, having been guests at Her Royal Highness The Duchess of York’s******************** wedding, you are aware that my style is suitably popular, following some of the latest modes, such as drop-waists*********************, which I can already see will appeal to you, Miss Chetwynd.” Madame Handley-Seymour remarks, nodding at Lettice’s own drop-waisted frock. “But,” She turns her attention to Lady Sadie. “Are romantic and soft, Your Ladyship. Her Royal Highness’ gown was inspired by the fashions of medieval Italy.” Lady Sadie nods in approval. “I am unsure as to whether you wish to use a piece of family heirloom lace for your veil, Miss Chetwynd, but if you do, may I assure you that just like Her Royal Highness’s wedding gown, we can dye yours to match.”
“I don’t think we’ve really considered that yet, have we Mamma?” Lettice ventures.
“No,” Lady Sadie replies with a rounded mouth in a rather noncommittal way.
“Well, no matter Your Ladyship, Miss Chetwynd. We can always discuss that at a later stage.” Madame Handley-Seymour continues with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I would recommend ivory chiffon moiré, Miss Chetwynd, as I think it would suit your lovely peaches and cream complexion.”
Lady Sadie turns her head and eyes her daughter knowingly with a raised eyebrow, silently referencing her rebuke of Lettice sunning her face on the street outside the couturier.
“I used two trains on Her Royal Highness’s dress, one that was hip-length and another that floated from the shoulders, which has set quite the trend, Miss Chetwynd.” Madame Handley-Seymour chortles. “And of course it was embroidered with pearls and silver thread. I have an excellent staff of over two hundred people, including a whole workroom of competent bead workers********************** whose work I am sure you will be satisfied with, Your Ladyship. However, you do not have to decide now. I have had my head fitter, Miss Ford*********************** set out some fabrics and trims that I thought we might consider a little later. But first,” Madame Handley-Seymour claps her hands twice dramatically as Nanette returns with a silver tray with tea making implements. “Please, relax and allow me to show you some of the latest modes from my collection.”
For the next twenty minutes, Lettice and Lady Sadie are treated to a private fashion show of Madame Handley-Seymour’s designs, paraded up and down the salon’s length by three models with elegantly coiffured hair, swan necks, slender, willowy figures and long arms who pose at various stages as they walk as Avis Ford stands behind her employer and her two guests and reads the names and descriptions of the gowns as they are paraded. Blouson dresses************************ in pale cotton voile, vibrant yellow crêpe and striking violet satin are paraded before Lettice and Lady Sadie under the watchful eye of Madame Handley-Seymour along with robes de style************************* of Nile green************************** and Lanvin blue*************************** silk embroidered with lace, silk ribbon flowers and panels of shimmering beadwork. Lady Sadie sighs with approval as a model walks past her in a long tubular gown of pale apricot satin which is accessorised with a white evening cape with a thick ermine collar. Lettice glares silently at her, horrified by the thought of having her calves encased in such a long gown, however elegantly its side drape is affixed with a bunch of silk ribbon flowers. She prefers perhaps the most striking and unusual gown in the collection shown to them, a frock actually designed by Avis Ford alone and not a collaboration with Madame Handley-Seymour: a cranberry crêpe evening gown embellished with gold, red and blue bugle beads**************************** with a gold lamé sash. Lady Sadie refuses to engage her daughter’s gaze as Lettice lets out an appreciative sigh as the bright gown is shown off before them by the model. Finally, the fashion show finishes with one of Madame Handley-Seymour’s classically beautiful models stepping out from behind the pale velvet curtain in a wedding frock*****************************. Wearing a long robe de style frock with a bouffant taffeta skirt over silver lace, the model’s dainty feet poke out from beneath the hem in pretty pointed white satin slippers as she walks the length of the salon. A long veil cascading down her back held in place on her head by a headpiece of flower bands wafts like a cloud in her wake.
With the fashion show over, Nannette ushers Lady Sadie and Lettice to a secluded alcove off the end of the salon where a round table is covered with a selection of bolts of fabrics and lace. Drawn up to it are two chairs matching those they had sat on for the fashion show.
“Please, do take a seat, Your Ladyship, Miss Chetwynd.” Nannette oozed soothingly, wafting her hand equally as elegantly as any of Madame Handley-Seymour’s three models towards the chairs. She then places Madame’s black leather order book discreetly and silver pen on the far side of the table to the mother and daughter as they sit down.
“So,” Madame Handley-Seymour remarks brightly. “I hope my little fashion parade was to your liking, Your Ladyship, Miss Chetwynd.” She nods again to both women individually with deference.
“Quite, Madame.” Lady Sadie remarks with her usual reticence.
“Miss Chetwynd?” Madame Handley-Seymour asks, tilting her head, giving Lettice a quizzical look.
“Oh yes,” Lettice replies distractedly, as if suddenly shaken from a deep stupor. “It was lovely, Madame.”
“Very good.” Madame Handley-Seymour affirms with a satisfied smile. “Now, in preparation for your visit today, Miss Ford and I have gone through our extensive range of fabrics and trims and selected a few choice pieces to show you, Your Ladyship, Miss Chetwynd.” She waves her hand over the table. “For your consideration.”
Lettice doesn’t reply immediately, but doesn’t have to when Lady Sadie takes up a page from the society pages of a magazine and compliments Madame Handley-Seymour on the photograph of a rather noble looking woman in a tiara wearing a gown not dissimilar to one that has been shown in the fashion parade. She stares out at the viewer with a bold and expressive gaze.
“Yes.” Madame Handley-Seymour smiles indulgently. “Violet Vanbrugh******************************, the West End theatre actress. I also dress her sister Irene*******************************.”
When Lady Sadie’s mouth puckers with distaste at the thought that the well-respected Court dressmaker and couturier she has deigned to visit with her daughter and consider as a potential candidate for Lettice’s wedding frock, also designs for two actresses, Madame Handley-Seymour realises her miscalculation in her assumption as to the interest her visitors may have in West End celebrities. However wealthy, respectable and well regarded the two Vanbrugh sisters are in theatrical circles, they are not the daughters of members of the aristocracy. Madame Handley-Seymour discreetly removes the offending page, which Lady Sadie dropped back on the polished surface of the table as soon as she realised she was looking at an actress rather than the daughter of a duchess, and slips it to Avis Ford to secret away.
Moving to safer ground Madame Handley-Seymour continues with an awkward clearing of her throat. “We considered your colourings, Miss Chetwynd, and we thought eau-de-nil satin for your going away outfit.” She pats a bolt of pale green satin gently with her left hand. “Of course, as you would know, I made rather fetching brown velvet outfit for Her Royal Highness. Perhaps something coffee coloured or light cocoa might be more to your liking?” She reaches out her right hand to draw attention to some pale cocoa coloured floral lace.
“I detest brown. I never wear it, Madame. Ever!” Lettice answers, emphasising the finality of her last word, and not disguising her mild irritation at Madame Handley-Seymour’s lack of research and presumption about what she would like. “Of course, Gerald would know that were we with him.” She turns and glares at her mother.
“Gerald?” Madame Handley-Seymour queries, withdrawing her hand quickly from the light cocoa coloured lace.
“Yes, Gerald Bruton of Grosvenor Square.” Lettice says brightly as she reaches out and grasps some pretty pure white lace trim and toys with it idly through her fingers. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him, Madame?”
“Err… yes, Miss Chetwynd,” Madame Handley-Seymour remarks awkwardly. “He’s… he’s quite a trend setter in London circles.”
“He’s also my best chum from childhood, and younger son to Lord and Lady Bruton who live on the estate neighbouring ours.” Lettice goes on, smiling angelically at Madame Handley-Seymour. “He actually designed this frock for me.” She drops the lace so that its end trails loosely off the end of the table before smoothing the hem of her skirt over her crossed stockinged knee.
“So, you are considering Mr. Bruton for your wedding frock as well, Miss Chetwynd?” Madame Handley-Seymour asks uncertainty. She turns her attention quickly to Lady Sadie, whose peevish look has only intensified. “I had presumed, Your Ladyship…”
“You shouldn’t presume anything, Madame Handley-Seymour.” Lady Sadie says with haughty superiority as she raises herself up more straightly in her seat until her back is ramrod stiff. “My daughter and I are considering a number of potential couturiers and Court dressmakers based in London for her trousseau,” She sighs a little resignedly as she continues, “Mr. Bruton’s establishment included.”
Lettice’s eyes light up as she hears her mother speak. Glancing quickly at her, Lady Sadie refuses to engage with her.
“I’m sure that you of all people know how fickle the fashion world can be, Madame.” Lady Sadie goes on with a sniff. “We are considering our options over the next few weeks, and are in no hurry to make up our minds.”
“Well, Your Ladyship,” Madame Handley-Seymour replies with an acquiescent nod. “I do hope you will view the Maison Handley-Seymour favourably.”
“As long as you don’t show us anything more that is brown, Madame.” Lady Sadie says, still refusing to engage her daughter’s stare, a slightly mirthful look gently curling up the corners of her mouth. “It is a colour that neither my daughter, nor I, am particularly enamoured of. Her dislike of the shade, she has inherited from me.”
“Certainly, Your Ladyship.” Madame Handley-Seymour replies.
“Well, a thousand thanks for agreeing to see us today, Madame Handley-Seymour.” Lady Sadie says, smiling at her hostess. “And for showing us a selection of your delightful frocks. It has been most informative, hasn’t it, Lettice my dear.”
“Indeed, it has, Madame.” Lettice replies. “I did enjoy seeing some of your lovely frocks today, and my mother and I shall certainly keep your Maison in mind.”
“Thank you Your Ladyship, Miss Chetwynd.” Madame Handley-Seymour says in a toadying fashion.
“Well, I think we have seen all we need to for today, Madame Handley-Seymour.” Lady Sadie announces, rising to her feet and grasping the rounded lacquered wooden knob of her cream lace parasol, finally able to look her daughter in the eye. “And we really should go, Lettice. Mrs. Pontefract will be expecting us for tea, and we don’t wish to keep her waiting, do we?”
“Indeed not, Mamma.” Lettice agrees, elegantly rising from her own seat and grasping the Bakelite******************************** handle of her own parasol.
As Lettice and Lady Sadie step out from underneath the portico of Madame Handley-Seymour’s Maison, they are momentarily blinded by the bright summery sunshine pouring in from above the buildings around them.
Lady Sadie steps across the grey concrete pavement and looks from the kerbside for a taxi with its red ‘for hire’ flag poking out of the passenger side. “Taxi! Taxi!” she calls as she spies one in a few vehicles up in the banked-up traffic turning onto Piccadilly from New Bond Street. Having secured the driver’s eye, she turns her attention to Lettice, who has stepped up next to her mother by the kerb. “Imagine the temerity of that woman, Lettice!” she exclaims. “You think she would have better sense than to show us something in brown, even if it is only a light cocoa shade!”
“Mamma!” Lettice exclaims, clutching her parasol just a little more tightly as she dares to hope. “Does that mean that you’ll consider Gerald to design my dress?”
“Lettice my dear,” Lady Sadie places a calming hand on her daughter’s bare arm. “I am not promising anything. We still have Redfern, and the half dozen other Court dressmakers I still have on my list to visit. We have appointments with them over the coming days.”
“But Mamma, you said we were considering Gerald’s fashion house.” Lettice begins.
“What I said was,” Lady Sadie replies, releasing her daughter’s arm and holding her hand up to her to silence her. “That we are considering a number of potential couturiers and Court dressmakers. Fashion is as fickle as a woman’s taste, or her purse strings. Aside from her missteps with the colour brown and those dreadful Vanbrugh actresses, Madame Handley-Seymour remains top of my list at this moment. Let us see what tomorrow holds.”
“And the next day.” Lettice says under her breath with a hopeful smile teasing up the corners of her mouth prettily.
The marone coloured Austin Twelve********************************* taxi Lady Sadie flagged pulls up to the kerbside, its engine purring as it idles. Reaching out, Lady Sadie grasps the shiny chrome handle of the passenger cab and opens the door before stepping in. Just as Lettice is about to follow her and steps onto the running board********************************** she is suddenly struck by the unpleasant feeling that she is being watched, or rather, scrutinised. The well elocuted vowels of two society matrons in their new summer frocks and hats passing next to Lettice fizzle away in her consciousness as does the sound of the idling taxi engine and the noisy London traffic coming from Picadilly. Looking over the top of the taxi’s roof, Lettice spies a woman perambulating up from Piccadilly on the opposite side of New Bond Street, using a furled parasol rather like a walking stick as she takes languid, unhurried steps. Dressed in a silk chiné gown of pastel pinks, lilacs and blues with a three-quarter length handkerchief point hemline***********************************, she has a large romantic style lilac coloured straw hat adorned with large imitation flowers on her head, not unlike one she has seen at Gerald’s milliner friend Harriet Milford’s house in Putney. Beneath the shade of its wide brim, Lettice recognises the woman’s cold, dark blue eyes which pierce Lettice like the sharpest of knives. Lady Zinnia’s thin lips curl up in a mirthless smile as she nods her head in acknowledgement of Lettice from across the width of the street as she momentarily pauses her journey. The vehement hatred in her eyes pin Lettice to the spot like one of the butterflies in her father’s entomology cabinet************************************.
“Lettice! Lettice what are you doing?” her mother asks distractedly. “Get in.”
Lettice breaks from the piercing gaze of Lady Zinnia and looks down into the face of Lady Sadie which has crumpled with concern.
“Are you alright, Lettice?” Lady Sadie asks.
“Yes… oh, yes.” Lettice replies distractedly, shaking her head shallowly as though trying to rid herself of an annoying insect flying about her. She glances up, but Lady Zinnia’s figure has vanished from the street like some ghostly apparition.
“Come along Lettice.” Lady Sadie insists with urgency, beckoning her daughter with swift gesticulations into the taxi. “We don’t want to keep Mrs. Pontefract waiting. The metre for the taxi is already running, and we haven’t even started for Holland Park yet! Goodness knows what the traffic will be like in this dreadful city. Get in!”
Lettice, released from Lady Zinnia’s spell, bends down and steps into the taxi’s cool and dark interior, closing the door behind her. As she settles into the black leather banquette of the taxi, it moves away from the kerbside and heads in the opposite direction to that Lady Zinnia had been seen going in, pulling up to the corner of New Bond Street and Picadilly, before turning right and heading towards Holland Park.
*A trousseau refers to the wardrobe and belongings of a bride, including her wedding dress or similar clothing such as day and evening dresses.
**Repoussé (pronounced “rep-oh-say”) is a metalworking technique where designs are created by hammering from the back of a metal sheet, pushing it up into a raised relief on the front. It's a French word meaning “pushed up”. The term can also refer to the resulting raised design itself.
***A reticule also known as a ridicule or indispensable, was a type of small handbag or purse, typically having a drawstring and decorated with embroidery or beading, similar to a modern evening bag, used mainly from 1795 to before the Great War.
****Madame Yvonne was a well known London Court dressmakers, located at number 8 Motcomb Street, a street still known today for its luxury fashion shops, such as Christian Louboutin shoes, Stewart Parvin gowns, and the jeweller Carolina Bucci, and was the location of the original Pantechnicon department store. In 1925 when this story is set, it was home to dozens of Count dressmakers and well known couturiers, like Madame Yvonne. It is not known when the establishment was founded nor the identity of ‘Yvonne’ but it did thrive in the 1920s and into the 1930s.
*****Mrs. Pickett was a London Court dressmaker, who unusually, was set up in the middle of the men’s tailoring street of Savile Row.
******Frederick Bosworth, a ladies' tailor and Court dressmaker who worked from New Burlington Street. Prior to founding his own business in 1902, Frederick Bosworth Mims had been manager of the London branch of Redfern Ltd.
*******Redfern was a renowned fashion house that operated in both London and Paris during the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries. Founded in 1855 on the Isle of Wight by John Redfern, the Redfern company began as a tailor specializing in women’s clothing, particularly yachting attire for upper-class women. It gained prominence for its sporty, elegant tailoring, especially during the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Redfern opened branches in London on Bond Street, in Paris, and New York, becoming one of the earliest international haute couture houses. By the 1880s, Redfern was officially designated as Court Dressmaker to Queen Victoria and later to Queen Alexandra and Queen Mary. The brand's prominence faded by the 1930s. While the Paris house closed around 1932, the legacy of Redfern's contributions to modern women's fashion endured in tailoring traditions.
********Maison Lewis was a ladies’ fashion house, milliner and Court dressmaker located at 152 Regent Street, Mayfair.
*********Cooper and Machinka were a Court dressmakers located at 36 Dover Street, Mayfair
**********In the context of fashion, "mode" refers to a prevailing fashion or style, especially of dress or behaviour. It essentially means the current or fashionable way of doing something, often used interchangeably with terms like "fashion" or "style".
***********New Bond Street is a prominent shopping street in London's West End, known for its upscale fashion boutiques, art galleries, and jewellery stores. It's the northern section of Bond Street, and its status as a luxury shopping destination is well-established. Bond Street links Piccadilly in the south to Oxford Street in the north. Since the Eighteenth Century the street has housed many prestigious and upmarket fashion retailers. The southern section is Old Bond Street and the longer northern section New Bond Street, a distinction not generally made in everyday usage. The street was built on fields surrounding Clarendon House on Piccadilly, which were developed by Sir Thomas Bond. It was built up in the 1720s, and by the end of the 18th century was a popular place for the upper-class residents of Mayfair to socialise. Prestigious or expensive shops were established along the street, but it declined as a centre of social activity in the 19th century, although it held its reputation as a fashionable place for retail, and is home to the auction houses Sotheby's and Bonhams (formerly Phillips) and the department store Fenwick and jeweller Tiffany's. It is one of the most expensive and sought after strips of real estate in the world.
************In the fashion world, "maison" is a French word meaning "house" or "brand," particularly referring to luxury fashion houses or firms. It's used to designate a company that designs, creates, and sells high-end fashion items, including clothing, accessories, and sometimes fragrances.
*************John James Fenwick, known as JJ, was born in Richmond, North Yorkshire, in 1846. Early in his career, he learned his trade as a shop assistant, where his passion for retail and customer service was instilled and nurtured. In 1882, his ambition came to fruition when he bought and renovated a doctor's house at 5 Northumberland Street in Newcastle upon Tyne. This would become his first store and the start of his legacy: JJ Fenwick, Mantle Maker and Furrier. Together with two assistants, he sold an unparalleled range of mantles, silk goods, dresses, fabrics and trimmings. JJ's keen eye for luxury and exceptional care of his clientele made the store especially popular, and soon he expanded his space by purchasing 37, 38 and 40 Northumberland Street. Today, the flagship Fenwick store still stands on this exact site. JJ's son Fred joined the business in 1890 and was sent to Paris to train in the art of retail. Here, he embraced the revolutionary concept of department store, perfectly exemplified in Le Bon Marché. When JJ and Fred introduced this set up to their Newcastle store, they started what would become a family-owned retail empire. In 1891 JJ opened his first Fenwick’s in London on New Bond Street, London’s most luxurious shopping district. The first fashion store on the street, Fenwick’s quickly becomes a must-visit for affluent, stylish women eager to discover the latest styles in elegant environs. Fenwick’s hosted its first ever Christmas Bazaar in 1902, welcoming customers to explore and browse in store at their leisure, with no obligation to buy – anticipating the forthcoming trend of more relaxed and recreational retail. Typically forward-thinking, Fenwick’s was the first establishment in Britain to advertise on London public transport in 1935. Through acquisition of other brands and expansion into other markets such as homewares, Fenwick’s marked 140 years of retailing in 2022 and is still in existence today.
**************The House of Finnigans was a British luxury luggage and trunk maker established in 1830, originally in Manchester and in New Bond Street in London in 1879. The House of Finnigans manufactured and produced a wide range of luxury products, including trunks, bags, fashion, jewellery, timepieces, and silverware. In 1968, Finnigans closed its New Bond Street store. The company remained a family-run business until it shut down its last store in 1988.
***************The 1920s were the first era when sun worshipping began. Ladies and gentlemen alike began to sunbathe and come to appreciate the darker tones of sunned skin, associating it with youthful vivacity, health and fitness in the pursuit of pleasurable outdoor activities. This was at odds with the pre-war ideal of ladies, who were supposed to have white skin, unblemished by the sun. Suntanned skin was associated with working women who had to toil out-of-doors, and it was undignified for an Edwardian lady of quality to have such coloured skin.
****************A vendeuse is a saleswoman, especially one in a fashionable dress shop.
*****************Marcelling is a hair styling technique in which hot curling tongs are used to induce a curl into the hair. Its appearance was similar to that of a finger wave but it is created using a different method. Marcelled hair was a popular style for women's hair in the 1920s, often in conjunction with a bob cut. For those women who had longer hair, it was common to tie the hair at the nape of the neck and pin it above the ear with a stylish hair pin or flower. One famous wearer was American entertainer, Josephine Baker.
******************In more socially conscious times it was traditional to wish the bride-to-be happiness, rather than saying congratulations as we do today. Saying congratulations to a bride in past times would have implied that she had won something – her groom. The groom on the other hand was to be congratulated for getting the lady to accept his marriage proposal.
*******************Nuptials is a alternative word for marriage. The term “nuptials” emphasizes the ceremonial and legal aspects of a marriage, lending a more formal tone to wedding communications and documentation.
********************Elizabeth Bowes Lyon went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to". The couple finally married on the 26th of April 1923. Elizabeth then became styled Her Royal Highness The Duchess of York.
*********************A drop waist-dress is a style of dress where the waistline is significantly lower than a traditional dress, typically falling at or below the hips. This placement creates a looser, more relaxed fit around the torso and allows the skirt to flare out from the dropped waistline. This style of dress came into fashion in the more relaxed two decades between the two World Wars, rejecting the tightly corseted and formal fashions that pre-dated the Great War.
**********************A bead worker is an artist or craftsperson who creates decorative and functional items by attaching beads to various surfaces or stringing them together. This can involve techniques like weaving, sewing, embroidery, or stringing beads onto threads or wires. At the time this story is set in the mid 1920s, hand beaded panels were in popular demand for women’s frocks, and thousands of mostly young women toiled away in fashion houses in England and across Europe hand beading panels. Whilst the dresses their pieces graced cost a fortune, the average wage of a bead worker was very low, and depending upon where she worked, her career could be short-lived if the light in the workroom was poor and ruined her eyesight.
***********************Many of the gowns provided by Madame Handley-Seymour were co-designed and created by Avis Ford, who started out as an apprentice in the 1910s and eventually became chief designer and fitter. Born in Adelaide in South Australia, Avis returned to England with her family when she was seven years old. After finishing school, she was keen to follow her bent for dress designing and became an apprentice to Madame Handley-Seymour. Following the retirement of Madame Handley-Seymour just before the outbreak of the Second World War, and at the request of Queen Mary, Avis Ford opened her own couture establishment in the early 1940s on Albemarle Street, and continued to provide clothing to the Royal Family including Queen Mary, Mary the Princess Royal, tweeds for Queen Elizabeth (the Queen Mother) and even designed dresses for the (then) Princess Elizabeth (later Queen Elizabeth II) and her sister Margaret-Rose into the early 1950s. A quiet woman, Avis Ford’s salons were also quiet affairs that attracted a distinguished clientele.
************************A blouson dress is characterised by its loose, flowing silhouette, often with a gathered or cinched waistline, creating a blouson effect (a billowing or puffy appearance) over the bust and upper body. The waistline is typically undefined or slightly gathered, creating a comfortable, relaxed fit. This more relaxed style of dress became popular with the abandonment of tightly laced corsets after the Great War in the 1920s, which revolutionised women’s fashions, creating a look that is more characteristic of what we see today.
*************************The ‘robe de style’ was introduced by French couturier Jeanne Lanvin around 1915. It consisted of a basque bodice with a broad neckline and an oval bouffant skirt supported by built in wire hoops. Reminiscent of the Spanish infanta-style dresses of the Seventeenth Century and the panniered robe à la française of the Eighteenth Century they were made of fabric in a solid colour, and were ornamented with concentrated bursts of embroidery, ribbons or ornamental silk flowers.
**************************Nile green is defined as a “pale bluish-green colour” and was very popular in the 1920s, fashionably named so for the Tut-Mania that took the world by storm after Howard Carter discovered Tutankhamun’s tomb in 1922.
***************************French couturier Jeanne Lanvin particularly favoured a deep shade of robin’s egg blue so much in became known as Lanvin blue.
****************************Bugle beads are long, thin, tubular glass beads, often compared to the shape of a bugle instrument. They are commonly used in jewelry making, beading, and embroidery to add texture and visual interest to designs. They come in various lengths, colors, and finishes.
*****************************While it's difficult to pinpoint a single individual as the absolute first, the tradition of closing a couture fashion show with a bridal look became fashionable in the mid 1920s by couturiers like Jeanne Lanvin, and were copied by other fashion houses, finally becoming established as a standard in the late 1940s. This practice is now considered a tradition in the couture world, signifying the pinnacle of craftsmanship and luxury.
******************************Violet Augusta Mary Bourchier, née Barnes, known professionally as Violet Vanbrugh, was an English actress with a career that spanned more than fifty years. Vanbrugh was from a family with theatrical connections.
*******************************Dame Irene Boucicault, née Barnes, known professionally as Irene Vanbrugh was an English actress. The daughter of a clergyman, Vanbrugh followed her elder sister Violet into the theatrical profession and sustained a career for more than fifty years.
********************************Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.
*********************************The Austin Twelve is a motor car introduced by Austin in 1921. It was the second of Herbert Austin's post-World War I models and was in many ways a scaled-down version of his Austin Twenty, introduced in 1919. The slower-than-expected sales of the Twenty brought about this divergence from his intended one-model policy. The Twelve was announced at the beginning of November 1921. The number twelve refers to its fiscal horse power (12.8) rather than its brake horsepower (bhp) which was 20 and later 27. Austin Twelves became a common sight in London as they were very suitable models for taxis.
**********************************Running boards, also known as footboards, are flat, narrow steps attached to the sides of vehicles to aid passengers in getting in and out.
***********************************Handkerchief dresses and skirts are designed with asymmetric hems, created from fabric panels that are cut diagonally along the bias grain of the fabric, creating different length panels that are sewn together to create a hem with several corners that hang down as points.
************************************A cabinet containing pinned or mounted butterfly specimens is often called an entomology cabinet, insect cabinet, or specimen cabinet. It can also be referred to as a butterfly case or display case when used for framed butterflies. If the focus is on scientific collection and study, it might be part of a type collection or Lepidoptera collection, especially if it holds type specimens.
The interior of this couturier with its elegantly appointed interior and selections of fabrics and lace is not all that it appears to be, for it is made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The selection of fabrics and lace on the tabletop are all pieces of ribbon or lace from my vintage haberdashery collection. The narrow piece of lace is only five millimetres in diameter. The black japanned sewing box with its red white and gold lacquered top has a red lacquered interior, just like its life size equivalent. Made from metal, I acquired it from a specialist miniature supplier online through E-Bay. Madame Handley-Seymour’s sterling silver pen with a tiny seed pearl in its end comes from the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. Madame Handley-Seymour’s black leather order book and ledger beneath it come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom. The copy of the page from ‘The Camera in Society’ was printed by me.
1:12 size miniature hats made to exacting standards of quality and realism such as those seen in this photograph are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that each would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet they could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, they are an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. The maker of Lady Sadie’s feather plumed and pink rose covered cloche and Lettice’s pink straw flower decorated hat are unknown, but they are part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The two parasols with their lacy furls and beautiful handles are also part of Marilyn Bickel’s former collection.
The two Regency stripe unholstered chairs, the small salon chair in the background against the wall and the tall stand on which the floral arrangement sits are all made by the high-end miniature furniture manufacturer, Bespaq.
The dried floral arrangement, which is made from a mixture of imitation flowers and real plants that have been dried comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop, as does the Art Nouveau decorated screen to the left of the photograph.
The two fashion plates on the wall come from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom.
The flocked wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
On our google maps corrected route to Museo Jumex in Colonia Polanco we walked through Mexico-Azerbaijan Friendship Park.
The park came to be in 2011. The sculpture has the shape of a map of Azerbaijan.
The park renovation & sculpture was donated to Mexico City along with scads of $$ to upgrade a section of Paseo de la Reforma abutting the park.
In August 2012 bronze statue of then Azerbaijan president Heydar Aliyev.
The statue & park was given to Mexico to show appreciation for being one of the first to recognize the independence of Azerbaijan.
The statue provoked a storm of criticism after it was installed on the capital’s main boulevard.
26 January 2013, the government of Mexico City removed the statue and returned it to the embassy. Since then, the location and status of the statue are not publicly known.
Possessing an irritable and contradictory character, Heydar Aliyev was in charge of Azerbaijan for 10 years until he handed over power to his son Ilham Aliyev, at the age of 80 and before his death in a US hospital due to heart failure in 2003.
Aliyev's government was characterized by political instability, nepotism, corruption and constant human rights violations.
安平運河夏天的午后 - 火爆的天氣 / 藍天白雲 - 龍舟海水風景如畫
The summer's afternoon of the Anping Transport river - The irritable weather / The blue sky white clouds - The dragon boats with sea water is as beautiful as a painting
La tarde del verano del río del transporte de Anping - el tiempo irritable / Las nubes del blanco del cielo azul - Los barcos del dragón con la agua de mar son tan hermosos como una pintura
安平運河夏の午後に - 盛んな天気 / 青空の白は曇る - 海水が付いているドラゴンのボートは絵画美しい
Der Sommernachmittag des Anping-Transportflusses - Das reizbare Wetter / Die Weißwolken des blauen Himmels - Die Dracheboote mit Meerwasser ist so schön wie ein Anstrich
I used Yahoo translater. it is the joke don't worry be happy.
Anping Tainan Taiwan / Anping Tainan Taiwán / 台灣台南安平
anit social workers
Antisocial personality disorder (ASPD or APD) is defined by the American Psychiatric Association's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual as "...a pervasive pattern of disregard for, and violation of, the rights of others that begins in childhood or early adolescence and continues into adulthood."
To be diagnosed, an individual must be age 18 or older, as well as have a documented history of a conduct disorder before the age of 15. People having antisocial personality disorder are sometimes labeled "sociopaths" or "psychopaths."
Characteristics of people with antisocial personality disorder may include:
Persistent lying or stealing
Apparent lack of remorse or empathy for others
Cruelty to animals
Poor behavioral controls — expressions of irritability, annoyance, impatience, threats, aggression, and verbal abuse; inadequate control of anger and temper
A history of childhood conduct disorder
Recurring difficulties with the law
Tendency to violate the boundaries and rights of others
Substance abuse
Aggressive, often violent behavior; prone to getting involved in fights
Inability to tolerate boredom
Disregard for safety
It's my darling's birthday today (8-7-2014). I thought of one quote or phrase that would sum up her personality and the way she conducts herself, after I had carefully crafted the photo above for her. The phrase is: “Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things.” ~ Paul, A.D. First Century, 1 Corinthians 13:4-7, Revised Standard Version), Holy Bible: Revised Standard Version
Canon South Africa 6D, 17-40mm, ISO 100 on AV exp bias +1
Made various versions in LR for sky, rocks and dark spots in rocks. All then blended manually in PS.
Lasioglossum (Parasphecodes) on a Trigger Plant (Stylidium graminifolium). It has been a hope of mine to catch a pollinator on one of these plants so I was thrilled to see this bee activating the flowers and getting dusted in pollen! In this photo you can see the flower column on the back of the bee. From ANSPA: “They are known as “trigger plants” because of the unique, irritable flower column which is triggered by insect visitors. The trigger remains cocked until an insect probes the flower and then springs upwards and deposits pollen on the head or back of the insect which then transfers the pollen to another flower”.
Charley: *props elbows on the table, accidently jostling it, causing things to topple and fruit to roll, irritably* “Geez-frickin’-Louise!” *buries her face in her arms*
Molly: *makes her way to the fridge, opens it and grabs a couple of drinks, sets one down in front of Charley* “Here. Drink sumthin’ cold. It’ll make you feel better.”
Charley: *burrows deeper into her arms*
Molly: *sits down, cracking the seal on her water* “Charles, don’t sulk. That’s my niche in the group.”
Charley: *peeks out from her arms*
Molly: *rights most of the things askew on the table and throws a pinch of the spilled salt over her shoulder* “If you’re still ornery, go kick him in the nuts. By now, he’s feelin’ lower than a snake’s belly for everwhat he said to you, so reckon he’ll let you.”
Charley: *raises her head, whines* “I don’t wanna kick him. I wanna…I wanna…*exhales loudly* I don’t know what I wanna.” *opens her drink, motions jerky with frustration, and takes a swig*
Molly: “Watchin’ you two act this way wears me clean out, so I cain’t even imagine what it’s like to be livin’ it. See, this is why I keep sex an’ feelings separate. Less stress. Less mess.”
Charley: *rolls eyes, signs/says* “Molly, that’s just as screwed up…if not more.”
Molly: *shrugs* “So say you, but I hain’t the one who looks like a hound dog that’s just lost its favorite bone. Look, Charles…when you left for college, Diego pined for you. I know you’d always ask me how he was doin’, an’ I’d say fine, but that wadn’t strictly true. He loves you—more than I think you realize.”
Charley: *adjusts glasses, defensively* “He loves you, too.”
Molly (patiently): “Yes, but it hain’t the same kind of love. Love’s akin to snowflakes in a blizzard—there’s millions of ‘em, an’ hain’t none of ‘em exactly alike. But I reckon Diego knows me better than anybody, an’ I know him—which is why you need to listen to me, ya hear? I’m a-tellin’ you that he’s in love with you, an’ whether or not you want to return his kind of love is up to you…but it’s time you acknowledge the way he feels. It hurts him when you willfully ignore it. And I know he’s told you that he loves you. And I know you know he hain’t the type of man to admit that easily.”
Charley: *begins to raise her bottle to her lips, suddenly realizing her hand’s shaking, releases the bottle, curling her fingers under, head down*
Molly: *covers Charley’s trembling fist with her hand, squeezing it reassuringly* “It’s hard to remember, idn’t it? Even I forget sometimes, but he does have feelings. I reckon he feels things more keenly than most. He just don’t show it. After your dark spell, things were confusin’ for you, an’ he didn’t want to make it worse, so he gave you room to come into yer own. But staying away may’ve be one of the hardest things he’s ever done. He worried over you. He was so afeared you’d try again…an’ he wouldn’t be there to save you. *softly* We both worried about that, Charles.”
Charley: *voice choked, as she looks up at Molly* “I know.”
Fashion Credits
***Any doll enhancements (i.e. freckles, piercings, eye color changes, haircuts) were done by me unless otherwise stated.***
Charley
Jeans: Clear lan
Top: Cangaway (etsy.com)
Sneakers: Sekiguchi Momoko – Dash! After School
Glasses: Sekiguchi Momoko Accessory
Sweater: It – NuFace – Style Mantra Eden
Necklace: Me
Doll is a Morning Dew Giselle transplanted to a Poppy body, re-rooted by the magnificent valmaxi(!!!)
Molly
Overalls: Mattel – Fashion Avenue – I added the buttons and cuffed them.
Top: Mattel – My Scene Fashion – I removed the decoration on the front.
Boots: Snow’s Shopping Paradise (eBay.com)
Belt: Me
Scarf: Mattel – Barbie Collectibles – Peace & Love 70s Barbie
Necklace & Earrings: Me
Doll is a She’s Not There Poppy Parker, eyes have been repainted by me, all other enhancements by me.
[9:00 AM breakfast]
Breakfast is such a difficult thing. I can't eat too much, because I get nauseous very easily, but I also need the energy.
I take a lot of pills and hope that they give me a few more spoons to spend that day. Maybe I'll be in less pain, maybe I need the vitamins, maybe I need to be able to focus. Medicine can help gain spoons in so many ways.
However, there are side-effects. Most strong pain-killers have a lot of side-effects and it's always choosing between two types of evil. Will I be in pain or will I be drowsy? My pain killers cause me to be depressed if I take too many, or they make me feel high and I just laugh at everything. The medicine makes me foggy, making it hard to do things. I feel like I'm sleeping all the time.
8:30 AM shower and get dressed
For most people with a chronic illness, showering is something that costs a lot of spoons.
For me, showering costs me a lot energy. It takes a lot of energy to stand up for such a long time. It takes a lot of energy to wash my hair because I have to lift my hands above my head. The heat and the humidity also costs a lot of energy, since I get close to fainting (or actually faint) if the water is either too cold or too hold.
I'm still concerned about this little guy. He has been intermittently vomiting since May and seems to be eating less dry food. He is very finicky about eating and has been diagnosed with irritable bowel syndrome. I have been communicating with the vet regularly and will be taking Toby for another weight check in about two weeks. I love you, Toby Boy, my Toby Three Paws!
Recent research states that more men suffer from ‘Grumpy Old Man’ syndrome when they hit 70. There are good reasons to believe this to be the case. Seventy is an age when men may become more aware of their own mortality as they see friends and loved ones pass on. They might be struggling with wearisome health problems, and/or feel depressed because they have no aspirations or goals left to attain. ‘Grumpy Old Man’ syndrome is also and most likely due to the fact that testosterone levels in a 70-year-old are quite probably half the normal levels of a younger man.
Whereas women’s estrogen levels drop relatively suddenly when they go through menopause, causing a variety of noticeable symptoms, men’s testosterone levels drop gradually over a period of time so the symptoms are not as obvious.
Men who suffer from this syndrome may experience a sense of feeling burned out, increased depression, increased irritability, increased anxiety, more nervousness, more joint complaints, reduced mental effectiveness, increased sweating, (and hot sweats in thirty per cent of those affected). They may have a need for more sleep or suffer sleep disturbances. They may notice muscular weakness, physical exhaustion, impaired
Well reaserch is all well and good but I have been a "grumpy old bu***r" for ages and have not reached 70 - - - wonder what I will be like then.
I think its more to do with reching an age when you realise that (for most of us) nothing we do realy matters; corporate enhancement, powerful job, wise and respected in our field. No when you are old the youngsters coming up think you are a relic from the past and of no value. (Note : youngsters think you are old at 45).
So what is to be done ? Well for one thing stop worrying about it; let the youngsters carry the load, relax and enjoy being grumpy.
love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
The top photo I took a couple of weeks after I first got my Canon. That was when bokeh was totally new for me and I was so excited that I just kept shooting random pictures of lights to capture the effect. The bottom picture I took last May at a wedding I attended in Virginia Beach. I am awfully pained to say the couple is not still together, but that doesn't change the fact that I LOVE this shot of the two of them! Or the fact that I will always believe this verse to be utterly, completely true.
Sorry I've been so slow on responding guys, I just haven't been able to get on a computer much recently! Have a nice day :-)
historywillabsolvemike.blogspot.com/
EAST SIDE CONFIDENTIAL
part two: Confusion on the Heels of Chaos
"I was once, if I remember correctly, present at a gathering of madmen."
- Roberto Bolaño
Conjoined twins sharing a vital organ are destined to die simultaneously. Frank "Turk" Jaworski and the Open Kitchen took the same exit. Their departure marked the end of an era, one that was an anachronism by the time of its disappearance. The Open Kitchen was a small space unaffected by linear time. Within the confines of its walls, time sputtered and stalled somewhere in the mid-fifties due to a defect in the time/space continuum. The Open Kitchen was a unique experience. It could never be duplicated. No one in their right mind would even attempt such a folly. The bar was the three dimensional manifestation of Turk's personality. Bill Curry opened the Copabanana not long after the Open Kitchen closed. Change was inevitable after so many years of stasis. Only one element remained the same. All hell continued to break loose at the same address.
The Copabanana was entirely different from the Open Kitchen. It featured a fully stocked bar, not just cans of Schmidt's and cheap booze. Every element of Turk's bar was completely erased by the new owner. The Copa yanked the clock violently into the present. Unlike the dictatorial reign of Turk, Bill Curry preferred a laissez faire approach toward running his bar. As long as the behavior of his clientele didn't jeopardize his liquor license, he was quite tolerant of borderline behavior. It was easier and more profitable to ignore everything but major transgressions. All Curry required from his customers was a modicum of discretion and no blatant acts of lawlessness. Considering the clientele and the staff, even this small concession was a challenge. Society was changing in the late seventies and early eighties. These changes were responsible for a more open sexual atmosphere. The birth control pill was in widespread use and sexually transmitted diseases were not yet identified as being permanent or fatal As a result the sexual revolution was in full swing. South Street swung a bit further than other neighborhoods. The area had a reputation for embracing creative, eccentric and marginal behavior. It consequently attracted a diverse range of humanity, all bent in some fashion. Styles that attracted attention uptown or in the suburbs were met with a jaundiced eye on South Street. The bizarre was not only accepted, it was embraced on South Street. Normal became weird. In the words of Hunter S. Thompson, "When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro." If we weren't professionals, we were damn good amateurs.
No one went to the Open Kitchen to meet women. There were none. Turk didn't ban them, he just did nothing to encourage their patronage. He didn't really encourage anyone to frequent the place. He was more interested in making sure that irritating people stayed out. If they irked him he kicked them out with alacrity. These exclusions had nothing at all to do with race. Most of his clientele was black. He banished people from all walks of life with equanimity. The limited drink selections offered, Turk's brusque manner and the fact that the kitchen was never open at the Open Kitchen discouraged errant tourists. It attracted a loyal clientele of cynical and grizzled veterans, all male. Anyone that frequented the place played by Turk's rules or went elsewhere. It is only logical that women would avoid a bar owned by a proprietor with a reputation for jamming a chrome-plated 45 in someone's face on a fairly regular basis. The Open Kitchen was an acquired taste. It was Turk's personal fiefdom and he didn't seem to be interested in profit. Bill Curry was primarily interested in running a profitable business. He realized that tolerance was profitable in this fringe neighborhood.
This specific evening exceeded the standards of chaos in a chaotic time period. A large group of us attended an art opening that night. I forget the exhibition and the name of the gallery but it doesn't matter. We all agreed to meet at the Copabanana afterwards. In hindsight it was a questionable decision. Some of us had to work the next day, me for example, but immediate gratification almost always overruled good sense. The entire crew was on the charming side of drunk by the time we left the gallery. That state would prove impossible to maintain as the night wore on. Collectively we lacked basic impulse control on a good day. The odds were against this unfolding as an evening of quiet reflection considering the cast of characters and the quantity of alcohol consumed. Although we operated in the shadows of the culture industry, this was not a group of gentile aesthetes and dilettantes. Drunk, our behavior was reminiscent of orangutans on unauthorized leave from the zoo. Any gains we made within the art system were immediately erased by transgressive acts. We repeatedly snatched defeat out of the jaws of victory. If good behavior was the price of success, it was much too high a price to pay given our disinterest in the game and our contempt for rules.
Our tactics were more street than salon. One night in the Khyber I was at the urinal taking a piss and some fucking idiot said to me, "Oh, you're Michael Macfeat, the guy who paints the crazy things and does the crazy things." I punched him in the mouth, zipped up and returned to the bar.
Most of the exhibiting artists and our friends went to the Copabanana that evening. My father and his friend Rocco were at the exhibition and they decided to join us for cocktails. It was not unusual for Al to socialize with us. He was always up for a few drinks and the pursuit of pleasure. In fact pleasure was his sole motivation in life. To their credit, none of my friends' fathers behaved like Al. He was a unique individual and often not in a good way.
My father was fun to go out with although growing up with him was a nightmare. He was good company and charming. It made it easier to forgive his faults. On the other hand he was also a larcenous bastard. If it wasn't screwed down he would steal it. If it was he brought a screwdriver. He could be quite entertaining and he was generous when he had the means. Al would never let any of us pay for anything when we went out. Considering the limited funds at my disposal it would have been self-defeating to refuse his largesse. He wouldn't come around if he didn't have cash. As is often the case with gamblers, his finances were tied to his luck so he wasn't around much. His absences lasted long enough to ensure he would be welcomed back.
His friend Rocco was no stranger. Rocco always carried a pistol with him although I was never sure why he felt the need. He was a rather large man and quite capable of handling himself without it. He made no display of the weapon but the gun sometimes created an unmistakable bulge under his clothing. Hanging around with Rocco taught me to look for signals that a man was armed. Despite the firearm, Rocco was gregarious and a fun to be around. His gun was an accepted fact, like his size. Certainly no one had the balls to question him about the pistol.
Once inside the Copa, Rocco and my father insisted on paying for everyone's drinks. It became an expensive night for those two spendthrifts. A rather large entourage followed us to the bar and took full advantage of the offer. From experience, I knew that these displays of wild extravagance usually meant that a scam or a bet had born fruit. Apparently they both reaped the benefits of some lucrative caper since they were squandering money like drunken stock brokers with expense accounts. I knew that these windfall profits often came at some else's expense. Some unseen loser was probably back in New Jersey, licking his wounds and cursing his bad luck. Fuck it. Free drinks were free drinks. I learned to ignore the source of Al's funds. It wasn't worth wasting time thinking about it.
Funded by their (presumably) ill gotten gains, multiple cocktails began piling up on both floors for our pleasure. Free cocktails might sound lovely in the abstract but in reality they almost always prove to be a mistake. Paying for drinks sometimes helps one keep excessive spending in perspective; not always but sometimes. Considering the Rogues Gallery in the Copa that night, excess was preordained. The drinks were free but they certainly did nothing to promote good behavior in this group of errant primates.
Fueled by the seemingly endless flow of alcohol, the evening began its slow descent into anarchy. People went between floors in search of some anticipated but indefinable amusement. Both floors had multiple cocktails at our disposal so these migrations weren't for entertainment purposes only. Fortunately I had a good relationship with the manager of the bar so she left us to our own devices. She had incredible eyes, large and mesmerizing. Granted, I was easily mesmerized back then.
One of the women from our group took umbrage to something or another (either real or imagined) and noisily stormed out of the bar. She had a reputation for pulling a Houdini when drunk. We had all seen this routine before and knew that pursuit was an exercise in futility. I wish I could forget who she was. She later claimed to walk back to New Jersey over the Ben Franklin Bridge. An attractive woman surviving an evening stroll through the city of Camden was unimaginable. Camden led the nation in per capita murders. At the time it was one of the most lawless cities in America and it remains so. Whether this trek actually happened or not was irrelevant. Fact and fiction blurred on evenings such as these. At any rate, no one batted an eye about the sudden departure. It was old hat and it meant more free alcohol for the rest of us.
My father, quite inebriated by this time, got it into his thick skull that one of our friends was pregnant. Unfortunately that wasn't the case. She was just a big-boned girl. Understandably, my father's comments horrified her. At an early age men are trained to avoid asking about a woman's weight and age. It wasn't as if Al didn't have extensive experience with the opposite sex. His success with women was legendary. Unfortunately his common sense and discretion went south this particular evening. Either he forgot or he just didn't give a fuck, I am not sure which. Al didn't stop at one comment about her perceived delicate condition. Oh no, he went on and on about it. If only he made these comments behind her back it would have been less embarrassing for everyone. He was quite direct in his interrogation and he was relentless. Al spent an excruciating amount of time trying to get her to confess to being pregnant. It was the height of absurdity for a man who would confess to nothing, even when caught red handed, would have the audacity to demand a confession from anyone else. Whatever his motivation, he was tenacious. With the singularity of mind that drunks often exhibit he was fixated on the subject. This horror-show went on for what felt like an eternity. Graced with the attention span of a two year old, Al tired of the game and moved on to the other equally absurd delusions.
To deflect the poor girl's attention away from my father's abuse, a close friend asked the girl for her telephone number. Her mood brightened at the prospect of potential romance with this handsome rake. I knew that this bastard had no intention of ever calling her (in fact he never did) but she felt a bit better about herself, however fleetingly.
Cocktails flowed without end, an alcoholic version of the nearby Delaware River. Whatever decorum we could muster was simply to ensure that it continued unabated. Kevin, our friend Mike and I retired to the upstairs bar. It was less crowded up there and I needed a break from my father's lunacy. It was obvious that our luck couldn't hold out forever. As inevitable and unwelcome as my hangover the next day, my father and Rocco were bound to notice our absence. In much too short a time they did.
At the opposite end of the bar was an attractive woman sitting by herself and wearing a white fur coat. She was a few years older than Kevin and I but that was irrelevant. Her style wasn't right, it was much too flashy. Her wardrobe was all shiny and sparkly, like a human disco ball. Her clothes identified her as a South Philadelphia native. Their style signified a certain attitude and told us that we couldn't get there from here. From across the bar it was obvious that it was a clash of sensibilities. The stylistic soundtrack was the Clash's White Riot at our end of the bar and It's Raining Men at the other. She looked like a materialistic pain in the ass. Never one to fight battles that I couldn't win I settled into my Tanqueray and tonics and let sleeping dogs lie.
Unfortunately not everyone followed my prudent example. Rocco and Al gravitated to her. They still lived some low rent Rat Pack version of the past. Contemporary clues held little meaning to them. Even if they understood the clues, as far as they were concerned they were free to ignore them. In that sense they were anarchists. They did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted as long as their funds held out. They began chatting her up as if either of them had a chance with her. The fucked up thing is that from a cursory glance it appeared that they might. Either she enjoyed the company which was hard to imagine or she was plying them for drinks, a more likely scenario. It was impossible for me to care. These two clowns were on a mission and it was best to leave it alone. I kept one eye on the conversation as one does passing an accident on the other side of the highway. I didn't really want to see the carnage but it was fascinating on some morbid level. I was disinterested in hearing the actual conversation. It was bound to be all lies and I had heard enough of the sound of my father's voice for one evening. She was physically fit so at least Al wouldn't ask her if she was pregnant. That provided me some small comfort.
My father could be exceptionally charming when he saw fit to make the effort. His guile with women was legendary and taken for granted. It was unthinkable to leave my girlfriends with him for any length of time. Even if he didn't snake me it was in the realm of the possible. He was that charming, that devious and his wiles with women were unaffected by any wide age discrepancy. The woman had as much chance as a wounded zebra run to ground by a hyena. Al could never be trusted with women or money. He was treacherous on both fronts.
Kevin, our friend Mike and I were at the near end of the bar still practicing our drinking. It was going pretty well if oblivion was the goal. We were regulars at the bar so we were familiar with the bartender. He and I had a mutual interest in Soldier of Fortune magazine. We had little else in common so the discussion usually began and ended on that topic. He wasn't a bad guy but he was wound a bit too tight. If I remember correctly he was also in a twelve step program, which at the time I perceived as a symptom of insanity. His interest in the magazine far exceeded my own, however. He was short but he actually aspired to become a mercenary. That seemed nuts to me but it didn't matter. He took care of us, we took care of him and if the conversation lagged we could always discuss the engineering merits and dependability of the AK47. Even drinks on the house have a price. My curiosity about Soldier of Fortune concerned the international politics that kept mercenaries employed. I also used the magazine as source material in my artwork. Occasionally an article about the Irish Republican Army would appear but I had no fucking desire to join them. It never hurt to have a friendly bartender in your corner so I finessed the conversations as best I could. I did suspect that he was nuts and that one day he might explode into a one man orgy of violence so I kept a respectful distance.
He came over to our end of the bar but not to bring us drinks or talk about Soldier of Fortune. As an avid gun enthusiast he probably noticed the tell-tale lump under Rocco's shirt. He said quietly, "You know the woman that those two older guys are talking to? She isn't what they think she is." We weren't entirely sure what he meant. In my case I was drunk and my powers of deduction were as impaired as the rest of me. She looked presentable from a distance if you could ignore her sense of style. If the implication was that she was a prostitute, I doubted that either Rocco or my dad would perceive that as a negative. Perhaps things would be less complicated for the three of them if they had crime in common. "Is she a working girl?" He replied in a whisper, "No, she's a transvestite." Kevin and I swiveled our heads to our right in unison. A more critical analysis of this changeling confirmed his assessment. Curiously, these two drunken reprobates seemed completely oblivious to the situation at hand, despite having a closer view of her. This could not end well. As was often the case with Mike, he was in the Men's Room at the crucial moment and missed the bartender's warning.
In the process of writing this, I considered the possibility that Kevin and I had overreacted and had misread the threat assessment. That doesn't explain the two pirates chatted her up but God knows what the fuck they were talking about. It didn't look to us like they knew the score but maybe they did. Perhaps Al and Rocco found the conversation comical. It seemed plausible. I am so often wrong that I never discount the possibility. The situation seemed to us to have all of the ingredients of a perfect storm.
I brought the subject up with Kevin recently for the first time in years. I asked him for his general impression of the evening. He said, "Fuck, I was just glad that no one got shot." My later and more benevolent analysis of the situation began to crumble with his answer but I pressed on. "Kevin, is it possible that we were overreacting and that Al and Rocco knew that they were talking to a transvestite?" "No man" he said, "not a fucking chance." I asked him a question that I knew, if answered contrary to my revisionist theory, would collapse the whole theoretical house of cards that I hoped to construct. "You don't really think that they would have shot her, do you?" "As drunk as those two idiots were that night? I'm certain of it. There is plenty about that evening I don't remember but I do remember being relieved that no one got shot." His view reinforced my original fear that we had been staring into the dark abyss of violence.
Despite being hedonists, both Al and Rocco were old school and ignorant of the subtler developments in contemporary social mores. We decided that it would be wrong to withhold the truth. There was a possibility that nothing would happen if we left them to their own devices but we didn't trust fate. I hoped that no one would get shot but on the other hand they were quite drunk. Getting hit over the head with a gun or thrown down a flight of stairs would be enough of a disaster. Rocco was always sociable but an underlying violence lurked beneath his affable demeanor. He was a criminal, after all, or he would not have been running around with my father. He was also quite large, drunk and armed. If the shit hit the fan with Rocco there was fuck-all Kevin and I could do about it. We were experienced at fighting in tandem but there was nothing two hyenas could do against a drunk and armed mastodon.
Our friend Mike was useless in violent situations. He had a quick tongue, a bad attitude and nothing to back either quality up. He was also a functional junkie. His indiscretions may have been the result of his habit or an inability to maintain it at times. It wasn't unusual to get drawn into fights due to Mike's rapier wit and his inability or unwillingness to fight. Just a few weeks before he stood idly by and watched a close friend of ours take a hellacious beating at the hands of four men. Michael could watch his friends get pummeled but his friends couldn't, even knowing that he was wrong and deserved a severe ass kicking. It ran contrary to code, whether he ascribed to it or not. Although he was smart and funny, he was a liability at worst and no help at his best. He couldn't be trusted so our only option was to leave him out of it.
My father's temper was inescapable growing up. He never hit me until I was sixteen and I returned the favor by hitting him over the head with a lamp. He did act violently toward others, however. He was 6' 1" tall and rangy. Once he dove across the bar at Hannigan's (at 69th and Ludlow, across from the Tower Theater) and strangled a customer until the man croaked an apology. Al was in his fifties at the time. His speed and brutality amazed me. I never heard what precipitated the attack but it may have been a gambling debt. The poor bastard had no chance. He was probably as shocked as I was. I couldn't trust Al not to be violent if he felt provoked.
Kevin and I were aware that our intervention might have a negative effect. They were behaving themselves at present but the truth could potentially upset this convivial equilibrium. Al and Rocco were very drunk and past the point of reason. Two drunken reprobates, a pistol and a transvestite seemed a recipe for disaster.
We got a lucky break. Rocco and my father lacked focus in their drunken state. They eventually headed downstairs in pursuit of new and improved entertainment. Had the transvestite had lost her luster? There was no way of knowing. Kevin and I weighed our options and we decided that they all sucked. We felt that the situation needed to be addressed before they reversed field. With any luck they would be too drunk, too complacent and too lazy to go back upstairs after getting the news. By the time we located the two bastards their condition had noticeably deteriorated. They were talking and laughing loudly and it was hard to get a word in edgewise. We eventually found an opening and explained the situation as diplomatically as possible. To our horror they rebuffed us. They acted like we were nuts! They told us to fuck off and dismissed us like insolent children. Is it possible that they knew that they were dealing with a shape-shifter? These two hooligans were inscrutable at the best of times so it was difficult to determine what they knew or didn't know. People whose professions demand deception learn to present a blank expression.
We truly had no qualms concerning the sexual predilection of the transvestite. We lacked morals ourselves so her morality was not in question. No one faulted her for running her game for free drinks if that's what she was doing. Each to their own. Live and let live. The problem was that these two drunks were capable of losing their minds and we were unable to influence them. The other problem was my own inebriated state. It made my threat analysis (and everything else) a bit suspect.
After our failed attempt at disaster control we returned to the upstairs bar. Perhaps we would have better luck with the third party in this bizarre triangle. Once upstairs, the first thing that we noticed was that our buddy Mike had changed seats. He was now at the far end of the bar and engaged in witty repartee with the transvestite. We did not fucking need another complication at that moment. Now we had to explain the situation to this ass-clown before we approached Miss Thing with a plan. We went to the far end of the bar and shoehorned ourselves into their conversation. At close quarters her artifice of deception paled considerably, maybe it was the Adam's apple. One of us distracted the transvestite while the other debriefed Mike. He took the news surprisingly well. He took it too well in fact. He said he didn't care what she was, he was having fun and that we should leave him the fuck alone. That was the third person to tell us to fuck off in ten minutes and it was getting a bit tedious. Imparting the truth to these three fools was a thankless job. It was not unusual for a quiet evening on the town to turn into a three ring circus. This night had no hopes of being a quiet evening from jump street considering the personnel. Kevin and I were not very experienced at calming situations down. We were much better at escalation. Everyone else in the equation had by this time made it very clear that they thought we were assholes. Of course they were right. We were assholes, just not for the reasons that they thought we were assholes. We had good intentions even if our analysis and strategy sucked ass.
With Mike (somewhat) sorted or at least informed, we turned our attention to this obscure object of desire. We explained that her lifestyle choices were of no concern to us. We applauded her courage to pursue her dreams. We had no issues with transvestites whatsoever. Our only concern was that the two mature gents might not act so maturely if push came to shove. All we wanted was to avoid trouble, trouble that could result in the expulsion from a favored watering hole and/or arrest. She smiled slyly and cooed, "I can take care of myself." We retorted, "Uh…no you fucking can't." We explained that these two old gents were not exactly docile and at least one of them had a concealed weapon. They were much too drunk to expect even semi-rational behavior from them. Rocco and Al weren't exactly enlightened individuals. We strongly advised her a change of venue, at least temporarily. After a brief period of resistance she agreed to leave after we offered her cash. How much cash it took to get rid of her is lost in the black hole of memory. She exited through the door on the first floor, still resplendent in fur and glitter. She was a spectacle, an artificial Christmas tree walking in high heels. Despite the small size of the bar, Al and Rocco were too plastered to even notice her flamboyant exit.
We had no further contact with the Al and Rocco that night and the subject was too bizarre to bring up later. They were so drunk that it is possible that they forgot by morning. I am surprised that I remember as much as I do about the incident. After our objective was reached I lost interest in the matter. Problem solved. It was as if she never existed. At least we thought that was true until we spoke to Mike again.
He berated us for causing her to leave. "I liked her," he whined about his loss like a Catholic school girl with skinned knees. Kevin and I just looked at each other in disbelief, shook our heads and walked away. Actually, we didn't give a fuck if Mike left with her or not. That was his business. He was an odd bird anyway. We were simply trying to protect her from the other two fools. Their breed of dinosaur was nearly extinct but they were still dangerous. Neither of them were particularly forward thinking in the realm of sexual politics or any other politics for that matter. We solved the problem by paying her off but now Mike was bitching. Fuck him. I fought enough fights for that little bastard that he should have been more appreciative of our efforts, even if he disagreed with the results or our approach. I repressed the urge to backhand him.
There was nothing left for us to do now but resume our cocktail consumption. Memory abandons me beyond this point. The trip home is a complete mystery. I am quite sure that I didn't walk. It was enough of a challenge to remain upright in that state. I was so drunk that I had as much chance of flying as I did driving home. I would have crashed the car before I ever got in it.
Defying even my own optimistic and delusional expectations I reported for work the next day, late and hungover as fuck. If I wasn't still drunk I might have called out sick. I was usually in trouble on this job for various serial indiscretions. It must have been pretty damn important for me to show up or I doubt I would have made it. Although drunk on the morning drive I negotiated it without incident.
When I got near the job I stopped at a roadside stand for a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on a long roll. It was my Saturday morning ritual. My boss always brought his shit-bag dog to work, an untrained an intact male Vizsla. It was red and it had a pronounced knot on the top of its head that made it look as stupid as it actually was. I love dogs but I couldn't stand this fucking cur. If you didn't protect yourself it would jump up on you and smack you right in the balls. I spent the majority of every working day with my hand covering my crotch. It isn't a good look and it makes a lousy first impression. People familiar with the dog understood. Most of our regular customers came in holding their packages as a defensive tactic. It must have looked weird seeing everyone standing around clutching their yarbles. The dog was relentless and would jump up if you made eye contact. It happened all day long. I smacked it on multiple occasions. With no one else reinforcing the discipline and partly due to the dog's sub-par intelligence it had no affect. Training the useless piece of shit would have helped but my boss felt that training and spaying a dog violated its freedom. He preferred his dogs in a near feral state. I can only think of one other dog that I hated this much. I preferred dogs that bit me to dogs that punched me in the testicles on the regular. But the dog was the least of my problems that morning. I was hungover and insanely hungry. I proceeded to unwrap my sandwich and attack it voraciously. While taking an order from a customer, I foolishly dropped the hand holding the sandwich to my side. The Vizsla swiped it right out of my hand! I lost it!
I am not proud of it now but I punched the dog as hard as I could, right on its bumpy noggin. It fell to the floor as if shot. It remained unconscious for a few seconds. Until that moment I had no idea that it was possible to knock a dog out. Fortunately my boss was in his office when this happened. He eventually came out to investigate the clamor but he was on the phone with a customer at the time of the incident. When he finally got to the counter the dog had recovered enough to stand up but it was wobbling on its long, skinny legs. Although vertical it was still on queer street. I admitted that I smacked the dog but I didn't tell him that I knocked it out. He knew that my version of the story lacked credibility but, to the Visla's credit, the dog never ratted me out and I did not get fired. Not two minutes after things had calmed down the dog jumped up and tried to smack me in the nuts. I was beginning to feel besieged. As the day droned on the hangover escalated. It was unbearable. I was too hungover to even eat lunch. Unlike large chunks the previous twenty-four hours, the memory of the hangover remains quite vivid.
Around 11:00 the business phone rang and I reluctantly answered it. I had no interest in speaking to anyone, let alone our bone-head customers. It wasn't a customer though, it was a collect call from a jail in Atlantic City. I accepted the charges. It was difficult to predict the morning getting any worse but it did. My father was on the phone. He was still so fucked up that it was impossible to understand a word he said. It literally sounded to me like he was speaking Chinese. Al was laughing maniacally through the entire unintelligible conversation. There was no laughing on my end of the phone at all. I was hungover, irritable, hungry and I had just knocked a fucking dog out. I didn't need any more challenges to my patience. These two clowns were a pain in the ass. The old man really pissed me off by speaking in tongues. Gibberish was totally unacceptable in my fragile condition. Without pointing out his linguistic failure, I asked him if Rocco was available to speak. Fortunately Rocco got on the phone and was slightly more coherent than my father. He said that they had been arrested in Atlantic City. I shuddered to imagine their long drive there. They were both post-verbal before they left the bar! How could either of them have driven for an hour in that condition? Now they had a plan and to my horror the plan involved me. They wanted me to leave work, drive to Atlantic City and post bail for them. The idea was ludicrous. I had no desire to see either them anytime soon let alone be responsible for their release from jail. I felt sick. I also had no ready cash after the previous night of debauchery, despite the fact that the drinks were free. Either I was a very sporty tipper the night before or I gave all of my money away in tips and bribes or I lost all of it on the barroom floor. The reason for my poverty was a moot point. It didn't matter why. I was flat broke. I spent my last few dollars on a sandwich that had been scarfed up by a dog as useless as tits on a bull.
There was only one option as far as I was concerned. I told them to go fuck themselves, sleep it off in the drunk tank and come up with a plan that did not involve me. I had neither the desire nor the wherewithal to pick them up. I had no compassion for them whatsoever. I was penniless. They got arrested on their own merits. They could get themselves bailed out the same way. Jail seemed like a swell place for those two jerk-offs. Fuck you. No.
Later I asked my father about the arrest. Neither he nor Rocco would talk about it. To this day I don't know what happened. It didn't make sense that they would stonewall me over a simple DUI. They were quite open about far more scandalous matters. The only thing they volunteered was that Rocco's uncle bailed them out. Whatever the reason for their incarceration, there was never any talk of a court appearance and neither of them ever became long term guests of the state of New Jersey. Perhaps Rocco's uncle had connections. It is useless to speculate. They are both dead and the truth died with them.
Every once in a while I would ask Al about it, just to see if he if he would let his guard down and come clean. Sometimes I brought it up just to break his balls. My father discussed the events preceding the arrest but never directly about the arrest itself. It amazed me that he had any memories of the night at all. Over a period of years he steadfastly refused to give me a straight answer. This was no surprise, Getting the truth out of my father was like collecting rain water with a sieve. It was an act of abject futility.
Obfuscation and evasiveness were my father's forte. He was impossible to pin down. It was useless to pursue a topic with him once the nonsense started. He would give you irrelevant answers as long as you had the stamina to ask pertinent questions. Lying was a tool to him, like a weed-whacker or a hammer. I am sure that the Atlantic City police quickly tired of his machinations and found his bullshit annoying but their contact with him was relatively brief compared to mine. I grew up with him and share his DNA. Both of these concepts are sobering.
Michael Macfeat 12/24/12
[218:365]
"I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order." - John Burroughs
-----
I'm not entirely sure what it is about today, but I've been running on high stress and have been slightly irritable all day. It started off well enough, I was even complimented on something fairly important to me and then out of nowhere, the day took a turn for the cranky.
So with the grumpy cloud hanging over my head I set out to capture something opposite of my mood; I think I managed to accomplish just that with this photo. I find that the softness of the tones in this photo are really quite soothing, which for me, has been the perfect way to end the day.
I hope you've all had a good (and less grumpy) sort of day!
Click "L" for a larger view.
Little Whisper was a rescued cat who we adopted in 2004. She was so tiny I thought she was an eight month old kitten but she was actually over four years old. Because she was such a wisp of a kitty and she had a very soft meow, we renamed her Whisper.
It took a long time for her to trust us; she clearly was abused when she was younger. It was our other cat Scooter she bonded with first, she came to adore Scooter and would always want to nap wherever Scooter napped.
She came to adore us too but if a stranger came in - back under the bed she would go. It took years for her to regain that trust of people but eventually she would always come to see who was at the door whenever someone came over and was always willing to cuddle anyone in exchange for a bellyrub.
2 years ago she started losing weight and vomiting. An ultrasound showed a thickening of the intestinal walls which could be either irritable bowel syndrome or cancer. If it was cancer she could get chemo but the success rate is low plus the quality of life with chemo would be low. Since the treatment for IBS was the same as palliative care for cancer, we decided not to put her through surgery and chemo at her age. Instead we focused on her quality of life. Steroid pills helped the symptoms and we found foods she enjoyed and could tolerate. She rebounded, although the vet warned us she could relapse very quickly.
Last week she stopped eating and started losing weight rapidly. After a few days of trying everything to jumpstart her appetite and after consulting the vet, it was time. She was weak.
Her last day with us was July 31st. After a rough beginning to life, she found a family and was happy for over 12 years
with anything. this is a lame attempt at making myself feel better. i haven't self harmed in a month and it is one of the fucking hardest things i'm trying to give up. i feel irritable and horrible.
Blogged at april365.livejournal.com/
"A room does not turn its back on grief.
Anger does not excite it.
Before desire, it neither responds
nor draws back in fear.
Without changing expression,
it takes
and gives back;
not a tuft in the mattress alters.
Windowsills evenly welcome
both heat and cold.
Radiators speak or fall silent as they must.
Doors are not equivocal,
floorboards do not hesitate or startle.
Impatience does not stir the curtains,
a bed is neither irritable nor rapacioius.
Whatever disquiet we sense in a room
we have brought there.
And so I instruct my ribs each morning,
pointing to hinge and plaster and wood-
You are matter, as they are.
See how perfectly it can be done.
Hold, one day more, what is asked."
~ Jane Hirshfield, 1953- ~
This is a resubmission to Lit.Ref. with a different poem as I discovered I had used the original poem twice.
Charley: *slumps against Diego, pressing her forehead to his shoulder* “I don’t want it.”
Diego: “Tough titty, kitty.”
Charley: “I love Dane.”
Diego (indifferently): “I know you do. You’d never screw a guy you didn’t. That’s Molly’s m.o.”
Charley: *lifts her forehead from Diego’s shoulder and sits up straight, steeling herself for battle* “Let me figure things out with him in my own time. Stay out of it.”
Diego (musingly): “It’ll never work, you know…with him.”
Charley: *expression wavers from determination to despair* “You don’t know that.”
Diego: “Maybe not, but you do. Your face just said it all.”
Charley (heatedly): “Dane’s a nice, decent guy.”
Diego: “Exactly the problem. Nice, decent people have had mostly nice, decent experiences in life. He can grow out his hair, cover himself in ink, and pretend he’s a big, tough bastard all damn day. He’s still never gonna get what it’s like to wake up in the morning knowing there’s a distinct likelihood that he won’t survive the day. Not like you do. Not like me and Molly do. He’s soft. He’s entitled. He’s not for you.”
Charley: *shakes head, irritably* “Your argument is unsound. You’re basically saying that, unless two people have a similar upbringing and life experiences, they can’t work as a couple, but you’re wrong. People do it all the time.”
Diego: “Statistically, my point is valid. Hell, people can’t make a go of a relationship when they do have a lot in common. You really want to throw class disparity into the mix, too. On his twelfth birthday, I bet he had a party with cake and gifts. What were you doing on yours, Bug?”
Charley: *glares* “You know what I was doing.”
Diego: “You were in the ER again—this time because you pissed off your foster father by chewing your bologna sandwich too loud, and he tried to choke you to death—concussion, bruised throat, broken cheekbone…sound ‘bout right?”
Charley: *looks away from Diego, face bleak, as she reflexively touches her cheek in remembrance*
Diego: “You can tell him all about it—lay it out in all its lurid glory—but he’ll never get it. How could anyone with an average upbringing understand it? Besides, when you get down to it, no one can understand what another suffers, unless they’ve experienced it firsthand themselves.”
Charley: “Ha, that’s riiiiich! You’re telling me you ‘get it’, but you’re the least sympathetic person I know…*places her hands on her hips, mimics Diego’s flat drawl* ‘Suck it up, Bug. Stop bellyaching, Bug. I know you got a pussy, but do you have to act like one, too, Bug?’”
Fashion Credits
**Any doll enhancements (i.e. freckles, piercings, eye color changes) were done by me unless otherwise stated.**
Charley
Jeans: Mattel – Barbie Collectibles – Best Models: South Beach (I removed the front pockets.)
Top: Jakks Pacific – Hannah Montana
Sweater: IT – FR2 – Only Natural Fashion (I added the buttons and removed the pockets.)
Belt: Volks – Who’s That Girl? – Selfish
Sneakers: Sekiguchi Momoko – After School Dash!
Necklace & Bracelets: Me
Doll is a Morning Dew Giselle, transplanted to a Poppy body, re-rooted by the savvy-n-saucy valmaxi(!!!)
Painting by Annibale Carracci
About six months ago, a friend was patiently listening to several of my complaints about aging and some of its annoying and irritating consequences. He asked me if black beans were a part of my diet. When I told him I couldn't recall the last time I had eaten black beans, he smiled. "Just what I figured," he said, seemingly glad that my answer was negative.
After a few more minutes listening to his praise about some of the immediate joys of black beans, I was a believer.
That was six months ago. Now, after consuming about seven ounces of black beans with my evening meal, I must say that I am a happier guy, a normal and regular guy with one major complaint about aging gone. It is so good to feel good.
Painting by Annibale Carracci (The Beaneater)
Reticulations creep upon the slack stream's face
When the wind skims irritably past,
The current clucks smartly into each hollow place
That years of flood have scrabbled in the pier's sodden base;
The floating-lily leaves rot fast.
On a roof stand the swallows ranged in wistful waiting rows,
Till they arrow off and drop like stones
Among the eyot-withies at whose foot the river flows;
And beneath the roof is she who in the dark world shows
As a lattice-gleam when midnight moans.
commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Martin-luther-strasse-19_...
The former address of the Mutschmann's bar, Martin-Luther-Strasse 19, Berlin-Schoeneberg. Until October 19, 2019 the bar Mutschmann's, "a meeting place for lovers of leather, rubber, uniforms and sports goods in the heart of Berlin Schöneberg." was located here.
"MUTSCHMANN'S celebrates its location closing party on Saturday. But it's not the end.
You will soon find the Schöneberg men's and cruising bar at Motzstraße 30. On October 19, however, the bash to celebrate the upcoming move will still be in the old location at Martin-Luther-Straße 19 with lots of celebrities - DJ Menace and Fixie Fate, among others, have been announced - and fun starting at 10 p.m.
[…]
19.10.,
MUTSCHMANN'S,
Delicatessen – Men & Woman / Closing Party,
Martin-Luther-Strasse,
U+S [sic] Nollendorfplatz,
10:00 p.m.,
mutschmanns.de"
The new location is about a quarter the size of the old one, and other changes can be expected as well.
"An experiment has been running in Schöneberg since September: Take a classic gay leather bar with a dark room and porn screens and transform it into a trendy queer club with space for kinks, art and music. The Mutschmann's in the rainbow district of Schöneberg is the experimental laboratory. Two years ago, the shop had to move to the former Irritable and shortly thereafter survive the corona lockdowns. At the beginning of 2022, owner André hired a creative team in addition to his proven bar crew. His task: to fill the store in such a way that it doesn't just overflow during Folsom week."
Designinglife.biz describes the new location as follows:
"As far as gay bars go, Mutschmanns is very pretty. But if I'm being honest, it doesn't fit the grimy, dark, gritty gay bars of Berlin.
Even the art is stunning photographs of men in fetish attire."
The advertising posters in the door of the former pub show a picture of a light flooded bathroom with skylights for windows, built under the angle of the roof of a building, followed by 3 posters in 3 windows of the former bar, each with one of the following statements,…
www.ML19.de – HAVE A LOOK: DREAM BATH IN THE PENTHOUSE
www.ML19.de – CURIOUS? MORE INFO (QR code)
www.ML19.de – UP THERE! WITH TWO TERRACES.
This massive red egg yolk (nearly 1" high) and egg was one of the many laid by our ducks and geese in the water all along the shorelines at a local lake here in Kentucky. I generally do not crack these eggs however today I decided to - the egg was not rancid. I was not able to capture the true red color of this yolk - this was the best I could do. I did not consume it however Pancake did. .
********
From a 1983 Abstract - Pharmacology Biochemistry and Behavior
Volume 19, Issue 5, November 1983, Pages 857-862
Behavioral and physiological effects of capsaicin in red-winged blackbirds
Author links open overlay panelJ.RussellMason∗J.A.Maruniak†
∗
Monell Chemical Senses Center, 3500 Market Street, Philadelphia PA 19104, USA
Department of Physiology and the Clinical Smell and Taste Research Center, School of Medicine University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia PA 19104, USA
Received 13 January 1983, Available online 26 November 2002.
-----
Abstract
We injected red-winged blackbirds (Agelaius phoeniceus) subcutaneously with capsaicin, and assessed (a) changes in basal body temperature, (b) ability to discriminate warm from cool drinking water, and (c) sensitivity to oral and topical applications of capsaicin, a trigeminal irritant. As predicted from studies of mammals, the injections seemed to disrupt thermoregulation when the ambient temperature increased, and eliminated discrimination between warm and cool drinking water (Figs. 1 and 2). In contrast to effects on mammals, injections failed to observably diminish oral or topical sensitivity to capsaicin and apparently induced a capsaicin preference in two-bottle drinking tests between capsaicin and its vehicle (Fig. 3). Such preferences were context-dependent, however, since water was reliably preferred to capsaicin or vehicle in three-bottle tests. To our knowledge, the present work is the first to report physiological and behavioral effects of capsaicin on birds, and the first to suggest that the substance may have different behavioral and physiological effects on different classes of animals.
**************************************
"The chickens did get inflamed intestines, however, and this is the main clue to how the spice might be working." - www.newscientist.com/article/dn1171-chilli-eating-chicken...
************************************
From Havahart "Critter Ridder" - CARING Control for Pets and Wildlife - Ingredients: Oil of Black Pepper, Piperine, Capsaicin and Related Capsaicinoids, OTHER INGREDIENTS: .............................. 99.303%
Precautionary Statements
Hazards to Humans and Domestic Animals
Caution: Causes moderate eye irritation. Avoid contact with
skin, eyes or clothing.Wash thoroughly with soap and water
after handling and before eating, drinking, chewing gum or using tobacco.
First Aid
If in Eyes:
- Hold eye open and rinse slowly and gently with
water for 15-20 minutes.
- Remove contact lenses, if present, after the first 5
minutes, then continue rinsing eye.
- Call a poison control center or doctor for
treatment advice.
If on Skin or Clothing:
- Take off contaminated clothing.
- Rinse skin immediately with plenty of water for
15-20 minutes.
- Call a poison control center or doctor for
treatment advice.
Have the product container or label with you when
calling a poison control center or doctor, or going for
treatment. Contact 1-800-858-7378 for emergency
medical treatment information.
Container Disposal:
If Empty: Do not reuse this container. Place in trash or
offer for recycling if available.
If Partly Filled: Call your local solid waste agency or (800)-CLEANUP for disposal instructions. Never place
unused product down any indoor or outdoor drain.
Notice: Woodstream Corporation will not accept liability
for damage or injury resulting from use not in accordance
with label directions. For information on this pesticide product (including health concerns, medical emergencies, or pesticide incidents), call the National Pesticide
Information Center at 1-800-858-7378.
Manufactured by:
WOODSTREAM
69 North Locust Street
Lititz, PA 17543
For Information Call (800) 800-1819
EPA Reg. No. 50932-10
EPA Est. No. 69208-MO-001
Patent No. 6,159,474
Made in USA
Model # 3141
CRITTER RIDDER® is a registered
trademark of Woodstream Corporation
©Copyright 2004 Woodstream Corporation
***********************
Yet the MSDS states "potential health effects - none expected.
Unless it gets into your eyes or face and that is not good, especially for wildlife, household pets and other animals.
www.planetnatural.com/wp-content/uploads/critter-ridder-m...
********************
Have some tequila with that taco and pepper spray:
"Trigeminal Chemoreception
The third of the major chemosensory systems, the trigeminal chemosensory system, consists of polymodal nociceptive neurons and their axons in the trigeminal nerve (cranial nerve V) and, to a lesser degree, nociceptive neurons whose axons run in the glossopharyngeal and vagus nerves (IX and X). These neurons and their associated endings are typically activated by chemicals classified as irritants, including air pollutants (e.g., sulfur dioxide), ammonia (smelling salts), ethanol (liquor), acetic acid (vinegar), carbon dioxide (in soft drinks), menthol (in various inhalants), and capsaicin (the compound in chili peppers that elicits the characteristic burning sensation) (Box C). Irritantsensitive polymodal nociceptors alert the organism to potentially harmful chemical stimuli that have been ingested, respired, or come in contact with the face, and are closely tied to the trigeminal pain system discussed in Chapter 10.
Capsaicin. Capsaicin, the principle ingredient responsible for the pungency of hot peppers, is eaten daily by over a third of the world's population. Capsaicin activates responses in a subset of nociceptive C fibers (polymodal nociceptors; see Chapter (more...)
Trigeminal chemosensory information from the face, scalp, cornea, and mucous membranes of the oral and nasal cavities is relayed via the three major sensory branches of the trigeminal nerve: the ophthalmic, maxillary, and mandibular (Figure 15.15). The central target of these afferent axons is the spinal component of the trigeminal nucleus, which relays this information to the ventral posterior medial nucleus of the thalamus and thence to the somatic sensory cortex and other cortical areas that process facial irritation and pain (see Chapter 10)." - www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK11036/
From The Low Fodmap App, The Monash University, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia (put together by the research team in the Department of Gastroenterology).
Please ... no applause for me. Mr T is the one who rescued this tart! I followed the recipe to the nearest berry ... creamed, whisked, greased tin, oven cooked for the said amount of time. The tart looked very good - I dusted it with icing sugar. All was fine till I tried to remove it from the bottom of the tin ... it was not cooked underneath.
Ho hum ... I piled the sorry mess into a couple of bowls. Cooked some more berries - then handed it over to Mr T (who is a much better cook!) to rescue. The last photo is of our salvaged pudding - raspberry and blueberry crumble with a lovely frangipane and crumble topping - it was very tasty!
Here's the recipe in case you feel adventurous. I hope you have better luck than I did. The bits that were cooked tasted very nice!
Berry Frangipane Tart
75g softened butter
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/3 cup caster sugar
1 egg
3/4 cup ground almonds
1 tbsp. gluten free cornflour
150g fresh raspberries and blueberries
2 tbsp. pure icing sugar
Method
1. Preheat oven to 180C.
Grease 6 5.5cm x 10cm loose based fluted flan tins and place on oven tray.
2. Mix the butter, vanilla extract and caster sugar in a small bowl with an electric mixer until combined. Add the egg and mix through.
3. Gently mix in the ground almonds and cornflour and mix until smooth. Spoon mixture into tins; smooth surface and sprinkle with berries.
4. Bake tarts for about 30 mins or until golden brown and firm to touch. Stand in tins until cool to touch; turn carefully, topside up, onto the bench. Serve dusted with icing sugar.
"Irritable Bowel Syndrome
Irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) is a common functional gastrointestinal disorder (FGID) affecting one in seven Australian adults and is also common in the USA, Europe and many Asian countries. This condition is characterised by chronic and relapsing symptoms; lower abdominal pain and discomfort, bloating, wind, distension and altered bowel habit (ranging from diarrhoea to constipation) but with no abnormal pathology. The diagnosis of IBS/FGID should be made by a medical practitioner.
The research team at Monash University have developed a diet to control gastrointestinal symptoms associated with IBS/FGID. The team has focused on a group of carbohydrates they have named FODMAPs (stands for Fermentable Oligo-saccharides, Disaccharides, Mono-saccharides and Polyols).
FODMAPs can be poorly absorbed in the small intestine. Mal-absorbed carbohydrates are fermented by gut bacteria to produce gas. Current research strongly suggests that this group of carbohydrates contributes to IBS/FGID symptoms. FODMAPs are found in a wide range of foods." www.med.monash.edu/cecs/gastro/fodmap/
I have to say a huge thank you to my hubby Mr T and also to the research team at Monash University ... I am on week three of this diet and, touch wood, it seems to be helping!
Colber foot-bridge at Sturminster Newton, Dorset.
Between July 1876 and March 1878 Thomas Hardy lived at Riverside Villa, just outside the town. This was the happiest period of his marriage, and whilst here he wrote The Return of the Native (1878) and several poems, such as ‘Overlooking the River Stour’ and ‘On Sturminster Foot-Bridge’ relating to the view, the river and the Mill walk.
'On Sturminster foot-bridge'
Reticulations creep upon the slack stream’s face
When the wind skims irritably past,
The current clucks smartly into each hollow place
That years of flood have scrabbled in the pier’s sodden base;
The floating lily leaves rot fast.
On a roof stand the swallows ranged in wistful waiting rows,
Till they arrow off and drop like stones
Among the eyot-withies at whose feet the river flows:
And beneath the roof is she who in the dark world shows
As a lattice-gleam when midnight moans.
T.H.
Up the trail, Benji tires out and the guys take a break
Benji: "Ugh... Kingston you are trying to kill me, I haven't worked out in too long"
Kingston: "Seriously bro that was the warm up, why quit now, keep going!"
Porter: "Kingston, man chill, he needs a break, so we will take one. You can go ahead if you want, we will catch up"
Kingston: "Sorry... I guess I just am really irritable, truth is, I have been bending over backwards to impress Lollie and show her I am not just some rich snobby player kid"
Benji: Out of breath "Well... I hate to break the bad news but you have a girlfriend, a gorgeous model ...and yet your not satisfied with that.. your acting like a player.."
Porter: " Well... your acting a little bit like she expects, you do have a girlfriend.. you shouldn't care about what Lollie thinks.."
Kingston: "Shit, you think I don't know that? Eva and I are over, we just haven't officially broken it off.. she is always talking about Chaz, I mean, yeah he is my best friend and around a lot but that doesn't mean she needs to talk about him twenty four seven."
Porter: "I am sorry man.. We all know how that feels, but you and Eva are gonna have a talk tomorrow though aren't you? I mean you two can finally properly end it and hopefully stay friends."
Kingston: "Yeah, I think we are on the same page, we haven't spent a whole lot of time together or even talked a lot lately.. "
Benji: "Ok guys, I am ready, lets go"
The guys take off running again into the park.
"Pick of the Day" by "Flower Lovers"
Love is patient and kind;
It is not jealous or conceited or proud;
Love is not ill-mannered or selfish or irritable;
Love does not keep a record of wrongs;
Love is not happy with evil, but is happy with the truth;
Love never gives up;
And its faith, hope and patience never fail.
~1 Corinthians 13 v.4-7~
New Hampshire. Joe Biden looks very frail. I never knew that depression can manifest itself as anger and irritability.
Government should fear "the people", however, everything has been backwards and upside down for 35+ years, so, "the people" fear government.
Packaging sizes have been decreasing for years...……….all while the price of the item in the package, has either remained the same, or increased.
Up is down. Black is white.
8:00 AM wake-up
The first photo about the spoon theory. I am making a series of this, so expect more photos soon.
If you have never heard about the spoon theory, I suggest that you read this article: here.
The spoon theory describes how people with chronic illnesses live.
Each day, I start with this jar. I never know how many spoons are in there. Did I sleep well, what did I do yesterday, am I getting the flu, what's the weather like? All these things and a lot more influence how much spoons I have to spend.
I always hope I have a lot of spoons, but the last couple of weeks my number of spoons has been steadily decaying, leaving me bed-bound for most of the day.
Very serious Grizzly Bear encountered near Kluane Lake last week. He seemed a bit irritable, probably, like me, just a bit grumpy at the incessant rain. I love seeing Grizzlies in Autumn, when the tundra is changing to reddish brown.
(more pix of this Bear later ....)
Wren,
One of Europe's smallest birds, the big-voiced Wren uses a remarkable variety of habitats.
It is found from sea level to high up in mountain areas, from forest to almost open spaces; subspecies exist in remote island groups.
It spends most of the time low down, on or near the ground, often in deep thickets of bramble or bracken or in ornamental shrubberies.
Cold winters cause dramatic declines but Wren populations can recover quite quickly.
Voice, - Dry, hard calls with irritable, rattling quality.
, chit, chiti, tzerrr, song loud, full-throated, warbling outburst with characteristic low, hard trill and fast, ringing notes.
Nesting, - Small, loose ball of leaves and grass, tucked in bank, under overhang; 5 or 6 eggs; 2 broods; April - July.
Feeding - Forges in dark, damp places under hedges, around buildings, shrubberies, in ditchers, and in patches of dead bracken and similar low, thick cover; finds insects and spiders and feeds on scraps scattered under bushers,
Order - Passeriformes,
Family - Troglodytidae,
Species - Troglodytes troglodytes
Length, - 9 -10cm,
Wingspan, - 13 - 17cm,
Weight, - 8 - 13g,
Lifespan - 2 - 5 years,
Status - Secure,
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however, we have travelled a short distance west from Cavendish Mews, skirting Hyde Park, around Hyde Park Corner, through Knightsbridge past the Brompton Road and Harrods with its ornate terracotta façade, past the great round Roman amphitheatre inspired Royal Albert Hall that was built in honour of Queen Victoria’s late husband prince Albert in 1861, past Kensington Palace, to Holland Park. It is here, in a cream painted stucco three storey Nineteenth Century townhouse with a wrought and cast iron glazed canopy over the steps and front door, flanked by two storey canted bay windows to each side with Corinthian pilasters, that we find ourselves. Lettice has come to the elegant and gracious home of her widowed future sister-in-law, Clementine (known preferably now by the more cosmopolitan Clemance) Pontefract.
Lettice is engaged to Clemance’s elder brother, Sir John Nettleford Hughes. Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John, according to London society gossip enjoys dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Although she did not become engaged to him then, Lettice did reacquaint herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by mutual friends Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate in 1924. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again later that year at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show in Soho, where she found him yet again to be a pleasant and attentive companion for much of the evening. Sir John also made a proposition to her that night: he offered her his hand in marriage should she ever need it. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them. When Lettice’s understanding with Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, fell apart, Lettice agreed to Sir John’s proposal.
Even though Lettice is twenty-four now, as an unmarried young lady, she still must be discreet as to how often she sees her future husband unaccompanied, so as not to sully her reputation. Therefore, Clemance has arranged an afternoon tea for Lettice and Sir John at her elegant Holland Park home where she can be seen, for societal purposes, as a chaperone for Lettice. Clemance’s drawing room is elegantly appointed with the comfortable Edwardian clutter of her continual and conspicuous acquisition that is the hallmark of a lady of her age and social standing. Clusters of floral chintz chairs and sofas are placed around the room in small conversational clutches, whilst elegant French antiques, collected by her and her late husband Harrison during their years living in France, stand around the walls. The room is papered in pale pink Georgian style wallpaper and hung with Eighteenth Century pastoral scenes in gilded frames, whilst the floor is parquet. The room smells of freshly arranged hothouse flowers, and a canary twitters in a cage.
The trio are discussing over a tea of chocolate sponge served with cream and strawberries, Lettice’s recent acceptance of world famous British concert pianist, Sylvia Fordyce’s commission to create a feature wall in the drawing room of ‘The Nest’, Sylvia’s discreet country retreat in Essex, which Lettice visited last week. Sylvia is the long-time friend of Sir John and Clemance, and the pair introduced Lettice to Sylvia at a private audience after a Schumann and Brahms piano concert. After a brief chat with Sir John and Clemance, Sylvia had her personal secretary show them out so that she could discuss “business” with Lettice. Anxious that like so many others, Sylvia would try to talk Lettice out of marrying Sir John, Lettice was surprised when Sylvia admitted that when she said that she wanted to discuss business, that was what she genuinely meant. Sylvia invited Lettice to motor up to Essex with her for an overnight stay at ‘The Nest’ upon the conclusion of her concert series to see the room for herself, and perhaps get some ideas as to what and how she might paint it.
“So,” Sir John says as he sips his tea from one of Clemance’s gilded Art Nouveau patterned Royal Doulton cups. “You’re taking Sylvia’s commission on then, Lettice my dear.”
“I am, John.” Lettice agrees, sitting alongside her fiancée on the low backed and comfortable flounced floral chintz sofa.
“Oh hoorah!” Clemance exclaims from her own matching armchair opposite, clapping her hands in delight, the action startling the little canary in its cane cage on the pedestal table next to her, causing it to flutter from its perch and twitter loudly in fright. “Oh!” Clemance puts her hands to her mouth as she turns and looks at her little pet. “Oh I’m sorry Josette!” she says in an apologetic tone to the bird, who flutters back to its perch and utters a sharp and shrill cheep at her. “Poor dear creature.”
“Who?” Sir John asks. “Sylvia?”
“No, Nettie!” Clemance replies using Sir John’s pet name used only by Clemance and his closest friends from his younger days, picking up her own delicate teacup and turning her attentions back to her brother and his fiancée. “Not Sylvia. And don’t be obtuse.” She gives John a peevish look. “There’s nothing poor about Sylvia. No, I was referring to poor Josette.” She indicates with her bejewelled hand in a sweeping gesture to her bird. “I don’t think the poor little creature coped very well with the travel from Paris to London, and she is still trying to adjust to life in Holland Park. I’ve consulted my book of canaries and caged birds,” She pats a blue tooled leather volume with the image of three gilded canaries and the title pressed into the cover atop a stack of books next to the cage. “But all their suggestions on settling birds into new homes seem not to work. The only thing that does seem to work is when I play the piano: Chopin mostly. But for the most part since our arrival in London, Josette sounds so disgruntled.”
As if she knows she is being spoken of, the canary utters another angry tweet, causing Lettice and Sir John to glance at one another and share a conspiratorial smile.
“Perhaps you should play something for Josette now, Clemmie.” Sir John chuckles, his smile broadening, nodding to Clemance’s beautiful maple grand piano with its lid held open filling a corner of her spacious drawing room.
“We might enjoy that too, Clemance.” Lettice adds cheekily, her shoulders quivering with her own laughter.
“Oh you two!” Clemance says, flapping her hand at the pair on the sofa opposite her. “You’re as bad as each other, thinking I’m a mad old woman, fussing after my little bird!”
“Well, you must confess, Clemmie darling,” Sir John opines to his sister. “It is a little odd, fretting so much over a little thing like that.” He now nods to the chirping bird in the cage.
“The only thing odd is your lack of affection for animals, Nettie.” Clemance replies, groaning as she places her hands on the round arms of her chair and pushes herself up and out of the comfortable seat that over the years of owning it, has moulded to her shape. “But then again, you’ve never been an animal lover, have you Nettie darling?”
“I call that jolly unfair, Clemmie!” Sir John protests. “I loved the dogs we had when we were growing up.”
“Not as much as I did.” Clemance retorts, grasping the single strand of pearls draped down the front of her wisteria patterned crêpe de chine day frock. “You and Mother were always kicking them out of the way.”
“John!” Lettice exclaims, depositing her own teacup onto the low maple occasional table in front of her with a clatter and turning in her seat to look at her fiancée with startled eyes. “You didn’t?”
“Well, they got in the way.” Sir John defends himself. “They were always under foot. And to correct dear Clemmie’s memory of our childhood, which has become clouded and skewed with the passing decades, I didn’t kick them. Mother did, but I didn’t.”
“What would you call it then?” Clemance asks.
“I nudged them with my foot, and encouraged them to move, which they always did.”
“Well,” Lettice adds with determination. “I certainly hope you won’t be encouraging our dogs to move that way when we’re married.”
“Are we getting dogs, Lettice darling?” Sir John asks with arched eyebrows.
“Indeed we are!” Lettice replies with a steeliness in her voice. “A house is not a home without dogs.”
“Then why don’t you have a dog now, if you love them so slavishly?” Sir John queries, taking another slice of chocolate sponge from the cake plate on the table and depositing it onto his own plate. He looks to his fiancée. “More cake?”
“Err, no thank you, John darling.” Lettice shakes her head at the offer. “Anyway, Cavendish Mews is hardly the place for a dog, really, unless it was a small dog.” Lettice explains. “It’s too small, and dogs, even little ones, need space to run around,” She looks at Sir John pointedly. “So that they don’t get under foot. They need nature, and London is in short supply of that.”
“There are plenty of parks, Lettice,” Clemance says with an expansive wave that causes her draped sleeve to flutter prettily through the air before settling again. “You could take your dog to one of them.”
“Or one of the squares around Mayfair.” Sir John adds.
“No.” Lettice disagrees. “Those places are for dogs on leashes. No dog can roam around freely when at the end of a leash.”
“Rather like a bird in a cage.” Sir John looks at Clemance.
Josette tweets loudly again.
“I’ll have you know that Josette was free to fly throughout Harrison’s and my Paris apartment.” Clemance defends herself again.
“No doubt making a mess wherever it flew.” Sir John shudders at the thought of bird droppings being discovered around the room.
“She,” Clemance says pointedly. “Didn’t make a great deal of mess, any more than she does now.” She folds her arms akimbo in defiance and determination. “And once Josette is settled here, I will allow her out of her cage for a few hours each day, but not yet. She’s too flighty at the moment. She’s as likely to fly out of the nearest open window at present, given half the chance.” She looks indulgently at her canary, who chirps and twitters before pecking lightly at a little silver bell attached to one of the bars of the cage.
“You know larks don’t sing when in cages, don’t you Clemmie darling?” Sir John asks his sister, smiling cheekily.
Placing her hands on her hips and leaning forward over the table towards her elder brother, Clemance goes on, “My we are full of trivia today, Nettie darling.” She smiles, showing that she is not angry with her brother, and that the lively banter between the two of them is quite normal. “As it happens, I do know that little gem of a fact. Luckily, Josette isn’t a lark. She’s a canary.”
“Oh enough of that, you two.” Lettice interrupts. “Please play us something on the piano, Clemance.”
“Very well my dear Lettice,” Clemance agrees, moving around the embroidered footstool in front of her chair and gliding between the pedestal table used for Josette’s cage and the rounded arm of the sofa. “But I must warn you that I am no Sylvia Fordyce.”
“I’m not expecting such perfection from any mere mortal, dear Clemance.” Lettice assures her with a laugh.
Taking a seat on the stool at the piano, Clemance turns to her twittering canary and asks, “So, what shall it be, Josette: a Chopin Polonaise, Mazurka or Nocturn?” When the bird utters a louder chirp when she says the word Mazurka, Clemance continues. “Very good, Josette. A Mazurka it is.
As Clemance noisily ruffles through her well-worn sheet music on the piano’s music rack whilst Josette seems to chirp orders at her, Sir John turns back to Lettice. Depositing his plate of half-eaten slice of cake back onto the table he takes her delicate hands in his, enfolding them gently in his own smooth ones. The intimacy of the act still comes as a surprise to Lettice who jumps a little. When Sir John reacts by retracting a little, Lettice apologises to her fiancée for her jumpiness, claiming that she is still trying to get used to the idea of them being engaged. This seems to appease Sir John, and he smiles at Lettice with his blue eyes.
“You’ll get used to it soon enough, my dear.” Sir John assures Lettice.
“Will I?” Lettice asks, unable to keep an edge of anxiousness out of her voice.
“Of course you will, Lettice darling,” he replies. His smile develops a remorseful tinge. “In time.” He squeezes her hands. “You’ll see.”
“Yes,” Lettice agrees with a dismissive snort and a beaming smile. “Of course I will.”
“We are going to make a good partnership, Lettice: you and I.”
“Is that all, John?” Lettice asks, looking earnestly at Sir John.
“I’m a successful businessman, Lettice,” Sir John replies with a quizzical look. “And you a budding businesswoman in a world of men. What more do we need?”
Lettice remains silent for a moment, contemplating her fiancée’s statement before swallowing the lump in her throat and uttering awkwardly. “Love?”
“Now Lettice,” Sir John says seriously in a lowered tone, making sure that Clemance cannot overhear them as she scrambles through her sheets of music. “Love can be quite overrated.”
“But I…” Lettice begins.
Sir John releases Lettice’s hand and raises his right hand, placing a finger to her lightly painted lips as he shushes her. “I blame the obsession the general populace have with moving pictures now for the focus on love matches nowadays. Love can make things complicated. You saw this with how things ended with your young Spencely.”
“Or it can make you happy.” She falls silent for a moment before murmuring almost inaudibly, “I was happy with Selwyn.”
“My parents did well enough without it, your grandparents too, didn’t they Lettice? I warned you from the start that my… ahem.” Sir John clears his throat before continuing. “My desires in that regard are complex. You know this. Rest assured Lettice my dear, that I have the greatest of respect for you as a human being, and fondness too.”
“Is that all, John?” Lettice whispers.
“Perhaps love may come in time, but you cannot, and must not, expect it,” Sir John replies remorsefully. “For I cannot promise it you, Lettice. At the moment, that is reserved for the West End actress Paula Young, until some other little slip of a thing usurps her, and that will happen. Already she is getting cloying and tiresome, so I think it is time to jump ship. You won’t want to be like Paula, full of expectations that are unrealistic which get dashed along with her heart. You know what a broken heart feels like, don’t you? Settle for deep respect and fondness.”
“But I…” Lettice begins, but is silenced by her future sister-in-law.
“Here we are, Josette.” Clemance says from the piano. “You like this one, so I hope our guests do too.”
Clemance begins playing the opening bars of Chopin’s Mazurka, Op 17. No. 4.* The soft, gentle notes of the classical piece echoing from beneath the soundboard seem to echo Lettice’s feelings deep within her chest: a mixture of nervousness and a certain amount of sadness. Clemance’s fingers of both hands move gracefully across the keyboard, bringing the music to life, the tune evidently pleasing Josette as she trills happily from her cage, eyeing her mistress though dark beady eyes.
“So tell me, Lettice darling,” Sir John says brightly, adeptly changing the subject as he snatches his plate of half-eaten cake off the table again and settles back into the cosy comfort of the overstuffed Edwardian sofa. “What exactly is Sylvia’s commission?”
Lettice is surprised by how easily Sir John can change, from doting fiancée to cool businessman, from serious and intense to exuding good humour and bonhomie as he is now as he lounges back on the sofa eating chocolate sponge cake with cream and strawberries, exuding every confidence, and it makes her wonder who she is really marrying. Perhaps Sir John is right. Love can complicate things, but it seems that her fiancée is intricate and impenetrable enough as it is.
“Oh yes!” calls Clemance from the piano as she keeps playing. “Do tell us, Lettice darling. Knowing Sylvia, it’s sure to be something dynamic.”
Lettice clears her throat awkwardly as she retrieves her cup of tea from the table and cradles it in her hands. “Well,” she begins, adding a false, bright joviality to her voice as she speaks. “It’s really to undo some work by Syrie Maugham**.”
“Oh!” chortles Sir John. “That will set the cat amongst the pigeons***!”
“So typically Sylvia,” Clemance agrees with a laugh of her own.
“Sylvia always enjoyed being controversial, didn’t she Clemmie, even when you first met as young ladies?”
“For as long as I’ve known her, Nettie.”
“What is she having you do, Lettice darling?” Sir John asks, intrigued, his empty fork paused midway between his mouth and his lap.
“Well, she had Syrie Maugham decorate her drawing room at ‘The Nest’.” Lettice begins.
“Oh, that’s her little country retreat, isn’t it?” Clemance asks.
“Yes, it is.” Lettice concurs. “It’s in Essex, just outside of Belchamp St Paul****. I went to stay there so I could see the room for myself.”
“Lucky you, Lettice darling.” Clemance remarks. “I haven’t been invited yet.”
“Be fair, Clemmie darling, you’ve not been back in the country all that long,” Sir John defends Sylvia. “And it has only been a few weeks since Sylvia saw you. She said she’d invite you when she came back from her tour of the provinces that her agent has arranged for her.”
Clemance stops playing the piano and turns around on her stool to catch the eye of her brother. “That’s so typically you, Nettie darling!” She shakes her head, smiling indulgently.
“What have I said now?” Sir John asks, pleading innocence.
“You hear what you want to hear, not necessarily what is said, a trait you also picked up from Mother.” Clemance replies. “Sylvia said she’d look me up in the book*****, not invite me to ‘The Nest’! Truthfully, I don’t know anyone, other than you Lettice, who has been there and can vouch for its existence.” She turns back around and picks up where she left off playing, causing Josette to chirp happily in appreciation.
“So, what doesn’t Sylvia like about Mrs. Maugham’s designs, Lettice?” Sir John asks. “She would have paid a pretty penny****** for her services, and no doubt she will be doing the same with yours, or at least I hope she will.”
“She doesn’t appreciate Syrie Maugham’s over reliance on white, and,” Lettice sighs. “I must confess I understand why. The drawing room doesn’t seem to reflect Sylvia at all.”
“And what does she want you to do, Lettice?” Sir John asks again.
“To paint a feature wall for her, reflecting more of her personality and passion.”
“Oh hoorah!” Clemance says as the music comes to a gentle end which is softly applauded by both Lettice and Sir John. “I’m sure that will look wonderful!”
Clemance stands and steps away from the piano. Josette twitters cheerfully in her cage now and seems far more content. Clemance smiles at her pet. “That’s cheered you up, hasn’t it, Josette?” she asks. As if replying, the canary utters a peal of happy twittering notes. Turning to Sir John and Lettice, she goes on, “See, I told you my piano playing would make her less irritable.”
“Indeed you did!” her brother replies in mild surprise. “Proof that music hath charms to soothe the savage beast*******.”
“I’d hardly call a canary a ‘savage beast’, John.” Lettice opines.
“That’s because you’ve never been bitten by her sharp beak,” Sir John wags his fork at Lettice. ‘Like I have.”
“What are you going to paint on Sylvia’s walls, Lettice?” Clemance asks, resuming her seat in her comfortable floral armchair.
“I thought I might take inspiration from some wonderful pieces of blue and white china she has in the drawing room of ‘The Nest’.”
“I’m sensing a pattern here, Lettice darling.” Sir John remarks from his corner of the sofa. “After what you did for dear Adelinda.” He references the ‘Pagoda Room’, a small room in ‘Arkwright Bury’, the Wiltshire home of his and Clemance’s nephew, Alisdair Gifford and his Australian wife Adelinda. Sir John encouraged Lettice to take up the commission of his nephew and redecorate the room in Eighteenth century chinoiserie style to act as a backdrop for Adelinda’s collection of fine blue and white china: a commission that gained Lettice a favourable review in Country Life******** by Henry Tipping*********.
“Not at all, John.” Lettice replies with certainty. This is something very new and different. For Mr. Gifford…”
“Oh Alisdair, please!” Sir John retorts. “After all, you will be family once we are married.”
“Very well John, Alisdair’s redecoration, it was mimicking what had once hung on the walls. What Sylvia wants is something truly unique to her, and her alone. I thought I would take inspiration from some of Sylvia’s blue and white porcelain and paint a pattern of white on blue perhaps, rather than blue on white, with a gilded element.”
“That sounds rather exciting, and daring!” Clemance enthuses, sitting forward in her seat.
“That’s what Sylvia said.” Lettice agrees.
“What do you think you might paint for her then?” Sir John asks.
“At first I was going to paint something from the garden: flowers, or leaves perhaps,” Lettice explains. “Then I thought of feathers, which she really liked the idea of. I became more convinced after we had dinner that night that feathers are the right choice.”
“And why is that, Lettice darling?” Clemance asks.
“Well you see, Sylvia told me her story over dinner.” Lettice glances seriously, first at Sir John and then at Clemance. “Her whole story, which she says really only you two know.”
“So, she told you about her father and mother?” Clemance asks.
Lettice nods. “Yes, that her father died young, and that her mother couldn’t cope and needed to reach out to her brother, Ninian**********.”
“And what did she tell you about her time with her Uncle Ninian?” Clemance asks, her eyes wary as she looks at Lettice.
“She told me that he recognised in her what her mother also did, that she had the talent to be an accomplished pianist, but in order to do that, her mother needed Ninian’s money and connections.”
“Quite right, my dear.” Clemance nods. “It is through her Uncle Ninian that Sylvia and I met.”
“She told me the same story you did, that you were both staying at the von Nyssens, in Charlottenburg: you to be finished and she to attend the Universität der Künste***********.”
“And what did she tell you about when she came back to England after her period at the Universität der Künste came to an end?” Sir John asks quietly from his seat, his plate now discarded and all his attention upon his fiancée.
“Everything I think.” Lettice replies matter-of-factly. “That her Uncle Ninian basically held her captive, trying to recoup the money he invested in her by marrying her off to one of his wealthy friends. She told me that he was controlling of everything in her life, and that she wasn’t even allowed to see her mother again, except one last time on Primrose Hill************. That was one of the reasons why I decided that I would paint feathers for her on her wall.” Lettice’s voice lowers and saddens as she opines, “It seems to me that Sylvia was rather like a bird in a cage during that period of her life: on display and never granted her freedom, yet unlike a lark, she did have to sing, or rather perform and play the piano for all her would-be suitors.”
“That’s a very apt summation.” Clemance says sadly. “That was a hard time for Sylvia, and of course being sequestered as she was by her uncle, I had no idea what had happened to her.”
“But then she broke free, and managed to forge a life of her own,” Lettice adds more cheerfully. “And that is also why I want to paint feathers for her, as a symbol of the freedom she has now, and the heights to which she has risen in her career.”
“So, Sylvia told you about the Brigadier then.” Clemance says.
“Oh, she told me about Brigadier Piggott the night we met at the Royal Albert Hall*************, but whilst I was staying with her in Essex, she also told me about her first husband, Mr. Pembroke, the impresario, who turned out to be a wastrel and…” She pauses as she thinks how best to coin the fact that Sylvia disclosed her first husband’s homosexuality to her. “And other things.” she finally concludes. “And how he was a victim of foul play.”
“I see.” Sir John says dourly.
“So, she has told you everything, then.” Clemance concludes.
“I only think she entrusted me and took me into her confidence because I am marrying you, John.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t imagine that would be the only reason, Lettice darling,” Sir John replies, clearing his throat and sitting up in his seat, all the comfort and languor in his stance gone as he is reminded of the serious and sad business of Sylvia Fordyce’s life. “But it probably helped.”
“Sylvia is very good at keeping her own counsel, Lettice.” Clemance adds. “After those terrible few years with her Uncle Ninian, I think Sylvia is apt at managing everything about her life by herself. She neither needs to seek advice, nor share anything about her life with anyone else if she chooses not to. She is fiercely independent.”
“Thus, why I want to paint feathers for her, Clemance.”
“I think that Ninian also has a great deal to answer for Sylvia’s poor choice in men. I think being thrust in front of much older men as a jeune fille à marrier************** whom she didn’t love created a perverse sense of what a marriage was like for her, certainly if the Brigadier was anything to go by. We never met her first husband. He never came to any of Gladys’ parties where we reacquainted ourselves.”
“Oh!” Clemance gasps. “Oh thinking of marriages, and perhaps to not too subtly turn our attention and conversation away from the sad early life of Sylvia Fordyce, I have some magazines I’d like to give you to peruse, Lettice.” She gets up again with another groan. “It will help give you some ideas about what your trousseau*************** might look like: not that I don’t think you wouldn’t know, being the fashionable Bright Young Thing**************** you are, with friends like Gerald Bruton to dress you.” She sighs. “But food for thought. Have you spoken to your mother yet, about me helping you pick your trousseau, my dear?”
“Not yet, Clemance, but I doubt there will be any issues with her handing the reigns entirely over to you.” Lettice replies breezily. “Sadie hates London and only comes up here when she absolutely has to.”
Clemance takes the few steps across from her seat to Lettice. She places a hand lightly on Lettice’s shoulder. “Well, she might feel differently helping her youngest daughter to choose her trousseau. I know I would.” Her blue eyes suddenly become a little cloudy and lose their brightness as she speaks. “Best you ask her before you agree.”
Lettice sighs heavily. “Yes Clemance, I will, I promise, when I next go home to Glynes*****************.”
“Good girl.” Clemance squeezes Lettice’s shoulder and then wends her way between the furnishings of the drawing room and walks out the door.
In her cage, Josette flits about in desultory fashion, clinging first to one of the bars of her cage and then landing on the perch and winging, before flying up to peck at the silver bell. As she does, a single pale yellow feather falls from her tail. Blown by the wind created by Josette’s flight, the feather glides soundlessly out of the cage between the bars and lands on the tabletop, next to a round sterling silver box with a raised lid that Clemance uses for birdseed. As Josette lands on the floor of the cage, the feather is blown off the table and it drifts down, landing on the parquet floor of the drawing room.
Noticing it fall, Lettice puts her teacup aside and stands up before talking over to the table and dropping down to pick the feather up off the floor. She envelops it in her left hand as she stands up. She pauses before the cage’s bars and looks at Josette. The little canary seems to look back at her with her alert black eyes. She twitters and sings. “Hullo Josette.” Lettice says quietly. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”
Josette continues to fly about her cage, twittering and singing, whilst Lettice watches her antics, momentarily mesmerised.
“I do hope you don’t feel like her.” Sir John’s voice drifts into her consciousness.
“What?” Lettice asks distractedly, spinning around to face her fiancée, who has returned to his languorous stance, leaning back into the soft upholstery and nest of cushions of the sofa. His arms are draped over the left arm of the sofa and across its back. Once again, he exudes the confidence of male privilege that his sex, class and enormous wealth bestows with every languid breath, wearing it every bit as well as the smart and well-cut Jermyn Street****************** tweed suit he is dressed in.
“Like a bird in a cage.” Sir John replies with a confident smile. “I hope you don’t feel like a bird in a cage, like you feel that Sylvia did when she got married to Josiah Pembroke. This fine marriage of ours is going to benefit us both, albeit in different ways. I will still be able to enjoy my dalliances with Paula and her like, and you, my dear Lettice, will be afforded the luxury of independence that few women of our class can enjoy.”
*Mazurkas, Op. 17. is a set of four mazurkas for solo piano by Frédéric Chopin, composed in 1832–1833 and published in 1834.
**Syrie Maugham was a leading British interior decorator of the 1920s and 1930s and best known for popularizing rooms decorated entirely in shades of white. She was the wife of English playwright and novelist William Somerset Maugham.
***If you put the cat among the pigeons or set the cat among the pigeons, you cause fierce argument or discussion by doing or saying something. The idiom comes from colonial India, where a popular pastime was to put a wild cat in a pen with pigeons. Bets would be made on how many birds the cat would bring down with one paw-swipe. The period of the British colonisation of India may have introduced this concept, and hence the phrase to the English language.
****Belchamp St Paul is a village and civil parish in the Braintree district of Essex, England. The village is five miles west of Sudbury, Suffolk, and 23 miles northeast of the county town, Chelmsford.
*****In the 1920s, being listed in “the book” meant being listed in the telephone directory.
******The origin of the idiom “a pretty penny” dates back to the Sixteenth Century. The word “pretty” in this context does not refer to beauty but rather to a considerable or substantial amount. This phrase is used to describe something that is expensive or costs a significant amount of money.
*******“Music has charms to soothe a savage breast.” is the famous line uttered by a character in William Congreve's 1697 play “The Mourning Bride”. The meaning for “Music soothe the savage breast” quote can be interpreted as chest or heart. That is likely what William was referring to when he wrote his playwright. Still, as time went by, people began to incorrectly use the quote in numerous instances. As it is today, the phrase is misquoted wrongly in many places. The literal meaning of the incorrect quote is in reference to the power of music. Whoever began to misquote the phrase, wanted to say that music has the power to soothe even the most savage beast in the world. In a way, even though the quote is incorrect, it does make some sense. That’s because breast – as it was used back then – referred to feelings, emotions and heart.
******** Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.
*********Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.
**********Ninian is a Christian saint, first mentioned in the 8th century as being an early missionary among the Pictish peoples of what is now Scotland. Whilst the meaning of Ninian is uncertain, it may have links to the Irish and Scottish Gaelic word naomh, meaning “saint,” “holy,” or “sacred.”
***********The Universität der Künste, Berlin (Berlin College of Music) ranks as one of the largest educational music institutes in Europe, rich in content and quality. It dates back to the Royal (later State) Academy of Music, founded under the aegis of the violinist Joseph Joachim, a friend of Brahms, in 1869. From the date of its foundation under directors Joseph Joachim, Hermann Kretzschmar, Franz Schreker and Georg Schünemann, it has been one of the leading academies of music in the German-speaking countries. Composers such as Max Bruch, Engelbert Humperdinck and Paul Hindemith, performers such as Artur Schnabel, Wanda Landowska, Carl Flesch and Emanuel Feuermann, and academics such as Philipp Spitta, Curt Sachs, Erich Moritz von Hornbostel and Kurt Singer taught there. Prominent teachers later included the two directors Boris Blacher and Helmut Roloff, and the composer Dieter Schnebel.
************Like Regent's Park, the park area of Primrose Hill was once part of a great chase, appropriated by Henry VIII. Primrose Hill, with its clear rounded skyline, was purchased from Eton College in 1841 to extend the parkland available to the poor people of north London for open air recreation. At one time Primrose Hill was a place where duels were fought and prize-fights took place. The hill has always had a somewhat lively reputation, with Mother Shipton making threatening prophesies about what would happen if the city sprawl was allowed to encroach on its boundaries. At the top of the hill is one of the six protected viewpoints in London. The summit is almost sixty-three metres above sea level and the trees are kept low so as not to obscure the view. In winter, Hampstead can be seen to the north east. The summit features a York stone edging with a William Blake inscription, it reads: “I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill.”
*************The Royal Albert Hall is a concert hall on the northern edge of South Kensington in London, built in the style of an ancient amphitheatre. Since the hall's opening by Queen Victoria in 1871, the world's leading artists from many performance genres have appeared on its stage. It is the venue for the BBC Proms concerts, which have been held there every summer since 1941.
**************A jeune fille à marier was a marriageable young woman, the French term used in fashionable circles and the upper-classes of Edwardian society before the Second World War.
***************A trousseau refers to the wardrobe and belongings of a bride, including her wedding dress or similar clothing such as day and evening dresses.
****************The Bright Young Things, or Bright Young People, was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of Bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London.
*****************Glynes is the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife Arabella.
******************Jermyn Street is a one-way street in the St James's area of the City of Westminster in London. It is to the south of, parallel, and adjacent to Piccadilly. Jermyn Street is known as a street for high end gentlemen's clothing retailers and bespoke tailors in the West End.
This upper-class drawing room may appear real to you, but it is in fact made up of 1:12 miniature pieces from my extensive collection, including items from my old childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The copy of the “Book of Canaries and Caged Birds” on display here is a 1:12 size miniature made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, although the book’s interiors are beautiful, so too is the cover, and I couldn’t resist displaying it for you to see. What might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. In this case, the “Book of Canaries and Caged Birds”, written by W.A. Blackston, W. Swayland and A.F. Wiener was published by Cassel in London in the 1880s with 56 full colour chromolithographs, which are replicated inside this volume in 1:12 scale. To produce something in such detail makes this a true artisan piece. The books directly behind the “Book of Canaries and Caged Birds” are also Ken Blythe’s work, but are of the type that are not designed to be opened. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The gilt Art Nouveau teacup in front of the book, featuring a copy of a Royal Doulton leaves pattern, comes from a larger tea set which has been hand decorated by beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The tiny silver container with its removable lid was made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.
The wicker cage with the bird on its perch I acquired through an online stockist on E-Bay.
The wooden pedestal table is made from beautiful golden walnut and is an unsigned artisan piece that I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.
In the background you can see Clemance’s grand piano which I have had since I was about ten years of age. It is made from walnut. The footstool has several sheets of music on it which were made by Ken Blythe. The sofa in the background to the left of the photo is part of a Marie Antionette suite with pretty floral upholstery which has been made by the high-end miniatures manufacturer, Creal.
All the paintings around Clemance’s drawing room in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, and the wallpaper is an authentic copy of late Victorian paper from the 1880s.
The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia.
Another photo from my 'spoon theory' series.
After studying I usually get tired and need to take a nap or rest. Sometimes I'll read a book or do something else. Naps seem to be something for elderly people, but a lot of people with a chronic illness need to take naps too. I only sleep for 15-20 minutes, but it helps me regain one or two spoons, or at least gain back some focus.
Autumn in North East Florida. Grateful that we do get some color. Can't hold a candle to those flaming Red Maples and the yellows that look like they are lit from within, but we do have some very nice soft Fall hues.
Greg and I are hoping that we are worried for nothing, but Jules hasn't been eating well this weekend. He is also just kinda off. I dread calling the Dr. tomorrow.
Chrom is a royal guard to the human capitol, Arcadia, ruled by the Leitner descendants. He is extremely loyal to Arcadia's princess, Vienna, whom he has share his entire life with.
Chrom grew up as a stable boy within the Leitner castle walls until he could earn his way into becoming a squire. After years of hard work and devotion, he became one of the best royal guards in the kingdom and was gifted a griffin hatchling whom he named Hyperion. He now devoted his life to Vienna and would protect her until his heart stopped beating.
However, on a usual hunting trip with the Leitners, Vienna's horse was frightened suddenly and breaks away from the others and into the dark forest nearby. Chrom and Hyperion rush after her, following her screams. Chrom dismounts Hyperion and tells him to fly above to search for her while he searched the grounds. He passes the frightened mare that Vienna was riding, drenched in a pool of her own blood. Chrom hears a whimper nearby and sees Vienna immediately, she was being approached by a massive white wolf with red eyes. As the wolf leapt for her, Chrom jumped in front of Vienna and shielded her with his armor and shield. The wolf's jaw clamps onto the armor on Chrom's arm and rips it off, exposing his bare skin. The wolf lunges again, wrapping it's teeth around Chrom's arm, but he was ready for the wolf that time and positioned his sword to stab the wolf, straight into the heart. Hyperion screeches from above, not knowing where to locate Chrom. Chrom whistles to his steed and Hyperion appears almost immediately. Chrom wraps his uninjured arm around Vienna and helps her onto Hyperion and he mounts afterwards.
Even though Vienna knew Chrom her entire life, this was the first time she finally realized that he would do anything for her. It was then she knew, she loved him.
Chrom was able to get his arm doctored and it healed rather quickly, which was peculiar to the healers of the kingdom, but they thought nothing of it. However, a bite-mark scar would forever be imprinted on his skin, a battle wound, so-to-speak.
As the night of the full moon creeped closer and closer, Chrom could sense that he wasn't feeling like his usual self. His usual stoic persona had been overridden with irritability and he was quickly angered. The full moon arrived and so did the beast within him. Chrom ran as far away from the humans as he could before the beast fully took control. He could not let Vienna see him this way...
SN/NC: Ophiopogon Japonicus, Asparagaceae Family
Ophiopogon japonicus (dwarf lilyturf, mondograss, fountainplant, monkeygrass; Japanese: リュウノヒゲ ryu-no-hige ("dragon's beard") or ジャノヒゲ ja-no-hige ("snake's beard") is a species of Ophiopogon native to China, India, Japan, and Vietnam.
It is an evergreen, sod-forming perennial plant. The leaves are linear, 20–40 cm long. The flowers are white through pale lilac, borne in a short raceme on a 5- to 1-cm stem. The fruit is a blue berry, 5 mm in diameter. Underground, this species has large stolons with tuberous roots. The fruit is attractive and looks just like a blue pearl, calling up anyone’s attention.
In traditional Chinese medicine, both O. japonicus plants and tubers are known as mai men dong (Chinese: 麥門冬). Tubers are used as the cardinal herb for yin deficiency. According to the "Chinese Herbal Medicine Materia Medica", the herb is sweet, slightly bitter, and slightly cold; enters the heart, lung, and stomach channels; nourishes the yin of the stomach, spleen, heart, and lungs; and clears heat and quiets irritability. Liriope spicata is used as a substitute
Ophiopogon japonicus (anão lilyturf, mondograss, fontanário, monkeygrass; Japonês: リュウノヒゲ ryu-no-hige ("barba de dragão") ou ジャノヒゲ ja-no-hige ("barba de cobra") é uma espécie de Ophiopogon nativa da China , Índia, Japão e Vietnã.
É uma planta perene, formadora de grama. As folhas são lineares, com 20–40 cm de comprimento. As flores são brancas a lilás pálido, carregadas em um racimo curto em uma haste de 5 a 1 cm, sendo atraente e parece uma pérola azul, com 5 mm de diâmetro chamando a atenção de qualquer um. No subsolo, esta espécie apresenta grandes estolões com raízes tuberosas.
Ophiopogon japonicus (lilyturf enano, mondograss, planta fuente, hierba mono; japonés: リュウノヒゲ ryu-no-hige ("barba de dragón") o ジャノヒゲ ja-no-hige ("barba de serpiente") es una especie de Ophiopogon nativa de China, India, Japón y Vietnam.
Es una planta perenne de hoja perenne que forma césped. Las hojas son lineales, de 20 a 40 cm de largo. Las flores son de color blanco a lila pálido, nacidas en un racimo corto en un tallo de 5 a 1 cm. El fruto es una baya azul de 5 mm de diámetro. Bajo tierra, esta especie tiene grandes estolones con raíces tuberosas. La fruta es atractiva y se ve como una perla azul, llamando la atención de cualquiera.
Ophiopogon japonicus (lilyturf nano, mondograss, fountainplant, monkeygrass; giapponese: リ ュ ウ ノ ヒ ゲ ryu-no-hige ("barba di drago") o ジ ャ ノ ヒ ゲ ja-no-hige ("barba di serpente") è una specie di Ophiopogon originaria della Cina, India, Giappone e Vietnam.
È una pianta perenne sempreverde che forma zolle. Le foglie sono lineari, lunghe 20-40 cm. I fiori vanno dal bianco al lilla pallido, portati in un breve racemo su uno stelo da 5 a 1 cm. Il frutto è una bacca blu, di 5 mm di diametro. Nel sottosuolo, questa specie ha grandi stoloni con radici tuberose. Il frutto è attraente e sembra proprio una perla blu, richiamando l'attenzione di chiunque.
Ophiopogon japonicus (Zwergliliengras, Mondogras, Springbrunnenpflanze, Affengras; Japanisch: リュウノヒゲ ryu-no-hige („Drachenbart“) oder ジャノヒゲ ja-no-hige („Schlangenbart“) ist eine in China, Indien und China beheimatete Ophiopogon-Art. Japan und Vietnam.
Es handelt sich um eine immergrüne, sodenbildende mehrjährige Pflanze. Die Blätter sind linealisch und 20–40 cm lang. Die Blüten sind weiß bis helllila und stehen in einer kurzen Traube an einem 5 bis 1 cm langen Stiel. Die Frucht ist eine blaue Beere mit einem Durchmesser von 5 mm. Unterirdisch hat diese Art große Ausläufer mit knollenförmigen Wurzeln. Die Frucht ist attraktiv und sieht aus wie eine blaue Perle, die die Aufmerksamkeit aller auf sich zieht.
Ophiopogon japonicus (lys nain, mondograss, fontaine, herbe de singe ; japonais : リュウノヒゲ ryu-no-hige ("barbe de dragon") ou ジャノヒゲ ja-no-hige ("barbe de serpent") est une espèce d'Ophiopogon originaire de Chine, d'Inde, Japon et Vietnam.
C'est une plante vivace à feuilles persistantes formant de la tourbe. Les feuilles sont linéaires, de 20 à 40 cm de long. Les fleurs sont blanches à lilas pâle, portées en une courte grappe sur une tige de 5 à 1 cm. Le fruit est une baie bleue de 5 mm de diamètre. Sous terre, cette espèce possède de gros stolons aux racines tubéreuses. Le fruit est attrayant et ressemble à une perle bleue, attirant l'attention de tous.
Ophiopogon japonicus (dwerg lilyturf, mondograss, fountainplant, monkeygrass; Japans: リュウノヒゲ ryu-no-hige ("drakenbaard") of ジャノヒゲ ja-no-hige ("slangenbaard") is een soort van Ophiopogon afkomstig uit China, India, Japan en Vietnam.
Het is een groenblijvende, zodevormende vaste plant. De bladeren zijn lineair, 20-40 cm lang. De bloemen zijn wit tot bleek lila, gedragen in een korte tros op een steel van 5 tot 1 cm. De vrucht is een blauwe bes, 5 mm in diameter. Onder de grond heeft deze soort grote uitlopers met knolachtige wortels. De vrucht is aantrekkelijk en ziet eruit als een blauwe parel die ieders aandacht opeist.
オフィオポゴン・ジャポニカス（ドワーフ・リリー芝、モンドグラス、噴水植物、モンキーグラス、日本語: リュウノヒゲ Ryu-no-hige (「竜のひげ」) またはジャノヒゲ ja-no-hige (「ヘビのひげ」) は、中国、インド、原産のオフィオポゴンの一種です。日本とベトナム。
常緑で芝生を形成する多年草です。葉は線形で、長さは 20～40 cm です。花は白から淡いライラック色で、5～1cmの茎に短い総状花序を咲かせます。果実は直径 5 mm の青いベリーです。この種は地下に塊根のある大きな匍匐茎を持っています。まるで青い真珠のような見た目が魅力的な果実は、注目を集めます。
Ophiopogon japonicus (قزم lilyturf ، mondograss ، fountainplant ، monkeygrass ؛ اليابانية: リ ュ ウ ノ ヒ ゲ ryu-no-hige ("لحية التنين") أو ジ ャ ノ ヒ ja-no-hige ("لحية الثعبان في الصين") هي من الأنواع الأصلية في Oph اليابان وفيتنام.
إنه نبات دائم الخضرة معمر. الأوراق خطية بطول 20-40 سم. الزهور بيضاء من خلال أرجواني شاحب ، تحمل في شجر قصير على ساق 5-1 سم. الثمرة توت أزرق قطرها 5 مم. تحت الأرض ، يحتوي هذا النوع على أذرع كبيرة ذات جذور درنية. الثمرة جذابة وتبدو مثل اللؤلؤة الزرقاء ، تلفت انتباه أي شخص.