A1(M) Bramham 01/03/2016

true life =/ !*

   

** PLEASE ASK ME BEFORE USING ANY OF MY WORK.

As expected this site has switched to EG on the Move from Applegreen. Road works on this day made timing essential to have a car free view of the forecourt. Further back in time this was a Texaco site.

maps.app.goo.gl/eiW3dhgXkUudbH3WA

Processed with CameraBag 2

 

Walthamstow, East London, UK

Expecting mother portraits

 

Find me on facebook @ Jeremy J. Saunders Photography

THE ALTAR OF INTERFERENCE

 

Rack: Ruin, Sorry to have been unresponsive. I fell off the digital planet upstate and found it delightful. Back in the city. All is well except for that gnawing post-holiday anxiety. Hope you're good and the writing goes along.

  

Ruin: I have been enjoying some crisis time here. Stuff to do with the sexual abuse, the neglect, and the, to be expected, self-loathing generated there. It happens every now and then, and it can be overpowering. The stuff we have been looking at, or at least that stuff I have been writing about, would more or less cause that to happen, I guess. Anyway, I have been taking a step back to look at it, the PTSD generated through abuse of all stripes. It’s sort of overarching. I want to look at it, and the idea of patterns, that ‘Wild Goose’ thing, of flight rather than fight, that permanent adrenaline rush of looking for a constant ‘elsewhere’, of heading out, or creating situations where one has to head out (like the silly 'London situation' that catapulted me to Amsterdam), that forcing oneself into constant panic-mode, left over from childhood survival tactics.

 

Then there is the generation of a cuckoo gene relative to all that too, that looking for parents, stealing them, even, nesting strategies that could be considered ‘shameful’, or at least might generate shame to add to the self-loathing, bolstering it up. Then there’s the slow suicide of looking for HIV, that cowardly way of doing oneself in. Anyway, these are a few of the things I am going to look at unflinchingly, going forward. I am in a sort of bracing mode, girding one’s overused, and sagging, loins for a full-frontal assault.

 

Once more unto that breach, and all that palaver, a cuckooed 'Wild Goose' negotiating a swansong, even.

 

It's difficult to write these things about oneself, and see them reflected back by you, your acknowledgment of them, suggesting that you have more than an 'understanding'. We are both aware of what we reflect back to each other, something we have done for 35 years now, that there is mutuality there. I know why you struggle with it, I do too. I suspect this might be what makes it worthwhile.

  

Rack: Ruin, I had a similar moment recently. It has taken this long for me to be able to recognize what is happening when I want to flee, when I feel that the sky falling on my head is imminent, when I just can't function. It is hard to acknowledge how many areas of life its tendrils have drilled their way into. I have read that Ketamine infusions can help, and I've been toying with the idea for a long time, though it is horribly expensive. Not drinking has been a huge help lately and I realize that booze just makes me more anxious, ultimately. It's alarming to think how one's life has been sculpted by such childhood events. I can't even identify what it is that happened. I can remember very little of childhood. I wonder was there additional abuse to the stuff I can remember. I suppose it's not that important to remember the details. That whole notion of healing and moving on seems like a daft impossibility to me. If anything, the symptoms of PTSD have become worse for me as I age, as if they will out, regardless. Sometimes I just feel like I'm not functioning. Anyway, I know where you are and it is a difficult and painful place to sit through. Maybe that's how you get past it. By looking it in the eye and not freezing. Maybe the writing of it will be a huge relief for you, not in the way of some perfect redemption, but a squaring of things. I am sending you much love.

  

Ruin: I don’t know if I scared myself to a stop or not, I don’t think I did, I think I am still writing. I am writing around it, around the theme. There were, of course, triggers. It’s difficult to get to that point of full exposure, but that’s where I think I have to go, and I have enough evidence of questionable behaviour generated in response, perhaps, both in my art and in what I have been writing all these years. Strangely, I realised that there were others in my family generating patterns, according to how they reacted to our negligent parents. The sister, Phil, who gloated over the tearing up, and burning, of that book (‘A Stone for Danny Fisher’) is the same sister who consigned my Doctoral work to the Dublin City dump. It was the same action, a refined echo, but 50 years later. I have been looking at, and thinking about, how we continue to unknowingly repeat these patterns. I assumed my victim role, and ran away, yet again. I would rather fly than fight, that classic ‘wild goose’ pattern. There is nothing there I want to fight for anyway, the place is even more sordid than I am, but I want to be aware of these patterns, and all of my siblings adapted a different variation, one that would make their lives livable. But my parents in their turn generated their patterns in reaction to their abandonment, so there’s no blame there at all. I guess the idea isn’t to blame, even not to blame my abusive uncle, I love the word ‘avuncular’, his was learnt behaviour. Of this I am sure, given that I know that at least two of his older brothers are child abusers (and priests).

 

So, the drive is not to ‘forgive’ and lovingly embrace family. It’s simply, through writing, to understand these patterns, and hopefully in doing so, to short-circuit the whole shebang. But I don’t want to write an abuse ‘memoir’. Anyway, there’s the challenge, and it’s still called ‘Rack and Ruin’.

  

Rack: Yes. I heartily agree. It’s “just” trying to understand and thereby to release oneself of ever re-enacting the same circular route. Maybe not possible. Maybe is.

  

Ruin: Well, I wouldn’t want to prefigure, or disallow for, any deathbed exegesis, that flash of realisation, that might, or might not, be on the cards. If it was all figured out before then it might make that climax anti-climactic. As for the rest, the writing, the art, the life, you get as far as you get, and then it all unravels anyway, and before you know it, you’re dust. There’s a cheerful morning thought. I suspect we both have them. Then there is that intervening time, and the filling of the same. Mine is very much about restoring self-worth, and I am actually glad that I am still at that. It would have been much easier just to give up and dissipate towards that void (Oh, the drama!). I wrote sissipate, accidentally. I like that, that rolling the ball endlessly up that hill, and finding it at the bottom of the hill in the morning. Just like this morning, and away we go again. Bless that dung beetle. I like that we, instinctively, continue to do this, each rolling (along the self-same route) being completely different from the one before. That release happens in its own time, or rather it’s happening constantly, until it’s spent. I like this, and have no interest in it other than the doing itself. I like putting words and images up on Flickr. I love that this represents a type of slightly cracked-open window, that one's experience, and understanding, is not completely shut off, even if there is no evidence of any response. It is enough in itself. It reminds me of that medieval Anchorite sitting by her window, carbuncled onto a remote church, entombed even. The goal is no longer to show, or publish, the goal is to make, with a small window left open, just in case. I love that 'Just in case'.

 

“Maybe not possible. Maybe is.” I love the ‘maybe’, like I love ‘perhaps’, ‘even’, ‘possibly’, and other words conveying lack of surety. That’s where I would love to be found sitting for whatever posterity there might be, or not. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I also love that idea of it not mattering. I saw it in a ketamine exegesis (that word again), and I know it to be true. I know, ‘dumb ass’, but I don’t care.

  

Rack: Yes to "restoring self-worth". Oh, that there were a short cut, but it seems there is not, probably not even Ketamine. Up and down that bloody hill, sissipating like the dung beetles that we are. We are, once again, at the juncture of ‘Labor Day’, that convenient long weekend that bookends the summer with its predecessor, ‘Memorial Day’. My panic continues as my partner sits reading with a small flashlight hanging out of his mouth, because he can no longer see without the additional light. Who does the panicking in your house? I feel like it is somebody's job in a household. A small engine of worry. Anyway, I am going to try and park it somewhere and enjoy the relatively empty city and the weather with the worst of the heat gone out of it. Could really do with a good long screaming walk with you.

 

Ruin: I am the worrier. I find myself wonderfully entombed with the buggering Buddha, as far as that is concerned. It’s a glorious place to be. Our Pyramid is wondrous. Time is at its undoing, and I love it all shoddying the edges. That doesn’t seem to staunch that flow of worrying, regardless. The insecurities, or the source, perhaps, of that deluge, is somewhat easily traced back.

 

The Mater had a type of mantra, it was in a way the pride of her arsenal, and I remember it being put to use on many an occasion. It went something like this: “You do know that you can never pay us back, don’t you? If you worked all your life and gave us every penny you ever earned, it wouldn’t even come near to what you owe us”. I have it in parentheses, but it is not really a quote. It wouldn’t have been proffered so lucidly, it would have been spat and mangled, screeched out, perhaps between thuds and flailing fists. It was harridan-like. The thuds and flailings would, more or less, always miss their marks and land on a battered table, or on the back of a broken chair. They weren’t the problem. All the chairs in the house were broken. I remember going back to help celebrate one Christmas, travelling from London, 40 years later, and sitting on a chair which immediately collapsed from under me. I roared at the power of the Mater’s mantra asserting itself, as I sat on the floor hysterically laughing whilst remembering.

 

So, it was set in stone. I would have to go working at the age of thirteen, in the aforementioned ‘The Laurels’ to “earn my keep” and pay into the coffers for the upkeep of the brood, all of whom had “no idea how much they owed”. At some point, during one of these incidents, I made the connection between sex and pleasure, probably around the concurrent abuse cycle with my uncle, and perhaps managed to scream out that they chose to have sex, that they shouldn’t have had children at all. My mother informed me that “sex is for men”, which only further confused me relative to her putting her brother in my bed.

 

Other than what my bull-uncle was teaching me, this was the only sex education that I had.

 

When we came to ‘Human reproduction’ in biology class, the ‘chaste’ Christian Brother announced, “We will skip this section for now, it won’t come up in exams anyway”. I was already, perhaps, a year into my anthropological avuncular education.

 

Avuncular

 

/əˈvʌŋkjʊlə/

Learn to pronounce

adjective

adjective: avuncular

1.

kind and friendly towards a younger or less experienced person.

"he was avuncular, reassuring, and trustworthy"

2.

ANTHROPOLOGY

relating to the relationship between men and the children of their siblings.

 

It was strangely confusing, this attention from my uncle. Nobody had paid any attention to me before.

 

[9:58 am, 02/09/2022] Ruin: A screaming walk would be wonderful. It would have to be a slow one though, and not too far, with rest stops along the way. The screaming wouldn't have to be slow, we could let that go from the get go. A relapse into hysteria with you would be wondrous indeed.

 

[9:58 am, 02/09/2022] Ruin: But we can also always do that here.

 

Let's sissipate side by side.

 

Rack: I don't think I've ever heard these stories, at least so graphically. You are approaching the very kernel here. Her fury is so furious and so energetic. I can almost relate. I can't help but think about her putting her brother in your bed, or you in his. It strikes me as some weird sacrifice she was making. Offering her brightest up to the altar of interference. Knowing and not knowing. And I suppose sex was for men. My paternal grandmother said the same thing. A thing to be endured. Your mother was going to make you endure it too. Somehow share in that forced ritual. Why did she choose you? Was it an age thing? It's horrifying and fascinating. Sending you love, as always.

  

Ruin: Yes, Rack, this is the crux, the kernel, that molten core. It might be other than what we expect, but this is it. It is also why I don’t want to write an abuse ‘memoir’. It’s not that. It’s not about struggle, triumph over adversity, forgiveness, and a sort of accompanying redemption. It is about ‘drivers’. It’s about innocence too, universal innocence, even. The mater’s innocence, the sibling’s innocence, the abuser’s innocence, and ultimately the self’s innocence. It encompasses the murderer’s, and mass-murderer’s, innocence. It would even include the innocence of those God botherers, those mass-manipulators who pushed their divisive theories of the divine on our susceptible forebears, those so-called priests and nuns. At a push, it might even include bank-managers and CEOs of Fortune-500 companies. Okay, I’ll go the whole hog, artists need to be forgiven too.

 

I would normally sit down, of a morning, and vomit out a spiel, and press the send button. I can’t do that this morning. I have to write this and be as clear as I can be, so there is no misunderstanding as to what I am trying to say.

 

I will just say, firstly, that my mother chose nothing. She was 100% reactive, desperately and fearfully reactive, even. She was, sadly, trapped in a pattern, rather like we all are, to a lesser or greater extent.

 

So, that’s where I am starting from. The rest is about getting as far as time permits.

 

I will answer those questions you brought up, as we go along.

 

Ruin: [10:44 am, 03/09/2022] It was never going to be easy, Crusty Lusty.

 

Rack (from sometime back in the mid-nineties, last century):

 

Funny you should mention staving off the SSRI pillies.†

Lately I have felt them to be an evil† necessity myself and frankly I am tired of them.†

I do need them ‘til I'm de-interfered with, but I think they† make one's character and brain sort of mushy until one reaches a state where you are oddly detached from your "self" and quite happy to be mired knee deep in your own raw sewage.†

 

It's not good.†

I feel impure in a way I can't quite explain, and I'm not prone to

feeling impure.†

 

Ultimately there is something terribly wrong about being incapable of living

without them.†

Why not just look for an honest distraction like alcoholism,

severe junkiedom, or whoredom?†

 

All this modern messing with chemistry.

Anyway, feeling like a reactionary regarding them and god bless you for going

cold turkey and long may it last.†

I'm sure one makes better work without them.

 

I'm† off to the scratcher with my oozing beaver:† ah the last gasps of estrogen as the old uterus pops an egg and screams for something to fill it up.†

Odd this biological baggage we women folk have; all this oozing and cycling and yet

no thought of acting on it.†

 

Modern, eh???

 

Much love,

 

Pox Bunny Beaver Rackety Crust

 

[10:49 am, 03/09/2022] Ruin: You were, and are, a wondrous poet.

 

I love your use of the crucifix. Strangely, the matrix put them there. Somewhere in the transferal from a Word document, or from an email, or whatever. They, the crucifixes just appeared. I like that their placing seems so random, though they do impose a sort of rhythm. This musky Matrix knows best, all praise our new Meta Gods on this soul-saving superhighway. I would not want to remove those religious signifiers put there by whoever is the powers that be.

 

The original ‘Castration Piece’ had a fourth panel. It read "I am Not an Open Beaver". I am putting the titles of art pieces in single parentheses, they refer to pieces made, and either shown at some point or other in Galleries and Museums, or on the WWW, on my only social media platform ‘Flickr’.

 

Rack: I always loved that piece.

 

Ruin: I liked placing it back at ‘The Mammy's Hearth’, that sacrosanct place of no safety.

 

Rack: And blurry you. How the hell do we ever individuate? I feel as if I’m still sissipating up that particular hill.

 

Ruin: We do it whilst sissipating, we are even doing it now. I love our new word.

 

Rack: Me too. Rhymes with dissipating, includes it, of course, but also suggests some progress, even if Sisyphean.

 

Ruin: I am still sitting with those last few questions you asked me, it's going to take time to answer them, but I will. I am worn out, off to the doctor to find out what is happening with my prostate, kidney pains, urinating every 15 minutes, exhaustion, sore groin lymph node (one sided).

 

Rack: Eugh, sounds nasty. No rush on answering those questions. I hope they weren’t “previous” of me to ask. But I am genuinely curious. It goes back to the innocence factor. Anyway, sorry your nether regions are bothering you. I hope it can be resolved in a simple way. All we can hope for our ailments now.

 

Ruin: No questions are "previous", ever. More like "about time", this doo-doo needs sorting out.

Rack: ♥️

Ruin: ♥️💩

  

As for the mater’s fury, he had some ideas relative to the source of that pain and anger. She was never overtly forthcoming with her sharing, regarding her ‘story’ that is, though she would on occasions over-share inappropriately. He recognized this tendency in himself, and in others he had known from the abused fraternity and sorority. This had a sort of uncontrollable Tourette’s-like quality, a certain convulsive vomiting, almost exorcism-like in its urgency to be expelled. He understood it now, but as a child this was confusing. She had been abused, she spoke a little of this later, another errant uncle working his avuncular magic, that undoing of innocence, that unwanted incursion. But she had been abandoned when she was six or seven years old, more or less left as the carer for her three younger siblings, after her mother had died, of TB, at a tender age, somewhere in her early thirties. Her father had left the four children, almost immediately, in the care of some older relatives, disappearing from their lives and remarrying a 17-year-old girl, with whom he had 13 more children. The mater did not see her father again until her own wedding day, when she was 23 years old. So, he surmised, we are talking about abandonment here, that form of neglect and abuse, before that other assault, referenced but never really spoken of. He remembered her cursing that uncle later on, but no details of what happened were ever shared. There was a gap there, another unfillable void.

 

Why the ‘his’? Why the ‘he’? It’s simple really, it gives a once remove, making it all a little easier. It might go back and forth, but who knows? There was also that once remove of the inadequacy of memory. Of course, he wasn’t even sure how much of this was true, even, what parts he remembered and what parts he had dreamed, or what part he had generated to find the wherewithal to forgive himself, and her. He was at a point where he couldn’t easily remember what day yesterday was, never mind familial gathering, sixty years ago, around that infinite family hole. His father’s crater was also there, inadequately filled with alcohol and anger, regrets, sadness, and neglect.

 

They sucked each other in, my parents, warring black holes in love, proffering impossible promises of security to each other, indifferent to everything else including their own children. Or so it seemed. But children can’t surmise all this, they can only pick up on the anger and disappointment, and the complete lack of any vestiges of stability. They each, both parents, made their oaths to be the other’s salvation, as they began quietly, at first, to fail. They stayed together for 60 years, so at least in some way they fulfilled their commitment to each other.

 

Meanwhile their children fell apart.

 

But this is not a story about aborted family dynasties, of triumph over adversity, or the opposite. It’s about another family of sorts, with nothing really to do with DNA extensions, and that striving to fit into some idea of continuity. It is about setting out, breaking away, the ‘Diaspora’, that homelessness, the ‘Wild Geese’, a certain ruthlessness, even. It is partially about recognizing the other as the same, or at least connecting with another where that sameness is sensed. It’s about the ‘Rack and Ruin’ of this fable, a chance encounter in the ‘New World’, and attempts at the rebuilding of ‘Trust’.

 

But the fury is somewhat easy to explain.

 

Downstairs was, a rented, one living room and a small kitchen behind a failing shop, the ‘Bon-Bon’ by name, another unfillable hole, as it would happen. Upstairs were two bedrooms and a box-room, shared by five children and two adults, with the addition of the new bull-interloper, a 20 or 21-year-old, testosterone-overflowing, encroacher.

 

Rack: Amazing stuff. Thank you for sending. I need to read again and assimilate before I respond more fully. So much here! Congratulations on facing it head on.

 

Ruin: I am feeling my way into it. This piece is the continuation of a conversation between you and I. Nothing is edited yet, I am not worrying about that for a while, or perhaps never, who knows? It's stuff I had written before, not in answer to your questions, but I do think it starts to address them. I will get there, though it does start to answer them, your questions I mean. I guess I am limbering up to answer, because yes, it is the kernel. But as I said, I don't want to write an abuse memoir. I want to write about 'drivers'.

 

Off to the doctor to have my prostate prodded. It's been about four years since there were any incursions in that region. I am not feeling great, but ho-hum, perhaps well enough to write some more. I wanted to sit still anyway.

 

Anyway, I am putting that text under the image of the cloud-filled sky from the window of an airplane, more or less adding to it daily. Nobody sees it, it's like a private space. It is further back in my photostream, on Flickr. Pundits tend to look at the newer images, so I can work there almost privately. I like to leave that window open a crack, as you know, just in case I am in the mood to hang my arse out of it. He said, nodding at mister Chaucer, was there no end to this man’s pretensions?

 

Rack: The only way to do it. Not that I would know. Hope the prostate thing is OK. It’s funny how the bits that allow us to reproduce cause the most illness: breasts, prostates, and maybe we can list the heart there too. Feeling quite peculiar, but not in an entirely bad way.

 

Ruin: Maybe indeed, the heart I mean, perhaps it should be even listed first. I suspect that when we get our hearts broken as children, there’s, more or less, no fixing them. I don’t like being around children at all, they feel so ferociously delicate. I never have, my whole life, I mean. This was fortuitous, in that I recognise my own capacity to brutalise, even unintentionally. I am pleased to have never found these small creatures attractive, I know that abuse can sometimes generate that reaction. Thankfully, I was one of the lucky ones, it drove me forward, instead, desperately searching for a father.

 

But back to the mater, back to that bed companion, back to a small room with two beds, shared by four people, 3 brothers and one uncle.

 

He didn’t remember much about the room other than it was small and usually cold. There was no central heating in the house, and no insulation to speak of.

 

Ruin: I am chasing that cuckoo theme or, at least, working my way towards it.

 

Rack: Worth chasing. I have lost my enthusiasm for a lot of things. But have also lost my taste for destroying myself. As if the shortening years are drumming sense into me at last.

 

Ruin: Queen Elizabeth is dead.

 

Rack: I actually have a tear in my eye.

 

Ruin: I understand that. It's a little unreal. She's always been there, I mean from the beginning of our lives.

 

Rack: My mother was enamored of her. They shared an age, both members of the forces during WWII.

 

Ruin: I think my mother was the same age too, at least she claimed to be. She liked her too, but it sort of went against her republicanism

 

Rack: I knew she was a goner when I saw her greeting Liz Truss. Looked feeble for the first time.

 

Ruin: Yes, her hands were all bruised. She had obviously been having transfusions.

 

Rack: Poor love. She really was remarkable.

 

Ruin: Yes, to your "As if the shortening years are drumming sense into me at last ". I am there too

 

Rack: It feels good (the at last). I feel as if I’m negotiating the supermarket aisles with little concern for my fellow shoppers.

 

Ruin: I have been writing to you, still working it out, will write it soon (as an email). I will send it soon rather, when I get a little further

 

Rack: I look forward. And backward.

 

Ruin: I appear to be writing about everything, and making images too

 

Rack: Happy that you are.

 

Ruin: anyway, I will write it out, you will see. Hey, guess what, you are writing it out here too, and I will use it all.

 

Rack: Hah! Work away. Might be the only way I can do it. Obliquely.

 

Ruin: I'll hand it over to you eventually, if you outlive me, as I said before.

 

Rack: One of us has to go first. YIKES.

 

Ruin: Yep, that's how it goes. Yikes, indeed! Unless, of course, we all go together, courtesy of Mr. Putin, or whatever. I am on a new drug for my prostate, apparently it was squeezing my urethra, making my piss flow very difficult, no pressure, slowed down, and it meant I had to pee every 15 mins. One of the side effects is possible priapism, a permanent erection, even. I can feel a series of photos coming on, that 'how to negotiate being a spent old tosser' series.

 

But back to that crowded bedroom, with ice on the inside of the windows and the horsehair overspilling from the mattress, that altar.

 

To the bloody Dickins with the whole shebang.

 

Rack: What a fate your mother had! No wonder she was angry. What a fate you suffered! It’s as if she had to make you endure something similar, that by effecting its repetition she was freeing herself, sacrificing you. Kill the thing you love. It is compelling to read Billy; onward! It never occurred to me that the abuse you endured happened in a crowded room. That your brothers were there. It must have added to everything.

I hope the prostate submits to the new drug and things get more comfortable.

  

There seems to be so much to this falling apart, and the attempts to stave it off with an array of pharmaceuticals. The latest one seems particularly unpleasant, and a balance might have to be found, some sort of compromise with the condition, where it is determined which is more livable with, the affliction or the ‘cure’. The pill-box is now full, or the complement of slots is full, those 4 notches for each day, spacing out the pills, that morning, midday, evening, and night array. This reminded Ruin of Rack’s “ramming 28 horse-pills down my throat every day”, of one of her first emails, some 25 years previously. This also reminded him that four pills a day was not that much of an infringement on his time and effort if he was going to get this ‘epic’ written. He guffawed inwardly at this notion of an epic, whilst recognizing the unwieldiness of it all, that sprawl. It could easily get out of hand, he knew this. Actually, it was already ‘out of hand’ more or less, but he felt that he just had to let this be what it was, for now.

  

Eventually decisions would have to be made. Again, this sounds suspiciously like ‘choices’ would be presenting themselves, but, in reality, there is no choice at all. It is simply about being able to continue, a survival strategy, an instinct. Ruin had been reduced before to a soporific state by ‘life-savers’. For five years he had been on a drug which more or less curtailed all creativity, writing, making art, or even reading. He was determined not to let this happen again. Unfortunately, the medical powers that be, the doctors he encountered, did not appear to be very good at listening, which led to five years of what felt like an anaethesised life, a time felt as though it was spent wading through a particularly dense fog, a treacle even. Eventually, after that unnecessarily extended sluggish exile, Ruin managed to convince the doctor to change the medications, and hey presto, as if by magic, the curtains rose. There’s a lesson to be learnt there, relative to doctors, drugs, and private interests in the Pharma industry, but allowing for the possible duration of a lifespan, one has to choose one’s battles. For this very reason, Ruin was thrilled to see the sterling work by Laura Poitras and Nan Goldin being acknowledged by the Venice Film Festival this week.

  

This is all normal stuff, we all face it at some point, it is part and parcel of growing older, and of particularly having the privilege to do that whilst enjoying last centuries, eclipsed, ‘maladie du jour’. It appears that this new century can, and will, generate its own, and it is somewhat wondrous to see, already, the machinations of science in its attempts to protect us.

  

Ruin believed in science; he did not believe in God. He had watched science work its preserving ‘magic’ both on Rack for 35 years, and on himself for 20 of those shared years. What was not to believe? If some billionaire or other had wanted to tag him with an electronic bugging device, he would have been well tagged already; he had given science total access years ago. He had read, digested, and discarded Duesberg's HIV conspiracy theories way back in the mid-eighties, propagated somewhat by ‘The Village Voice’, as he attempted to support Rack, and as they tried to help each other, through the early tsunamis generated by the same virus. Ruin had all he could stomach of anti-science conspiracy theories three decades before Covid eclipsed everything else in the collective imagination of the general public. Then in the eighties and nineties, Dr. Fauci was the enemy too, and we demonstrated against him and the tardiness of the CDC. We formed ‘Act Up’ and marched, demonstrated, and had ‘die-ins’ in Grand Central Station. Dr. Fauci listened, and eventually acted, proving to be a stalwart comrade in arms.

  

Recently Rack wrote to me (Enter those 1st person pronouns, both singular and plural):

  

Rack: I think we all have a lot of fear about how our behaviour is being policed. Are we racist? Are we transphobic? Are we elitist? Are we mansplaining? As you say, it’s not helpful and it doesn’t actually assist any of the issues it purports to protect. I fear we are in a very dark corner. Some days I find this very liberating. Not all days. Reading about the US government’s attitude to climate change is frightening. Also, Republican’s attitudes towards Anthony Fauci. Horrifying. He has just resigned. Bless.

  

Ruin: Yes, bless indeed, both Science and Doctor Fauci.

 

I am most pleased that we can still write to each other after 35 years of dealing with this disease. No, I don’t believe in God, but I do believe in miracles, and as far as I can see, most of those are, now, generated by Science.

 

A progenitorial alternative might be:

 

"Three drinks of water (holy) taken on three consecutive occasions from The Bishops Skull. This skull is believed to belong to one of three bishops who were murdered for their faith in Penal times. This particular skull is in a very extraordinary state of preservation and is kept at a house named Rielly (sic), near to the village of Mahera in Co. Cavan.

The skull is requisitioned from all parts of Ireland and the cure is well recognised."

 

The Schools Collection volume 0721 page 212.

www.duchas.ie/en/cbes/5009031/4979138

 

Rack: Not too much. I am always fascinated to read, but will admit that there is a part of me that wonders why I am so stuck while your gates are wide open and functioning with such wild and wonderful abandon. It is a form of jealousy, but not just that because I am truly happy you are doing it. So, keep sending and forgive me if my replies are a little constipated. Thinking about your latest missive, the medicated falling apart. Much love.

 

Ruin: I rewrote and added there a bit. I am just shit-scared of not having time left to finish what I have started, so pushing. You are very much there too.

  

As luck would have it, I don’t seem to be able to tolerate these prostate pills. They cause intense palpitations at the slightest exertion. So, I will just have to get on with it, the swollen prostate and all that. It’s not cancer, just swollen, but that causes enough problems anyway, which will just have to be embraced. Yes, to what you were saying about those parts of the body to do with pleasure causing the worst, or most common, problems. It does slightly put me in mind of that red ‘Castration Piece’ I made in the eighties, that fantasy I had, for years, about being neutered. That ‘I fantasized about castrating myself feeling this could free me from the guilt and shame (and pleasure)’. I could now, with those added 35 years on top, add ‘and doctor’s appointments’ to that title. But the response has to be, and is, Yes, a resounding ‘Yes’. Yes to growing older I mean. It remains the best, and the thing I am most grateful for. (Waving at Molly Bloom here, of course).

 

I have never had what are called ‘Panic attacks’ before, the first one I had was in my early sixties when I was on those terrible stultifying TAF including drugs for our shared lurgy. I then started to have them occasionally, plus a host of other exhausting complaints, and that aforementioned pea soup brain-fog. These, more or less, cleared up when I changed drugs. Now, with this new prostate pill they are back with a vengeance, two in three days. These are not panic attacks; they are drug induced palpitations. They are listed as possible side effects. We are, of course, guinea pigs for these wonderful HIV drugs, and I know we are both eternally grateful for that opportunity.

 

Let’s live somewhat longer, let’s describe it, let’s write.

 

But Ruin did have to get back to his mother, and that misunderstanding, that space where some ‘intent’ might be suggested. He needed to somehow exonerate her, to say that it wasn’t her fault, or rather to prove to himself that it wasn’t. He recognized this as being virtually impossible, given his history, their ‘story’, and the reverberations through six decades, but he was going to try anyway. Her history, back story even, can’t really be delved into. There is not enough evidence there, just those initial tales of abandonment, her father, early grieving, her mother, and abuse, her uncle. Ruin could hardly remember his own story, never mind attempting to reconstruct that of the mater, but the pattern was obvious, and the repeat motifs presented themselves unashamedly. Ruin was used to looking for patterns, probably generated by a lifetime making visual art. There were also patterns in the mater’s behaviors, mirrored in his own. These he could see and understand. These were the drivers he wanted to expose. He wanted to explain these to Rack. Rack had been, for over three decades, a type of ‘sounding board’ for him, utterly non-judgmental, hyper vigilant even, with an uncanny ability to proffer solace. He had the idea that this was also mirrored back. They were, somehow, equally scabrous, wanton, lewd, call it what you will, and could laugh uproariously at each other’s coping mechanisms. This was probably central to their ‘screaming walks’ through the canyons of Manhattan in those early days of their beloved plague. Rack was very much the ‘screamer’ then, and Ruin was in awe of her ability to let one rip on a crowded avenue or cross-street, whilst quietly hoping he might be mistaken for her companion-carer. He so loved that embarrassment. He also suspected that she loved watching him attempt to deal with it.

 

Those walks should become legend.

 

Yes, it all happened in a crowded room, a dark one to boot. There were two not quite double beds. Ruin didn’t know what size they were, they weren’t standard anything. He guessed they were more single size; two double beds would not have fit in that room. But this was years before he was aware of those designated sizes, queen, king, whatever. They were old metal frames, with exposed springs, on which the horsehair mattresses scrappily floated. His two younger brothers shared one, he had the other. It was their room, the boy’s room. His parents slept in the small box-room, so his sisters could share the other bedroom, furnished with two single beds. The youngest of the brothers, Johnny, was about 4 years old at the time. He was a troubled child, if his self-rocking was anything to go by. This self-soothing swaying back and forth relentlessly would infuriate his ten-year-old brother, Tony, until Johnny managed to soothe himself to sleep each night. Tony would then become comatose, at last, having endured that rocking until exhaustion intervened. Johnny also slept with his invisible friend ‘Ibi’, so their bed was somewhat overcrowded.

 

Ruin, the oldest, had a bed to himself, a sign of seniority, an acknowledgement of his waxing ‘teenhood’, until that interloper arrived.

 

Here, let me (that personal pronoun again) interject, by way of adding a warning. It’s simple really, and I am directing it towards all parents, of all persuasions and ilks, gender preferences, and identities. It’s blindingly elementary, an iteration I know. Please, never put a mature male in bed with an immature child, no matter how much you trust this male, no matter how close the family relationship might be. But I guess if I was being both fair and honest, I would have to extend this to include all maturated individuals regardless of gender or self-identification. My, perhaps unfair, focus on the male abuser here is because this was the case, both as far as my mother and myself were concerned, those wayward uncles. But then this isn’t about me, so I apologise for any presumptions made.

 

Ruin did not want to share his bed.

 

Yes, Ruin was doing okay. He knew it wasn’t Rack’s job to take the sadness away. How could it be? Anyway, he was doing exactly that himself, and it was about time, in every possible meaning of that phrase. It was about time itself, indeed, nothing more, nothing less. So not counting on any, a godly and honest state if ever there was one, he would get on with it until he no longer could. There’s a definition of fulfilment there, that recognition of oneself as that veritable elephant surfing on the fabled edge of that infinite black hole, and writing this out made him happy, elated even. For what it’s worth, it records itself anyway, endlessly, and anything the universal you or I might choose to add is simply non-essential extra, that ‘Froth on a Daydream’ which Boris Vian liked to write about. It is written for the self, a gift. He was looking at Vian again for a reason, or at least was planning to, it having once been important to him. A new copy sat on his emptying shelves, quietly reverberating. Hum diddley hum. This hum was once beautifully described as ‘the music of the spheres’.

 

There is there, there.

 

Anyway, back to those words of advice, my abridged handbook for would-be parents.

 

Do not circumvent the grooming, do not make it unnecessary by placing a potential predator and a victim in a dark, and silent, bed together. Whilst I am not going to dissect what happened on that mattress, I am going to look at why a child might have erroneously projected that grooming onto his mother for almost 60 years. There’s the crux, Rack, that mistake, that almost lifelong, retarding, projection that might have turned a 68-year-old child into a storyteller.

 

It was almost impossible for that son to describe that mother, to find the words, I mean. But he was going to try. There was no malice there, and she wasn’t stupid. Being stupid and ignorant are not the same thing. But then the whole story is also tinged with her innocence, something which can often be confused with ignorance, but here they were intertwined, and she had no way to pick them apart. These traits were very much part of her Gordian Knot, that imponderable she had inadvertently played forward.

 

To go further he knew he was going to have to do it alone. He was going to have to, temporarily hopefully, let Rack go as well. He knew that it was going too far, and could even be triggering, to use a woke expression, for her. It was almost going too far for himself, even. It felt like an essential step, so he would take it. This would constitute a huge, and frightening, departure, a rupturing, after 25 years of corresponding. He was going to go back alone. She knew where he was, he knew where she was, that would have to be enough for now.

 

There is always that cracked open window here, letting some air in, and stench out.

 

That will be enough in this interim, he guffawed quietly to himself, recklessly Rackless, perhaps, but enough for now.

  

Rack: Have been thinking. And just tell me to fuck off if you disagree or don’t care, but I feel you should be writing in the first person.

 

Ruin: I will work that out, now, or soon. I write in the third person when it becomes too difficult to write about, to get some distance. I now sort of know I can write it, so I better get on with it. The first person might be more immediate, I guess, but I was trying, to a degree, to avoid writing a straight-forward memoir. Anyway, this does need sorting out before I really sit down to it. I think I have the bare bones together now, and need to work on the form it's going to take. I am feeling like withdrawing more to do it, but that frightens me too.

 

Rack: I absolutely get that. And the fear of withdrawing to do it too. Onward. I get so stuck on the small stuff that I cannot proceed at all, so it would be safe to ignore me. Sending love.

 

Ruin: I am not at all sure yet which direction it is going in, in so much as I don't really want to write a 'novel' or a 'memoir'. I am thinking of it as more of connected 'essays', than anything else. Essays on a theme, personal essays, even, perhaps lyrical essays, I am not sure. For now it's just writing. It will include these, Immediate messages, emails, stories, confused memories, and ramblings about ideas, 'drivers', and whatever. There will even be images. The person they are written in can change. I realised that in the writing to you, it should always be in the first person, directly written to you, that personal. But in my enthusiasm found myself sending you some of the 'Ruin (he) had a good wank and fell asleep' stuff. I put all that on Flickr anyway, so you know where it is. I still revolve around images, so I will continue to work there. It is my way, as unorthodox as that might be, and it's more or less private there anyway. I like that promiscuousness, that slightly ajar window, so something can creep out or in, and catch me unawares. It is my only 'Meta' space.

 

I say you know where it is there, but it is now quite hidden. I am working under certain images, add text most days, but these are older images. Only newly added images get attention so these more or less go unseen, as the text develops. I leave little clues but one would have to be quite intrepid to find them.

 

The title, 'A Less Comforting Narrative', refers to the image, and not to the exchange under it.

 

Rack: It’s always an act of faith and you are writing, that’s what counts. The idea of writing essays might be very freeing.

  

But Rack, there is another crux there too, another layer I need to look at, and that is the idea of the self as a ‘groomer’. I am not at all sure why I attack these ideas head on, but it seems I do, or have to (am driven to), at least. OK, perhaps I make cack-handed efforts at this, perhaps there is delusion there, but this is something I have to do, if I am going to be as honest as I can be. This is grooming, this writing I mean, it is enticing, and almost demanding, responses. It appears I might feed off responses, and this is somewhat alarming. As usual, confrontation seems the only way forward, not just to recognize something but to actively attempt to disempower it. This might demand another step, a sort of extension of that quarantine which I have already noted as possibly a way forward. It feels like I should write to you, and not send what I write. In short, I don’t know my own motivations, let alone trust them. I don’t even know if they are mine. I recognize a group of possibly powerful drivers, besides the common or garden ones of background, abuse and general upbringing. All these are more or less universal, perhaps the abuse aspect was more extreme. Then there are the added influences of a sexually generated plague, this we share, and the drugs needed to control that scourge/gift. There is also residual anger, perhaps, at being a ‘failed’ artist, at the aborted attempts I made to try to communicate. This is also more often the case as not, considering the overabundance of ‘Artists’ floatingly enjoying poverty and rejection globally. To attempt to turn that into a ‘La Vie Bohème’, at the age of 68, would border on the farcical, though that in itself might be funny enough to create a page-turner.

 

In July, Thalia wrote to me:

“Yes, It's always interesting when communication happens, but it is also alright with me when it doesn't, for any reason. Nobody can be a perfect Victorian-style correspondent now, even I can't.”

 

Thalia, by another name, is one of those 4 women you commented on, relative to this idea of re-building myself, those ‘good mothers’, those substitutes I have been busily generating all my life. I see that now as a type of grooming, not conscious in the doing of it, but decipherable in retrospect, that looking back I seem to be up to.

 

Of course, you sit there, the ‘Mother Superior’. Next question, are you getting anything out of this? If not, tell me. I will stop writing to you, in fact I won’t. I will write to you in private, but not send it, I mean. I would continue to post the writing where I habitually post it, my afore-mentioned public/private Meta space, that chink of an open-window. This would mean that if you were ever curious you could find it there.

 

I know how relentless I can be, and I also know how exhausting this can be. I am acknowledging this, at last. Let me know what you think so we can begin this next phase in a way that would ensure that there was no grooming in the doing of it.

  

Rack: I need to concentrate on my own work. As is my habit, I get too involved in other people’s stuff in order to avoid my own. It would be awful to never hear from you, maybe there is somewhere in between.

 

Ruin: Yes, I couldn't stand not being in contact. I just need to rein in, to control my need to share, to get approval, awful 'boy stuff'.

 

Rack: god we might be growing up!!!!

 

Ruin: you know I hang on your every word, and can generate 1,000 words from ten from you. But yes, I can do it alone. But it's better with you. But I want you to do your work, not hinder you.

It's time to grow fucking up, for me anyway, you decide when it's your time. 68, little boy lost hasn't got the same appeal. I can't help but think I can do this quicker; I have all the raw material.

 

‘Don't Confront Me With My Failures’.

 

I am so pleased to have gotten here, this plateau of seemingly controllable desire. This burgeoning hormonal hiatus, brought on by years, disease, and the medications for the same ‘affliction’. Even surviving thus far seems somewhat miraculous, from that point of childhood abuse to this unexpected seniority, an adulthood of sorts. It was almost arrived at through no obvious intervention of my own, but there may be some evidence there that could suggest differently. It would seem that all energies were set in self-destruct mode. There was so much luck involved in generating that continuance, but there were also interventions, practical ones, like the leaps and bounds made by science in this age we live in, but also the intervention of loved ones, not family, but those rather who recognized an aspect of 'self' in the 'other' along the way, and stopped long enough to develop mutual caring.

  

These writings are dedicated to two of these paragons. Rack, the titular, and ‘Hem Binnen’, the Dutch ‘Him Indoors’ who saved my life.

  

As to my failings, I know them intimately and will expose them in all their tawdriness as I continue.

  

"There was an old man named Michael Finnegan

He had whiskers on his chinnegan

The wind came along and blew them in again

Poor old Michael Finnegan"

  

Begin Again.

  

Fail again, Fail Better, as our fellow countryman, that other writer in Paris, would have it.

  

But then beginning again is just moving forward.

  

Ruin, Ruin, Ruin, what in god’s name were you up to? Neither of us believe in that geezer with the grey hair, on a cloud, but my exasperation needs letting out, so there he sits omnipotent. Just so you know, I was watching all those 68 years, and I can clearly see the stories you have been telling yourself. It’s almost as if I had nothing better to do than watch over you. But, I guess, someone had to, and that judgmental geezer with his tablet of ten regulations wasn’t really up to that job, now or then, was he? So, I hung around watching, and more or less saw it all, except for those times I might have been comatose in a Ketamine or alcohol haze, beside you. You may have gotten up to some shenanigans at those junctures when I wasn’t exactly compos mentis. My apologies if I missed out on any of your multitudinous ‘calls for help’. None of us are perfect, as you well know. Before we start, get going that is, I should also say that I intend hanging around, watching over you, until your sticky, or otherwise, end. I wouldn’t miss that unravelling for all the gilt bronzes in Tibet. I am in it for the long run, as they say, whoever 'they' might be. I know you are having those memory holes, those vast and growing ever-expanding black holes, but don’t worry there, Ruin. I think I can help out with this, even. You see, I kept a written record, I know, sneaky, but it’s the nature of the graphomaniacal beast, one of my own little foibles that might actually aid and abet your storytelling. I believe we might have shared that letter writing mania, that drive to communicate through correspondence, but we have never really written to each other, have we? I suspect that is about to change. I hope so anyway.

 

Rack, Sorcha and Thalia inspired you to write, I can see that, mostly by being able to tolerate you, it would appear. Perhaps you brought out a mothering aspect in their natures when they saw you in some considerable distress relative to that early abuse. Perhaps it was something else too, some mutual need. There were others too, mostly female others, those correspondents, with the exception of Jonathan, who would be deserving of a separate story, perhaps. Rack spoke of them as the ‘Good Mothers’, those interventional women, those lifesavers.

 

Which more or less takes us to the ‘invisible man’, that centre of those black, expanding, holes, those memory lapses, the ‘Good Father’, or any father at all for that matter. He was purportedly there, constantly in the background, and often used as a threat, but he was there. I seem to remember you even put some photographs of him up on your antiquated Meta site, Flickr. I do see that there might be an absence there, a vacuum, and I have seen all the extremes you have gone to fill that infinite hole. So here I am, a Nelson Eddy to your Jeanette MacDonald (I know, camp and hopelessly dated, I am sorry about that), a top to your bottom, as Jonathan would have it.

 

Write to me, I will write back. Just don’t call me ‘Daddy’, that’s just one step too far, and I know, and understand, your tendency to always overstep those boundaries. I am willing to play at being the ‘Good Father’, until you learn to do that for yourself. I really wouldn't do this for anyone else in this whole wide world, so hopefully this will help you begin to feel better about yourself.

 

Onwards and upwards as the aforementioned 'they' like to say, tomorrow being the first day of the rest of your life and all that cliched palaver. I will do my very best to rein all that corn in as we proceed, a struggle I know. I do believe we might have a job to do, and It's way beyond time to get on with it.

 

I've got your back, for what it's worth.

 

Best Regards,

Top

 

25 September 2022

 

Dearest Top,

 

Embracing the fear of possibly going full Ham, Shem and Japheth, I am going to have to name you. I can’t call you 'Top' for the duration of our correspondence, disregarding the reality that the Top/Bottom synergy thing doesn’t even hold anymore, now that one is post-gay, post-sex, and approaching post-everything, what with oblivion waving tantalisingly, as it is, from the border of that widening gyre (tips hat towards W.B.) of our beloved ‘event horizon’. I think I have even found a name for you. Its partially catholic, even, from that miasma of childhood memories, that “Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I shall build my church, and I will give to thee the keys of the kingdom”.

 

Okay Rock, I am giving you the keys. You, for a while anyway, can be the designated driver, Petrus, that's you, that dependable rock, rock of the walk, even, rock of ages, my Tio Pepe port in a storm, my fellow geriatric mariner. Lash me to your, larger than average, mast, we're off.

 

Welcome to Rack & Ruin, and Rock! It does have a certain alliterative ring, n'est-ce pas? (TYFTC). Fasten your seatbelts, we might be in for somewhat of a bumpy ride.

 

Deliriously yours,

Queerqueg von Lederhosen

 

PS: Are you sure this device works for blocked sinuses?

 

PPS: Relative to the acronym used in this photoplay, please see photo below, entitled: L.G.B.T.Q.I.A.H.I.V+O.A.P

It ain’t heavy, it’s my acronym.

  

Dearest Wuufus Wainscotting,

 

Sorry to her about your troat. Don’t they be at the doing of the blessing of that same gorge anymore, at all, at all? Probably not, I would guess. Perhaps the only church what did it is now boarded up, or turned into a leisure centre where they give Irish dancing lessons to all those young, eager, coiled-springy girls, with the revolving legs and primary-colour gúnas (Gaelic for frocks), in plastic ringlets. You know the ones; they make those Dallas Cowboy’s cheerleaders girls look like vestal virgins, pushed on by their mammies, hello Bernadette Peters, to excel in all that leaping and jiggery-pokery, moving downstage like one of those roman phalanxses, putting the fear of God in every daecent catolick. Anyway, I diverge.

 

Talking of Catholics, no, you ain’t Rock. Rock’s his name, not Peter, or Petrus, or any of those Roman shenanigans, just clear old plain, and sturdy, ‘Rock’, as in that island lodged between the East River, and the Hudson (where I met my beloved Rack), if you get my drift, and the rock of me birth, that emerald-green one you are presently lodged up the backside of. I will admit he is partial to the odd glass of Theo Pepys, and has been known to take an occasional dash along the boreens of the Adirondacks brandishing that emblematic, blue-striped axe. That Daniel Dye Sluice could play him in a moving picture extravaganza, ‘The Last of the Tops’, or somesuch, Oscar fodder no doubt, probably to be found, eventually, in the ‘Science Fiction’ section of our favourite ‘Blokebuster’, down that windy old boreen of a bog road.

 

And what does every poor Irish boy need, dare I say, what does every boy need? I answer here and now, without much hesitation, other than the time it takes to take a gulp of coffee, with a slice of me iced-duck, so that I can take me slew of morning pilules; every boy needs a Rock. You can see that I am substituting, intermittently, the ‘me’ for ‘my’. I do believe I might be enjoying heading for a little regression, and sure why not, on this fine rainy Amsterdam morning? There’s neery a rock here, on this damp sponge of a low-lying place, so a lad would have to be going about inventing his own boulder to support him. And that is simply what I do be doing, as Frank S. used to like to sing.

 

Do be, do be, do, what were the chances?

 

But I regress. Where was I?

 

I remember. I was in Amsterdam about to take me ‘Daddy’s little helpers’, those much-loved lifesavers (said pilules). All praise science and all that palaver. I sit here pin-cushioned, enjoying the wonderful side-effects of the Monkeypox vaccine, and looking forward to when I can enjoy the same from the latest Covid update. Unfortunately, I have to wait a month for that second one, a recommended period of time between that first and second vaccine to ensure they don’t conjoin in some diabolical conspiracy to turn me into a 4G antenna, or something similar.

 

Pillar of salt, Lot’s wife’s lot, and how’s your mother?

 

I don’t think for a minute that that naughty Mr. Gates is out to chip me. As I said, pincushion here, and if he felt a yearning to chip yours truly, he could have had me eons ago. Have at it, Bill. Take me, I was, formerly, anybody’s anyway, writing bad cheques willy-nilly.

 

And breathe.

 

‘Comhbhrú na cruinne ina carraig, agus rolladh i dtreo ceist ró-mhór í’, (trans: Compress the universe into a rock and roll it towards a bloody huge question) as the plagarised ancient Irish bard might have warbled, and more than likely did.

 

No, it isn’t that Rack is non-responsive, it’s more that I am giving her a break from all my 'raiméis' (Gaelic for general doo-doo, shite for want of a better word). It's all been 'ri ra agus ruaile buaile', (gaelic for a gas craic) as far as I am concerned. We have chewed the cud now for 35 long, wonderful, and somewhat excruciating years. That’s not altogether true. We lived on that same rock of Manhattan for 11 years, then wrote to each other for 24 years after that. There are probably a million words lurking there. I think that you recognize that I love letter writing, or it’s modern equivalent anyway, the email. The problem is that the unwieldy words are there, and they are just a part of what lurks on my hard-drive, and I suspect it’s going to take my ‘Rock’ to sort them out. Rock has a pithy character, he takes no prisoners, that tough-love stuff, that ability to tell you when you are being an eejit. Ruin needs Rock more than I do, possibly (oops, reality check there). Anyway, Rack and Ruin could chew the cud relentlessly forever, they could easily become that universal methane generator, much feared of by the powers that do be sitting there Canute-like, holding the tide back, in Brussels.

 

Carraig is the Irish word for Rock, just so you know. Would that not be a great ‘secret’ name, one to make any mammy proud? “Come on over here, darling Carraig, and let me wipe your nose wit me sleeve, you’re snottin all over de kip”. It doesn’t get much better than that in my book. Did you know that kip is the Dutch for chicken?- just saying.

 

I used to love, back on that old Manhattan Rock, when Rack used to croon "It's not your frock my dear", then look at me as if wisdom had been imparted. Rack knew how to make Ruin laugh, it was sort of a mutual thing. It was some 'Hibernafold', sweep me into your fold my dear, understanding stranded between laughing and screaming, that wondrous type of hysteria, infectious, scary, and lovely (Oxford comma usage there, blimey). Pronouns be damned, we know who we are. A pox on all your pronouns, here's to universal interchangeability!

  

Mise Lemas,

 

Ruin O’ Carraig (Gaelic for Ruin, son of Rock)

  

It’s time to get back to that ‘crux’ as Rack called it. It will be slightly different this time, as I won’t be telling it to her, I will be telling it to myself, and to Rock, perhaps. Perhaps this part needs looking at, not only from Ruin’s viewpoint, but from that slightly cynical over-arching perspective that he might be able to bring to this dissection, this evisceration, this vomiting up. I guess it isn’t really about what happened anyway, I mean the details of what happened, these I won’t be telling, but rather the reactions to these stimuli on that rather delicate entity that the child, Ruin, was. He was a stammering wreck of a neglected child, and this was the first time anyone had ever paid any attention to him There was nothing in his arsenal to deal with the repercussions, and no one available who might proffer some help or even a suggestion of an explanation. It happened in cold darkness, and in silence. It happened in his gut.

 

It was most definitely where it happened, there, in the pit of his stomach. He still remembers that feeling, vividly. Yes, that’s present tense, remembers, not remembered. That stays forever, at least for the forever that describes the length of a life, but it can also be projected into a future, through these words, beyond that ‘life’s sentence’. Technically apparently, the hippocampus shrinks, and entombs the memory, creates an imprint that asserts itself for a life’s duration. That’s the sentence, that’s the imprisonment. And why would you want to project that into the future, that delicately butterflied stomach, the answer would be simply to give it a description, to, perhaps, proffer that absent help, or a suggestion of an explanation.

 

He/I/we/they needed Rock there to help explain it to him. He loved that grab-bag of pronouns, a new freedom generated by contemporary politics, which would allow him to seamlessly segue from one to another. Rock could provide the ‘You’, that objective overview, perhaps. He always loved that wonderfully funny narcissistic joke: I am getting sick and tired of relentlessly talking about myself, can you take over and talk about me for a while?

 

Okay Rock, do you want to take over, to give a kid a break?

 

Come on “Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee”

 

1 Oct 2022, 3.08PM CEST

 

Thalia,

 

Strange this idea of letter-writing. I do see it has been excessive, something I have always done too much of, finding some validation there, I would guess. In a way, I want to turn that around. Perhaps I have been inflicting my ‘graphomania’ on others for two long now and it’s time to take responsibility for that myself. I know it’s too easy a diagnosis, one of those that was bandied about some years ago, another over-arching description that, perhaps, doesn’t mean much. That’s something I learnt from you, the need to circumvent easy characterisations.

 

Your: “Yes, It's always interesting when communication happens, but it is also alright with me when it doesn't, for any reason. Nobody can be a perfect Victorian-style correspondent now, even I can't.”

 

That was somewhat of a turning point for me in this, that note, it worked for me. It set me of on some realisation of what I might have been getting up to, over the last few years, and how this might have been somewhat unfair. You probably saw that acknowledged already under ‘A Less Comforting Narrative, (Turku, Finland)’, as I know what a sleuth you can be, acknowledging your “I saw!”. I must admit that I like that you saw.

 

Yes, I guess at some point there might be editing, heavy editing, I imagine, but I am not feeling at all, at the moment, that this is my job. I feel like I am still working through it and into it, getting the substance of it all together. I am currently at that ‘abuse phase’, I have been trying to explain to Rack that my mother is not to blame, and neither was my father, they were just carrying on what they knew, their abuse and abandonment. The more I move on the more I realise I have to talk about universal ‘innocence’, and when I say universal, I mean exactly that, a forgiveness that pardons Jeffrey Dahmer and Adolf Hitler, even, those unspeakable outrages against decency and humanity. This ‘innocence’ doesn’t negate the need for absolute quarantine in cases such as these. For what it’s worth I hold no truck with death sentences, no matter how extreme the actions of the perpetrator of the outrage. It’s a strange journey, that getting around to forgiving everyone so you can forgive yourself, but that does seem to be what I am up to, so I will take it as far as I can. It feels like a good, a necessary, journey.

 

I have been spending the last week releasing Rack, letting go, trusting. Then lo and behold, along came Roc

He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.

 

-- Friedrich Nietzsche

  

So yeah wasn't expecting to be told this had pitched up in Pevensey near Eastbourne!, and this ex West Yorkshire Road Car Buses vehicle has recently been abandoned in a layby on Wartling Road behind Pevensey Services, near to the A259 Road at Pevensey near Eastbourne in East Sussex, and this vehicle which from what I could see through the windows, appears to retain most of its seating, had previously lived on a farm near Hailsham for about 9 years according to Harry Powell, to whom Thanks are due for the tip off about this vehicle (and all the other things I seem to find in Sussex).

 

This year I am making Photography Calendars, and so if you still like my work as much as all your favourites and comments say you do, here is the EBAY link: www.ebay.co.uk/itm/375115679073?hash=item5756a30561:g:Xrc..., and you do not need an EBAY Account to buy one, as you can "Check Out as Guest".

 

All Feedback is Welcome, and I look forward to doing business with you!

wasn't expecting all that on my last photo! thank you everyone..

 

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A votre avis un garçon ou une fille ? ;-)

NS manifest train 331 passes Wyandotte, Mi with 5 engines, which was really unexpected as 331 normally runs with 1-2 engines.

As expected, this is proving a significant challenge. I think it's taken around 2.5 hours to get to this point, and it's not close to completed. Shape is ok, and it is reasonably sturdy, but It's not going to be as accurate as I would like. This is an extremely complicated structure to try and replicate. Not sure how to go about adding the cross bracing; I might forgo it altogether, or maybe even start the whole thing again from scratch.

My GF on the tracks

RDŽ Česká Třebová

Czech Republic

colors completely inspired by Michele. I think reworking and looking at her HOT PINK stuff all week inspired me to go BRIGHT.

Her PT4P is just amazing!

www.pinkletoes.com/pt4p/

I think I actually got a bit bigger this week and have also gotten comments from strangers about my pregnancy! :)

marketplace.secondlife.com/p/EXPECTING/14244689

 

Only 300 Lin, comes with poses and complete back ground.

  

"Don't ever try to search for a good person in this twisted world. Instead, try to make yourself the best. Who knows, if that act of yours may end someone's search. After al giving is allways bigger than expecting." - SDBWQ

 

Copyright © sundeepkullu.com All rights reserved.

The Stock samples of SDBWP SunDeep Bhardwaj World Photography in flickr Photostream cannot be Copied,Distributed,Published or Used in any form,full or in part,or in any kind of media without prior permission from Sundeep Bhardwaj the owner of these images.Utilization in other websites,intenet media,pages,blogs etc without written consent is PROHIBITED.

 

The images are also available for licence through GETTY IMAGES or directly by contacting Sundeep Bhardwaj @

 

For any direct correspondance with me contact me on

www.facebook.com/sundeephimachal (Primary) or

www.facebook.com/SundeepBhardwaj (Secondary)

www.facebook.com/sundeepkullu (Tertiary).

E-mail me on

sb@sundeepkullu.com (Primary) or

wittysam@gmail.com (Secondary) or

admin@phototube.co (For Photo Tube . Co related) or

enquiries@himachalculturalvillage.com (For Himachal Cultural Village . Com related).

 

INDIA ROAMING AND HIMACHAL +91 9816499629 (Please drop me a SMS message)

WORLD ROAMING +974 55344547 (I prefer all correspondances on facebook as i am still on my World Tour which i started 5 years before and may be in some other country.Will definately contact back whenever next to internet or reply by SMS)

 

These are reduced sized pictures.Orignal pictures shot in 5,616 × 3,744 (21.1 megapixels) using Canon EOS 5D Mark II FULL FRAME DSLR CAMERA or 3872 x 2592 (10.2 million effective pixels) using NIKON D60 DSLR or 4,288 × 2,848 (12.3 effective megapixels) USING NIKON D90 DSLR's.

 

All rights reserved.

copyright 2011 © sundeepkullu.com

Developer - phototube.co

Affiliation - himachalculturalvillage.com

 

HIGH RESOLUTION images on sundeepkullu.com WORLD IS MY STUDIO This picture is LOW RESOLUTION for web compatibility **Sorry Guys i have deleted most of my pictures from facebook due to copyright infringement by parties not authorised by me.But i have made a flash website for exibiting my Photostories Do visit sundeepkullu.com

 

And alternatively my pictures can be see in better resolutions on

www.flickr.com/photos/wittysam or

fFULL SCREEN SLIDE SHOW www.flickr.com/photos/wittysam/show

www.flickr.com/photos/wittysam/collections/

 

***DO NOT COMMENT ON FACEBOOK AS I DO NOT USE IT FOR STOCKING MY PHOTOS.

 

Link to my Flickr Photostream where you can comment flickr.com/photos/wittysam

  

Lahaul and Spiti district

 

The district of Lahaul-Spiti in the Indian state of Himachal Pradesh consists of the two formerly separate districts of Lahaul and Spiti. The present administrative centre is Keylong in Lahaul. Before the two districts were merged, Kardang was the capital of Lahaul, and Dhankar the capital of Spiti.

 

Kunzum la or the Kunzum Pass (altitude 4,551 m; 14,931 ft) is the entrance pass to the Spiti Valley from Lahaul. It is 21 km from Chandra Tal.[1] This district is connected to Manali through the Rohtang Pass. To the south, Spiti ends 24 km from Tabo, at the Pare chu gorge where the road enters Kinnaur and joins with National Highway No. 22.[2]

 

The two valleys are quite different in character. Spiti is more barren and difficult to cross, with an average elevation of the valley floor of 4,270 m (14,009 ft). It is enclosed between lofty ranges, with the Spiti river rushing out of a gorge in the southeast to meet the Sutlej River. It is a typical mountain desert area with an average annual rainfall of only 170 mm (6.7 inches).[3]

 

Flora and fauna

   

Lahaul valley in winter

  

Mountain peak in Lahaul and Spiti district

The harsh conditions of Lahaul permit only scattered tufts of hardy grasses and shrubs to grow, even below 4,000 metres. Glacier lines are usually found at 5,000 metres.

 

Animals such as yaks and dzos roam across the wild Lingti plains. However, over-hunting and a decrease in food supplies has led to a large decrease in the population of the Tibetan antelope, argali, kiangs, musk deer, and snow leopards in these regions, reducing them to the status of endangered species. However, in the Lahaul valley, one can see ibex, brown bears, foxes and snow leopards during winter.

 

[edit]People

   

Mother and child in near Gandhola Monastery. 2004

The language, culture, and populations of Lahaul and Spiti are closely related. Generally the Lahaulis are of Tibetan and Indo-Aryan descent, while the Spiti Bhotia are more similar to the Tibetans, owing to their proximity to Tibet. Fairer skin and hazel-colored eyes are commonly seen among the Lahaulis.

 

The languages of both the Lahauli and Spiti Bhutia belong to the Tibetan family. They are very similar to the Ladakhi and Tibetans culturally, as they had been placed under the rule of the Guge and Ladakh kingdoms at occasional intervals.

 

Among the Lahaulis, the family acts as the basic unit of kinship. The extended family system is common, evolved from the polyandric system of the past. The family is headed by a senior male member, known as the Yunda, while his wife, known as the Yundamo, attains authority by being the oldest member in the generation. The clan system, also known as Rhus, plays another major role in the Lahauli society.

 

The Spiti Bhutia community has an inheritance system that is otherwise unique to the Tibetans. Upon the death of both parents, only the eldest son will inherit the family property, while the eldest daughter inherits the mother's jewellery, and the younger siblings inherit nothing. Men usually fall back on the social security system of the Trans-Himalayan Gompas.

 

[edit]Lifestyle

The lifestyles of the Lahauli and Spiti Bhotia are similar, owing to their proximity. Polyandry was widely practiced by the Lahaulis in the past, although this practice has been dying out. The Spiti Bhutia do not generally practice polyandry any more, although it is accepted in a few isolated regions.

 

Divorces are accomplished by a simple ceremony performed in the presence of village elders. Divorce can be sought by either partner. The husband has to pay compensation to his ex-wife if she does not remarry. However, this is uncommon among the Lahaulis.

 

Agriculture is the main source of livelihood. Potato farming is common. Occupations include animal husbandry, working in government programs, government services, and other businesses and crafts that include weaving. Houses are constructed in the Tibetan architectural style, as the land in Lahul and Spiti is mountainous and quite prone to earthquakes.

 

[edit]Religion

 

Kunzum Pass between Lahul & Spiti

  

Ki-Gompa Spiti

Most of the Lahaulis follow a combination of Hinduism and Tibetan Buddhism of the Drukpa Kagyu order, while the Spiti Bhotia follow Tibetan Buddhism of the Gelugpa order. Within Lahoul/swangla, the Baralacha-La region had the strongest Buddhist influence, owing to its close proximity to Spiti. Lahoul/swangla has temples such as Triloknath , where pilgrims worship a certain god in different manifestations, notably in the form of Shiva and Avalokiteshvara where Udaipur is a puritan temple. This bas-relief, of marble, depicts the Buddhist deity Avalokiteshvara (the embodiment of the Buddha's compassion) in a stylized seated position; Hindu devotees take it to be Shiva Nataraj, Shiva dancing. This image appears to be of sixteenth century Chamba craftsmanship. It was created to replace the original black stone image of the deity, which became damaged by art looters. This original image is kept beneath the plinth of the shrine. It appears to be of 12th century Kashmiri provenance . Much of the art thieves are active in this remote belt because of neglected gompas and temples.

 

Before the spread of Tibetan Buddhism and Hinduism, the people were adherents of the religion 'Lung Pe Chhoi', an animistic religion that had some affinities with the Bön religion of Tibet. While the religion flourished, animal and human sacrifices were regularly offered up to the 'Iha', a term that refers to evil spirits residing in the natural world, notably in the old pencil-cedar trees, rocks and caves. Vestiges of the Lung Pe Chhoi religion can be seen in the behaviour of the Lamas, who are believed to possess certain supernatural powers.

 

The Losar festival (also known as Halda in Lahauli) is celebrated between the months of January and February. The date of celebration is decided by the Lamas. It has the same significance as the Diwali festival of Hinduism, but is celebrated in a Tibetan fashion.

 

At the start of the festival, two or three persons from every household will come holding burning incense. The burning sticks are then piled into a bonfire. The people will then pray to Shiskar Apa, the goddess of wealth (other name Vasudhara) in the Buddhist religion.

 

In the Pattan belt of the valley in Lahoul most population follows Hinduism,but counts for 14 percent of the total and they are called swanglas. The fagli festival is celebrated between February and March all over the valley. This festival is a new year festival and closely precedes beginning of tibetian and Chinese calendar. Notable is the Pattan people are the late settlers in the valley around 1500 A.D. and have broad highlights and have distinct language on the likes the central Asians,chamba, pangi, pashtoons and uyghurs. This belt is known for the convergence for chandra and bhaga rivers to form Chenab.

 

[edit]Tourism

 

Ki Gompa

The natural scenery and Buddhist monasteries, such as Ki, Dhankar, Shashur, Guru Ghantal and Tayul Gompas, are the main tourist attractions of the region.

 

One of the most interesting places is the Tabo Monastery, located 45 km from Kaza, Himachal Pradesh, the capital of the Spiti region. This monastery rose to prominence when it celebrated its thousandth year of existence in 1996. It houses a collection of Buddhist scriptures, Buddhist statues and Thangkas. The ancient gompa is finished with mud plaster, and contains several scriptures and documents. Lama Dzangpo heads the gompa here. There is a modern guest house with a dining hall and all facilities are available.

 

Another famous gompa, Kardang Monastery, is located at an elevation of 3,500 metres across the river, about 8 km from Keylong. Kardang is well connected by the road via the Tandi bridge which is about 14 km from Keylong. Built in the 12th century, this monastery houses a large library of Buddhist literature including the main Kangyur and Tangyur scriptures.

 

The treacherous weather in Lahaul and Spiti permits visitors to tour only between the months of June to October, when the roads and villages are free of snow and the high passes (Rothang La and Kunzum La) are open. It is possible to access Spiti from Kinnaur (along the Sutlej) all through the year, although the road is sometimes temporarily closed by landslides or avalanches.

 

Buddhist Monasteries in Spiti: Spiti is one of the important centers of Buddhism in Himachal Pradesh. It is popularly known as the 'land of lamas'. The valley is dotted by numerous Buddhist Monasteries or Gompas that are famous throughout the world and are a favorite of Dalai Lama.

 

Kye Monastery: Kye Monastery in Spiti is the main research center of the Buddhists in India. Near about 300 lamas are receiving their religious training from here. It is oldest and biggest monastery in Spiti. It houses the rare painting and beautiful scriptures of Buddha and other gods and goddess. You may also find rare 'Thangka' paintings and ancient musical instruments 'trumpets, cymbals, and drums in the monastery.

 

Tabo Monastery: Perched at an amazing altitude of 3050 meters, Tabo Monastery in the valley of Spiti is often referred to as the 'Ajanta of the Himalayas'. The 10th century Tabo Monastery was founded by the great scholar, Richen Zangpo, and has been declared as the World Heritage Site by UNESCO. The monastery houses more than 6 lamas and contains the rare collection of scriptures, pieces of art, wall paintings -Tankhas and Stucco.

 

Flora and fauna of Spiti Valley: The valley is blessed with the good population of snow leopards, ibex, Himalayan Brown Bear, Musk Deer, Himalayan Blue Sheep etc. which serves as the boon for the wildlife lovers. There are two important protected areas in the region that are a home to snow leopard and its prey including the Pin Valley National Park and Kibber Wildlife Sanctuary. Surprisingly, due to ardent religious beliefs, people of Spiti do not hunt these wild animals.

 

Apart from the exotic wildlife, the Valley of Spiti is also known for its amazing wealth of flora and the profusion of wild flowers. Some of the mot common species found here include Causinia thomsonii, Seseli trilobum, Crepis flexuosa, Caragana brevifolia and Krascheninikovia ceratoides. Then there are more than 62 species of medicinal plants found here.

 

Adventure activities:

 

To- do-Trials: For trekkers, the Spiti Valley is a paradise, offering challenging treks to explore the new heights of the Himalayas. The treks takes you to the most remote areas including the rugged villages and old Gompas followed by the exotic wildlife trails. Some of the popular trekking routes in the area includes Kaza-Langza-Hikim-Comic-Kaza, Kaza-Ki-Kibber-Gete-Kaza, Kaza-Losar-Kunzum La and Kaza-Tabo-Sumdo-Nako. Please note that you carry all the necessary things before out for the trekking tour to Spiti. Tents, sleeping bags, cooking equipment, heavy woollens and sunglasses are a must.

 

Skiing: Skiing is the popular adventure sports in Spiti and is popular in India from the past few years. The amazing snow clad mountains with the added advantage of inspiring heights are enough to allure the adventure spirits of the avid skier, providing all the thrill and fun attracted to the sport. People from all around the globe come to experience this enthralling adventure activity.

 

Yak Safari: The most exciting of all adventure activities in Spiti is the Yak safari. You can hire the Yak to see the flora and fauna of trans-Himalayan desert. It is, in fact, the lifetime opportunity that you won't find anywhere else so easily. Apart from this, horse safaris are also conducted in this area.

  

Sources en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lahaul_and_Spiti_district

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WORLD IS MY STUDIO "I live with one vision to create things that would outlast me. I discovered photography as a means for me to connect with my innerself"........... SunDeep® Bhardwaj Kullu

Copyright © sundeepkullu.com All rights reserved.

The Stock samples of SDBWP SunDeep Bhardwaj World Photography in flickr Photostream cannot be Copied,Distributed,Published or Used in any form,full or in part,or in any kind of media without prior permission from Sundeep Bhardwaj the owner of these images.Utilization in other websites,intenet media,pages,blogs etc without written consent is PROHIBITED.

 

The images are also available for licence through GETTY IMAGES or directly by contacting Sundeep Bhardwaj @

 

For any direct correspondance with me contact me on

www.facebook.com/sundeephimachal (Primary) or

www.facebook.com/SundeepBhardwaj (Secondary)

www.facebook.com/sundeepkullu (Tertiary).

E-mail me on

sb@sundeepkullu.com (Primary) or

wittysam@gmail.com (Secondary) or

admin@phototube.co (For Photo Tube . Co related) or

enquiries@himachalculturalvillage.com (For Himachal Cultural Village . Com related).

 

INDIA ROAMING AND HIMACHAL +91 9816499629 (Please drop me a SMS message)

WORLD ROAMING +974 55344547 (I prefer all correspondances on facebook as i am still on my World Tour which i started 5 years before and may be in some other country.Will definately contact back whenever next to internet or reply by SMS)

 

These are reduced sized pictures.Orignal pictures shot in 5,616 × 3,744 (21.1 megapixels) using Canon EOS 5D Mark II FULL FRAME DSLR CAMERA or 3872 x 2592 (10.2 million effective pixels) using NIKON D60 DSLR or 4,288 × 2,848 (12.3 effective megapixels) USING NIKON D90 DSLR's.

 

All rights reserved.

copyright 2011 © sundeepkullu.com

Developer - phototube.co

Affiliation - himachalculturalvillage.com

 

HIGH RESOLUTION images on sundeepkullu.com WORLD IS MY STUDIO This picture is LOW RESOLUTION for web compatibility **Sorry Guys i have deleted most of my pictures from facebook due to copyright infringement by parties not authorised by me.But i have made a flash website for exibiting my Photostories Do visit sundeepkullu.com

 

And alternatively my pictures can be see in better resolutions on

www.flickr.com/photos/wittysam or

fFULL SCREEN SLIDE SHOW www.flickr.com/photos/wittysam/show

www.flickr.com/photos/wittysam/collections/

 

***DO NOT COMMENT ON FACEBOOK AS I DO NOT USE IT FOR STOCKING MY PHOTOS.

 

Link to my Flickr Photostream where you can comment flickr.com/photos/wittysam

  

Lahaul and Spiti district

 

The district of Lahaul-Spiti in the Indian state of Himachal Pradesh consists of the two formerly separate districts of Lahaul and Spiti. The present administrative centre is Keylong in Lahaul. Before the two districts were merged, Kardang was the capital of Lahaul, and Dhankar the capital of Spiti.

 

Kunzum la or the Kunzum Pass (altitude 4,551 m; 14,931 ft) is the entrance pass to the Spiti Valley from Lahaul. It is 21 km from Chandra Tal.[1] This district is connected to Manali through the Rohtang Pass. To the south, Spiti ends 24 km from Tabo, at the Pare chu gorge where the road enters Kinnaur and joins with National Highway No. 22.[2]

 

The two valleys are quite different in character. Spiti is more barren and difficult to cross, with an average elevation of the valley floor of 4,270 m (14,009 ft). It is enclosed between lofty ranges, with the Spiti river rushing out of a gorge in the southeast to meet the Sutlej River. It is a typical mountain desert area with an average annual rainfall of only 170 mm (6.7 inches).[3]

 

Flora and fauna

   

Lahaul valley in winter

  

Mountain peak in Lahaul and Spiti district

The harsh conditions of Lahaul permit only scattered tufts of hardy grasses and shrubs to grow, even below 4,000 metres. Glacier lines are usually found at 5,000 metres.

 

Animals such as yaks and dzos roam across the wild Lingti plains. However, over-hunting and a decrease in food supplies has led to a large decrease in the population of the Tibetan antelope, argali, kiangs, musk deer, and snow leopards in these regions, reducing them to the status of endangered species. However, in the Lahaul valley, one can see ibex, brown bears, foxes and snow leopards during winter.

 

[edit]People

   

Mother and child in near Gandhola Monastery. 2004

The language, culture, and populations of Lahaul and Spiti are closely related. Generally the Lahaulis are of Tibetan and Indo-Aryan descent, while the Spiti Bhotia are more similar to the Tibetans, owing to their proximity to Tibet. Fairer skin and hazel-colored eyes are commonly seen among the Lahaulis.

 

The languages of both the Lahauli and Spiti Bhutia belong to the Tibetan family. They are very similar to the Ladakhi and Tibetans culturally, as they had been placed under the rule of the Guge and Ladakh kingdoms at occasional intervals.

 

Among the Lahaulis, the family acts as the basic unit of kinship. The extended family system is common, evolved from the polyandric system of the past. The family is headed by a senior male member, known as the Yunda, while his wife, known as the Yundamo, attains authority by being the oldest member in the generation. The clan system, also known as Rhus, plays another major role in the Lahauli society.

 

The Spiti Bhutia community has an inheritance system that is otherwise unique to the Tibetans. Upon the death of both parents, only the eldest son will inherit the family property, while the eldest daughter inherits the mother's jewellery, and the younger siblings inherit nothing. Men usually fall back on the social security system of the Trans-Himalayan Gompas.

 

[edit]Lifestyle

The lifestyles of the Lahauli and Spiti Bhotia are similar, owing to their proximity. Polyandry was widely practiced by the Lahaulis in the past, although this practice has been dying out. The Spiti Bhutia do not generally practice polyandry any more, although it is accepted in a few isolated regions.

 

Divorces are accomplished by a simple ceremony performed in the presence of village elders. Divorce can be sought by either partner. The husband has to pay compensation to his ex-wife if she does not remarry. However, this is uncommon among the Lahaulis.

 

Agriculture is the main source of livelihood. Potato farming is common. Occupations include animal husbandry, working in government programs, government services, and other businesses and crafts that include weaving. Houses are constructed in the Tibetan architectural style, as the land in Lahul and Spiti is mountainous and quite prone to earthquakes.

 

[edit]Religion

 

Kunzum Pass between Lahul & Spiti

  

Ki-Gompa Spiti

Most of the Lahaulis follow a combination of Hinduism and Tibetan Buddhism of the Drukpa Kagyu order, while the Spiti Bhotia follow Tibetan Buddhism of the Gelugpa order. Within Lahoul/swangla, the Baralacha-La region had the strongest Buddhist influence, owing to its close proximity to Spiti. Lahoul/swangla has temples such as Triloknath , where pilgrims worship a certain god in different manifestations, notably in the form of Shiva and Avalokiteshvara where Udaipur is a puritan temple. This bas-relief, of marble, depicts the Buddhist deity Avalokiteshvara (the embodiment of the Buddha's compassion) in a stylized seated position; Hindu devotees take it to be Shiva Nataraj, Shiva dancing. This image appears to be of sixteenth century Chamba craftsmanship. It was created to replace the original black stone image of the deity, which became damaged by art looters. This original image is kept beneath the plinth of the shrine. It appears to be of 12th century Kashmiri provenance . Much of the art thieves are active in this remote belt because of neglected gompas and temples.

 

Before the spread of Tibetan Buddhism and Hinduism, the people were adherents of the religion 'Lung Pe Chhoi', an animistic religion that had some affinities with the Bön religion of Tibet. While the religion flourished, animal and human sacrifices were regularly offered up to the 'Iha', a term that refers to evil spirits residing in the natural world, notably in the old pencil-cedar trees, rocks and caves. Vestiges of the Lung Pe Chhoi religion can be seen in the behaviour of the Lamas, who are believed to possess certain supernatural powers.

 

The Losar festival (also known as Halda in Lahauli) is celebrated between the months of January and February. The date of celebration is decided by the Lamas. It has the same significance as the Diwali festival of Hinduism, but is celebrated in a Tibetan fashion.

 

At the start of the festival, two or three persons from every household will come holding burning incense. The burning sticks are then piled into a bonfire. The people will then pray to Shiskar Apa, the goddess of wealth (other name Vasudhara) in the Buddhist religion.

 

In the Pattan belt of the valley in Lahoul most population follows Hinduism,but counts for 14 percent of the total and they are called swanglas. The fagli festival is celebrated between February and March all over the valley. This festival is a new year festival and closely precedes beginning of tibetian and Chinese calendar. Notable is the Pattan people are the late settlers in the valley around 1500 A.D. and have broad highlights and have distinct language on the likes the central Asians,chamba, pangi, pashtoons and uyghurs. This belt is known for the convergence for chandra and bhaga rivers to form Chenab.

 

[edit]Tourism

 

Ki Gompa

The natural scenery and Buddhist monasteries, such as Ki, Dhankar, Shashur, Guru Ghantal and Tayul Gompas, are the main tourist attractions of the region.

 

One of the most interesting places is the Tabo Monastery, located 45 km from Kaza, Himachal Pradesh, the capital of the Spiti region. This monastery rose to prominence when it celebrated its thousandth year of existence in 1996. It houses a collection of Buddhist scriptures, Buddhist statues and Thangkas. The ancient gompa is finished with mud plaster, and contains several scriptures and documents. Lama Dzangpo heads the gompa here. There is a modern guest house with a dining hall and all facilities are available.

 

Another famous gompa, Kardang Monastery, is located at an elevation of 3,500 metres across the river, about 8 km from Keylong. Kardang is well connected by the road via the Tandi bridge which is about 14 km from Keylong. Built in the 12th century, this monastery houses a large library of Buddhist literature including the main Kangyur and Tangyur scriptures.

 

The treacherous weather in Lahaul and Spiti permits visitors to tour only between the months of June to October, when the roads and villages are free of snow and the high passes (Rothang La and Kunzum La) are open. It is possible to access Spiti from Kinnaur (along the Sutlej) all through the year, although the road is sometimes temporarily closed by landslides or avalanches.

 

Buddhist Monasteries in Spiti: Spiti is one of the important centers of Buddhism in Himachal Pradesh. It is popularly known as the 'land of lamas'. The valley is dotted by numerous Buddhist Monasteries or Gompas that are famous throughout the world and are a favorite of Dalai Lama.

 

Kye Monastery: Kye Monastery in Spiti is the main research center of the Buddhists in India. Near about 300 lamas are receiving their religious training from here. It is oldest and biggest monastery in Spiti. It houses the rare painting and beautiful scriptures of Buddha and other gods and goddess. You may also find rare 'Thangka' paintings and ancient musical instruments 'trumpets, cymbals, and drums in the monastery.

 

Tabo Monastery: Perched at an amazing altitude of 3050 meters, Tabo Monastery in the valley of Spiti is often referred to as the 'Ajanta of the Himalayas'. The 10th century Tabo Monastery was founded by the great scholar, Richen Zangpo, and has been declared as the World Heritage Site by UNESCO. The monastery houses more than 6 lamas and contains the rare collection of scriptures, pieces of art, wall paintings -Tankhas and Stucco.

 

Flora and fauna of Spiti Valley: The valley is blessed with the good population of snow leopards, ibex, Himalayan Brown Bear, Musk Deer, Himalayan Blue Sheep etc. which serves as the boon for the wildlife lovers. There are two important protected areas in the region that are a home to snow leopard and its prey including the Pin Valley National Park and Kibber Wildlife Sanctuary. Surprisingly, due to ardent religious beliefs, people of Spiti do not hunt these wild animals.

 

Apart from the exotic wildlife, the Valley of Spiti is also known for its amazing wealth of flora and the profusion of wild flowers. Some of the mot common species found here include Causinia thomsonii, Seseli trilobum, Crepis flexuosa, Caragana brevifolia and Krascheninikovia ceratoides. Then there are more than 62 species of medicinal plants found here.

 

Adventure activities:

 

To- do-Trials: For trekkers, the Spiti Valley is a paradise, offering challenging treks to explore the new heights of the Himalayas. The treks takes you to the most remote areas including the rugged villages and old Gompas followed by the exotic wildlife trails. Some of the popular trekking routes in the area includes Kaza-Langza-Hikim-Comic-Kaza, Kaza-Ki-Kibber-Gete-Kaza, Kaza-Losar-Kunzum La and Kaza-Tabo-Sumdo-Nako. Please note that you carry all the necessary things before out for the trekking tour to Spiti. Tents, sleeping bags, cooking equipment, heavy woollens and sunglasses are a must.

 

Skiing: Skiing is the popular adventure sports in Spiti and is popular in India from the past few years. The amazing snow clad mountains with the added advantage of inspiring heights are enough to allure the adventure spirits of the avid skier, providing all the thrill and fun attracted to the sport. People from all around the globe come to experience this enthralling adventure activity.

 

Yak Safari: The most exciting of all adventure activities in Spiti is the Yak safari. You can hire the Yak to see the flora and fauna of trans-Himalayan desert. It is, in fact, the lifetime opportunity that you won't find anywhere else so easily. Apart from this, horse safaris are also conducted in this area.

  

Sources en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lahaul_and_Spiti_district

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My Sister pregnant with her daughter

Expecting and nursing mothers require social protection but workers in the informal economy are often not covered. Maternity protection has been a primary concern of the ILO since its creation in 1919. Workplace support for mothers who are breastfeeding has been a basic provision of maternity protection. The Philippines expanded maternity leave benefits in 2019 to align with international labour standards. The ILO also promoted exclusive breastfeeding in the workplace to advance women’s rights to maternity protection and to improve nutrition security for Filipino children.

 

Photo : E. Tuyay / ILO

 

Date : 2011/11

 

Country : Philippines

 

M6 Gailey 26/05/2020

Congrats on a baby boy, my dear<3

Expect Excellence Heel from ModCloth

Tights for Every Occasion in Family Dinner from ModCloth

Film collaboration with panelomo www.flickr.com/photos/jaypanelo/

Panelomo......Airport advert

Me ................. Tower block and telegraph pole

 

This is Killy, named that way because my 3 year old niece can't say kitty with a "t." She's a very pregnant cat and will soon have kittens. I can't wait to see what they'll look like. She is so fluffy and cute. :D

 

There's another photo in the comments. You can see how big she's really gotten.

  

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Eternal Love!

My wife's 37 weeks photoshoot in a rented studio.

My first studio photoshoot

Mom and 2 sisters

- or -

Mom, sister and brother

050/366

I expect you've all seen John Betjeman Goes By Train, a 1950s telly discourse on the charms of the branch line (since closed) along the Norfolk coast. During the film the great man avers that Hunstanton should be pronounced "Hunston" and Snettisham as "Snetchum". I'm a bit doubtful about this and, domiciled not far away for some nine years now, have never heard either place pronounced like this. Betjeman's daughter, Candida Lycett-Green, mentioned once that she suffered embarassment in later years because her father taught her as a girl that a well-known Bristol Channel resort was pronounced "Weston-super-Marry.

Anyway, on my few visits to Hunstanton I've never known the weather to be other than vile. Towards the end of the winter, on what seemed, in our back garden, quite a balmy day, we took our dog with us. The poor pooch, swaddled in his doggy overcoat, stood on the pebbles shivering in any icy blast straight from the fjords. On the occasion illustrated, in mid-June, rain slanted unrelentingly down from a sky like a clammy sheet. We took refuge in one of those pubs with a built-out glass structure wherein old-age pensioners tuck into their £6.50 three-course lunches and request glasses of "medium dry white wine" as an accompaniment.

So rather a joyless outing. I took the above during what promised to be a cessation of the rain, but soon proved a mere pause. A few dunlin sheltered in the lee of a groyne. Once we had ventured far from shelter the rain resumed with new tenacity. Having suffered some recent focus malfunctions with my autofocus Fuji GA645Zi ...I'll have to adapt my technique... I once more took up the same maker's GW690 II and used its smallest aperture, f32, to ensure front-to-back sharpness.

This extended "holiday" has given me a boot in the ass I really wasn't expecting to get right now. I've known for a long time that there was a high chance that my son could end up showing signs of mental illness. It runs on both sides of his family. The signs have been there since he first started talking and whenever he felt really bad about anything he told us he wanted to stab himself with a sword. I don't know what parent's blood wouldn't run cold at hearing their two year old say such a thing, but for a person who went through suicidal periods- hearing him say such things felt like being killed myself.

  

For many years people have advised me not to "project" my own issues onto him. Since I've never told him I ever wanted to kill myself I don't think I was projecting myself onto him much. For years people have said "He's so young, just wait and see." Or they've said "Oh, he's just a normal kid, they all say that kind of stuff." But when I ask directly if their kids have talked like him they have always had to admit that theirs hadn't.

  

With Max's food issues people have consistently insisted that he is just playing us for power and that we're letting him step all over us. We've known differently. People are always trying to make it our own fault or suggest that Max is just being a spoiled kid because poor kids wouldn't ever get to choose what they eat and no kid will choose to starve.

  

But as I have been trying to just watch and listen, wait and see, I have seen him develop more and more into a vibrant version of Philip and I. Most parents would be thrilled because isn't that what so many people want? Little "minnie me's"? Which I think is creepy, but who cares what I think, huh? I never looked for my kid to be exactly like me and I have always been hopeful that in many ways he would not be like me because being me has been a 39 year challenge I wouldn't dream of sticking anyone else with.

  

I honestly don't understand how I managed to talk myself into believing that I could have a baby who wouldn't get my mental illness. But, I have agreed not to sit around mourning what I can't change and feeling like a piece of shit for being selfish enough to have a child.

  

So all these years I've been trying not to jump any gun or race to consign my child to a clinical labeling. But there comes a time when a mother knows better than everyone else- besides a professional psychologist. There comes a time when a mother has seen her child suffer for long enough with something he has little control over and isn't aware of. There comes a time when it hurts too much to watch; unable to help enough, unable to ease through every minute.

  

The truth is pretty hideous: I can't do this without professional help anymore. No, that's not quite the truth that I need to put out there into the light... OK. OK.

  

Parenting has driven me to drink. Most seriously. My goal this year is to lose weight, to drink a lot less beer, and to be healthier both physically and psychologically. Which I am unable to do while my child is so challenging to raise.

  

There. It is said. The horrible ugly is said at last. Having him home so much longer than usual has highlighted some things I've been worried about but which are now so blaringly obvious that if I ignore them any longer and anything bad happens to my boy because of it I won't forgive myself later.

  

The truth is that both my husband and my son need psychological help and yet I'm the only one in the family who is medicated. But never medicated enough and the longer they go without therapy or medication the harder I drink, the less I sleep, the fatter I get. I'm not saying I don't make choices here. But I'm saying that all these choices I am making are allowing me to put off complete mental exhaustion. They are giving me some kind of mental calm that otherwise would be decimated by everyone else's panic attacks in this house.

  

I can't force Philip to get help, and anyway, neither of us have medical insurance and won't be able to afford counseling or extra meds until we do. Or until we're making a lot more money than we seem capable of.

  

Max has medical insurance, however, and so it is time to get him professional help. I have been writing this post for two days now and have wrestled with the question of putting it here on my blog. I know so many people who would think putting something so personal about their kid out there for others to read is a violation of their privacy. There is some merit in that. But this is my story too. And if there is only one thing I can teach him in this life I hope to God it will be to never be ashamed of mental illness.

  

I have decided that telling it here is better. If he's angry at me for doing it when he's older then we can fight it out. Parents who keep this kind of stuff private are rarely spared anger anyway because what I've observed about parenting is that you can never do it right. Cardinal rule: you will fuck it all up.

  

How many other parents have asked themselves the same questions I have? How many other parents have had to make choices and decisions for their children that were terrifying and wished to god it was all easier to talk about? I'm not going to hide it. Someone else out there is wishing they didn't have to feel so alone and wishes they could know what other parents are doing in the same circumstances. God knows I wish I could know more parents who have a child like mine so I can know how they survive it. So I could navigate this terrifying path with a little more light.

  

This week I begin the process of finding a proper psychologist to assess Max because I believe he suffers from OCD and generalized anxiety. I am confident that I am not going to find I'm far wrong. I knew what I suffered from before I got an official diagnosis and I also was not wrong when I guessed my own mother's diagnosis which was confirmed several months ago.

  

I have made the following list to submit to Max's doctor:

   

Fiber Texture Sensitive: he won't wear denim or any slightly stiff cotton. He prefers sweat pants or soft sporty fabrics. Is very disturbed by seams in his clothing if he can feel them.

  

Other texture sensitivities: bumps in his socks he will not tolerate. He'll try on four pairs a morning to find a pair without them. If his clothes don't hang right they will drive him crazy. Mostly he's happiest when he's just in his pajamas at home. Things itch him and hurt him and bother him that seem inconsequential to everyone else. Getting him dressed has been a nightmare since he could fight me over it at 18 months old. Hates hats because they hurt his head.

   

Food Texture Sensitive: nothing mushy, EVER. Crisp textures are the best. When anything that's supposed to be crisp goes even slightly stale he won't eat it. Doesn't like wet textures, for example: if you wash slices of peeled apples because they got crumbs on them he won't eat them. Anything that is sticky is usually despised, especially if it gets on his face, hands, or clothes. Won't eat bread that is too dry and dense nor bread that is too white and squishy.

 

Taste Sensitive: This is a constantly evolving and revolving issue which drives me to drink.* He has such an advanced sense of taste that he can tell the difference between three vanilla ice cream brands. He likes things one day (or maybe for three) and then suddenly it tastes bad. Sometimes we go through periods where everything tastes bad. If you slightly over toast anything he can taste it as burnt.

  

More taste sensitivities: he once claimed for almost two weeks that everything tasted like coffee and it was almost impossible to feed him anything. I still don't know how he knows what coffee tastes like but he says his dad gave him a sip once.

 

Foods can't touch: If there is a microscopic crumb on a piece of peeled apple, he won't eat it. If he thinks his food has come in contact with any other food, he won't eat it. Especially if he suspects that it's come in contact with any of our food. He hates sitting next to other people's food, especially if he can smell it. Won't drink water if the outside of the cup is wet. Won't eat food if there is a drop of water on the plate. Won't eat two kinds of food on the same plate or at the same time. Won't sit at a table to eat meals. Ever since he was a toddler the only way we could get him to pay attention enough to his food to eat it was to let him watch movies while he ate it so that he wasn't really paying attention to it at all.

 

Foods can't be irregular: if an apple has a speck of a brown spot on it, he won't eat it. If there are holes in his bread, he won't eat it. If his egg hangs over his toast, he won't eat it. If an egg has a crispy edge he won't eat it and shivers in repulsion. If the egg has holes in it he won't eat it. If anything doesn't look like it's the right color or the texture is off or some piece of the food is ragged he won't touch it. I once got him to eat an irregular piece of cucumber by making him close his eyes and letting me feed it to him.

 

Other red flag issues: Often demands that we wash our hands before touching his food. Although he doesn't seem overly concerned about germs in general, we were sharing a piece of ice cream pie at a restaurant and he requested his own so that he wouldn't have to worry about touching our "spit area". He won't drink water that has sat around for too long. He won't let you reuse a bowl for a snack unless you wash it first.

 

Doesn't like leaving the house: He says he doesn't like going far from the house because it isn't comfortable. He hates going downtown, out to eat, to most people's houses, to school, to take a trip (unless it's to visit his friend Sam in California), or to go to friends' houses. He prefers friends to come here. If we let him he would stay in his pajamas for weeks on end and never set foot outside.

 

Doesn't play well with others: He really freaks out when people mess with his stuff. If they mess up his "set up" of Legos he treats it like a human rights violation and his friends and family don't like that so much. If they don't play exactly as he directs them to play he freaks out and has what appears to be a panic attack. Or gets angry. And yells. He can always tell when his stuff has been messed with. He arranges everything precisely. His favorite activity every morning (when he was ten months old) was to arrange a stack of videos very neatly and precisely. It was fascinating to watch.

 

He is extremely sensitive: It is the easiest thing in the world to hurt his feelings. Try joking with him. He tries to joke with other people but generally can't tell when they are trying to joke with him and takes offense. If people tease him he takes it seriously and thinks everyone hates him and feels like a horrible outcast. His hurt feelings alternate with retaliatory feelings of revenge.

 

Not overly sensitive to others: A great combination of traits, huh? He has almost no self control when it comes to voicing his opinions and feelings which are often very honest and frank and therefore quite upsetting to everyone. He doesn't understand that this is the same thing that others do that hurt his feelings. He doesn't seem to mean to hurt people and feels bad when you call him on it but continues to say whatever is on his mind at all times.

 

Expresses himself violently: With words. If he feels bad about something he's done he expresses it by saying things like "I should just die" or "I don't even deserve to have a family" or "I'm going to kill myself" or if someone has really hurt him he says things like "I hate so-and-so and will never talk to them again..." or worse yet "If so-and-so does that to me again I will kick him in the balls". Very extreme expression. Self harm has been in his vocabulary since he could talk. He used to bite himself frequently.

 

Odd quirks: He doesn't want to throw anything away. He tries to keep all the packaging to the toys he receives, all the instructions, and even the stupid little ads they always include. He won't throw old toys away either, not even if they're broken. He revealed to me one evening that he thought all his things had feelings and would be upset if he threw them away. He also doesn't like it when I clean the house because when it's clean he's uncomfortable. When the living room is tidy he says it's too "empty" and it bothers him.

 

Physical panic: Whenever he experiences physical pain or discomfort he dives quickly into panic mode in which you can hardly help him because he has already decided nothing can help and he won't let you near, but simultaneously he is screaming that he needs help and why don't you do something?! It doesn't matter if it's something really bad (it sometimes is, like the metal in his eye, and sometimes it's not, like a mild bug bite) his reaction is generally pretty severe. Yet I have seen the kid take the most intense falls from his bike and get up without a flinch even while he's bleeding profusely from the knee.

 

The Negative spiraling: One little thing going wrong in his day or his routine can make him see his entire life as a giant black hole of pain and decide that life is impossible and he sees no choice but to give up. Talking him out of his negative state is as exhausting as it is futile. It is strong and it is real to him. He can extrapolate the miserable outcome of any experience into the worst case scenario before you can take your first swig of beer.

 

Afraid of the dark: Lots of kids are afraid of the dark. Mine is very serious about it. Needs full lights on and prefers the hall lights on as well. He suffers bad nightmares often and this doesn't help. We used to turn the lights off after he went to sleep but he would wake up in the dark and be terrified so often that we haven't dared try that for at least a year or longer. He isn't a good sleeper and never has been, although it's become easier and better over time.

 

Random texture aversions: he hates anything sticky on his skin. He has an extreme aversion to getting blood on his fingers which has been quite an inconvenience since he has a terrible problem with gushing bloody noses. He would rather let the blood drip to the floor and wait until we find him tissues than to put pressure on his nose with his own finger which inevitably gets bloody. Which he then panics about. Not too keen to play on grass. Doesn't like to be barefoot outside, ever. He also will not sleep with flannel because it freaks him out.

 

Routines: All kids seem to thrive on routines but our kid holds firm to our routines as though his life depended on everything being the same at all times, every day. He hates going to new places, especially new places to eat. He hates going to new people's houses. He has daily routines that he will go to great lengths to maintain such as- eating his dessert, then pajamas, then brushing his teeth, then snuggle time. God forbid you ask him to brush his teeth before putting his pajamas on.

 

Deep Worry: He thinks very deeply about everything and unfortunately often worries about things as well and can't let go. When we moved he was really worried about our old cat Ozark who had been buried in our old yard last February. He kept thinking about him being alone there without us and feeling sad and abandoned. He thinks about the universe- galaxies and is very concerned about how they were formed and he wants to understand everything so much and it really disturbs him to get ambiguous answers. He's worried about so many things and there just aren't enough answers.

 

Over this vacation his world has shrunk and because of being snowed in and having a negative experience with a friend at the beginning of it he has not wanted to play with any friends (we've strong armed him anyway) and all he wants to do is remain in his pajamas every single day all day, he wants both his parents to never have to work again so they can stay home with him, and he wants us to play with him. He doesn't want to go outside, play with friends, see anyone but us (and his Grandma).

 

I suddenly saw what was happening- his world just became extremely small. It is very hard to be the only companion of a child. I don't want to be playing Legos and Bionicles for the next ten years. He should be playing with other kids and doing parent/kid things with us like baking cookies, reading, going on hikes, or to the park. I asked him why he never wants to go anywhere and he told me that it's because he isn't comfortable anywhere else. If I let him he will be a confirmed agoraphobic by the time he's nine years old.

 

So few parents understand what it's like to have a child like mine, unless they have a child like mine. The pain I feel for what he goes through and how easily he is misunderstood is like having my heart broken every single day. The wedge it puts between me and other parents makes me lonely and then when I get to talk to a parent who is having similar experiences it's like getting the freshest breath of air but I also feel like I want to monopolize them and suck their energy up because I don't have any of my own anymore so sometimes I keep my distance so I don't scare them off and that's lonely too.**

 

So much good is happening right now. So many positive changes have been finally coming through and I want Max to feel them too but instead he's just getting worse and worse. So while I really want to stop drinking a six pack of beer a night so that I can stop being fat and miserable which isn't how my spirit wants to feel- I am going to have to find a way to make my parenting life a hell of a lot less stressful because I can't parent my child right now on less than six beers a night.

 

Don't any of you dare judge me unless you have gone through what I go through every day. Don't anyone dare dish me up platitudes or tell me that going to alcoholics anonymous will give me the strength to live in a house with two untreated mentally ill people because I already know it aint so. I am never drunk and am not exactly ashamed of doing what I've had to do to not kill myself at the end of the day when it's been one long stream of panic attacks from three directions.

 

Every time I think I've spilled my darkest secrets I seem to find there's more. More. And more.

 

I know what my child needs and it isn't vitamin B12 (though, with his diet it's tempting to suspect a vitamin deficiency- we keep him on a steady supply of multi vitamins usually) nor does he need some metaphysical intervention. What he needs is a professional assessment so his options can be sorted through. He needs more support than he can get from his mentally ill parents. He needs therapy and possibly medication. And if I choose to wait until he's older it could be too late.

 

So along with the rest of my life I'm trying to clean up this year this will also need addressing because it is one of the greatest sources of stress in my life and it's not one that a hot bath can make disappear. If I'm going to reach my goals this year then I have to step up to the plate and stop being afraid of saying what needs to be said, of addressing the thing that scares the goddamn crap out of me. I've listened to other people long enough.

 

I've listened to them and I've listened to Max.

 

Max is this huge light of a person who's gifts are pretty incredible. He will never be like other kids or people because he was born to lead his own brigade. But he won't be able to see or use his own gifts unless his brain is allowed to rest. The greatest way that I can show my love to this amazing child of mine is to show him how to help his brain function better, to show him that having a mental illness can be a pain in the ass but most of us people with mental illnesses are people everyone else needs. We are people who see differently and have the power to show others how to see differently too; through many mediums such as art, science, words, and music. Mental illness can uncover what lies beneath the layers of this human sheen.

 

I am scared to get him an official diagnosis but I'm even more scared of what will happen to us all if I don't.

      

*I wasn't kidding. I'm still not kidding.

  

**A couple of blog friends of mine have been so generous as to share with me their own similar challenges with their kids and I have one local friend who knows what I go through because of her own experience with similar issues and I cannot stress enough how much it means to me when someone talks to me who knows what I have gone through and helps me not feel like an asshole or a failure of a parent. You know who you are- you have made me feel so much less alone and the three of you have offered much needed balm to me- THANK YOU!

¸.•*´¨`♥

expecting a baby #baby #expecting #patchworkapp #flatdesign #illustration #design #graphic #art #vector #graphicdesign #digitalart #geometry #iconic #mimimal #love #kawaii #cute #tokyo #japan #nemury #イラスト #幾何学 #フラットデザイン #妊娠

Was expecting a sunset tonight,cold and foggy all day.

On the way home saw this tree and thought i could do something with it.

Some background:

The VF-1 was developed by Stonewell/Bellcom/Shinnakasu for the U.N. Spacy by using alien Overtechnology obtained from the SDF-1 Macross alien spaceship. Its production was preceded by an aerodynamic proving version of its airframe, the VF-X. Unlike all later VF vehicles, the VF-X (sometimes referred to as VF-X1) was strictly a conventional/non-transformable jet aircraft, even though it incorporated many structural components and several key technologies that were vital for the transformable VF-1’s successful development that ran in parallel. Therefore, the VF-X was never intended as an air superiority fighter, but rather a flight-capable analogue test bed and proof of concept for the VF-1’s basic layout and major components. In this role, however, the VF-X made vital contributions to systems’ development that were later incorporated into the VF-1’s serial production and sped the program up considerably.

 

VF-X production started in early 2006, with four airframes built. The flight tests began in February 2007. The first prototype (“01”) was piloted and evaluated by ace pilot Roy Fokker, in order to explore the aircraft’s flight envelope, general handling and for external stores carriage tests. The three other VF-Xs successively joined the test program, each with a different focus. “02” was primarily tasked with the flight control and pilot interface program, “03” was allocated to the engine, vectoring thrust and steering systems development, and “04” was primarily involved in structural and fatigue tests.

 

In November 2007, the successful VF-X tests and the flights of the VF-X-1 (the first fully transformable VF-1 prototype, which had been under construction in parallel to the VF-X program) led to formal adoption of the “Valkyrie” variable fighter by the United Nations Government.

The space-capable VF-1's combat debut was on February 7, 2009, during the Battle of South Ataria Island - the first battle of Space War I - and remained the mainstay fighter of the U.N. Spacy for the entire conflict.

 

Introduced in 2008, the VF-1 proved to be an extremely capable craft, successfully combating a variety of Zentraedi mecha, even in most sorties which saw UN Spacy forces significantly outnumbered. The versatility of the Valkyrie design enabled the variable fighter to act as both large-scale infantry and as air/space superiority fighter. The signature skills of U.N. Spacy ace pilot Maximilian Jenius exemplified the effectiveness of the variable systems as he near-constantly transformed the Valkyrie in battle to seize advantages of each mode as combat conditions changed from moment to moment.

 

The basic VF-1 was deployed in four sub-variants (designated A, D, J, and S) and its success was increased by continued development of various enhancements. These included the GBP-1S "Armored Valkyrie” external armor and infantry weapons pack, so-called FAST Packs for "Super Valkyries” for orbital use, and the additional RÖ-X2 heavy cannon pack weapon system for the VF-1S “Strike Valkyrie” with additional firepower.

 

After the end of Space War I, the VF-1 continued to be manufactured both in the Sol system and throughout the UNG space colonies. Although the VF-1 would eventually be replaced as the primary Variable Fighter of the U.N. Spacy by the more capable, but also much bigger, VF-4 Lightning III in 2020, a long service record and continued production after the war proved the lasting worth of the design.

 

The VF-1 was without doubt the most recognizable variable fighter of Space War I and was seen as a vibrant symbol of the U.N. Spacy even into the first year of the New Era 0001 in 2013. At the end of 2015 the final rollout of the VF-1 was celebrated at a special ceremony, commemorating this most famous of variable fighters. The VF-1 Valkryie was built from 2006 to 2013 with a total production of 5,459 VF-1 variable fighters with several variants (VF-1A = 5,093, VF-1D = 85, VF-1J = 49, VF-1S = 30, VF-1G = 12, VE-1 = 122, VT-1 = 68), and several upgrade programs were introduced.

The fighter remained active in many second line units and continued to show its worthiness years later, e. g. through Milia Jenius who would use her old VF-1 fighter in defense of the colonization fleet - 35 years after the type's service introduction.

  

General characteristics:

Accommodation: One pilot in a Marty & Beck Mk-7 zero/zero ejection seat

Length 14.23 meters

Wingspan 14.78 meters (at 20° minimum sweep)

Height 3.84 meters

Empty weight: 13.25 metric tons

Standard T-O mass: 18.5 metric tons

 

Power Plant:

2x Shinnakasu Heavy Industry/P&W/Roice FF-2001 thermonuclear reaction turbine engines, output 650 MW each, rated at 11,500 kg in standard or in overboost (225.63 kN x 2)

4 x Shinnakasu Heavy Industry NBS-1 high-thrust vernier thrusters (1 x counter reverse vernier thruster nozzle mounted on the side of each leg nacelle/air intake, 1 x wing thruster roll control system on each wingtip);

 

Performance:

Top speed: Mach 2.71 at 10,000 m; Mach 3.87 at 30,000+ m

Thrust-to-weight ratio: empty 3.47; standard T-O 2.49; maximum T-O 1.24

 

Armament:

None installed, but the VF-X had 4x underwing hard points for a wide variety of ordnance, plus a ventral hardpoint for a Howard GU-11 55 mm three-barrel Gatling gun pod with 200 RPG, fired at 1,200 rds/min or other stores like test instruments

  

The model and its assembly:

Another submission to the “Prototypes” group build at whatifmodelers.com in July 2020. Being a VF-1 fan (and have built maybe twenty o these simple Arii kits), adding a VF-X was, more or less, a must – even more so because I had a suitable Valkyrie Fighter kit at hand for the conversion. As a side note, I have actually built something quite similar from a VF-1D many years ago: a fictional, non-transformable advanced trainer, without knowing about the VF-X at all.

 

Thanks to the “Macross - Perfect Memory” source book, the differences between the transformable VF-1 and its early testbed were easy to identify:

- Fixed legs with faired ducts from the intakes on (thighs)

- Ankle recesses disappeared

- Less and slightly different panel lines on the back and on the nose

- ventral head unit deleted and a respective fairing installed instead

- Levelled underside (shoulder fairings of the folded arms were cut down)

- Leg attachment points on the nose deleted

- No small, circular vernier thrusters all around the hull

- Some new/different venting grills (created mostly with 0.5mm black decal stripes)

 

Beyond the changes, the VF-1A was basically built OOB. Thankfully, the VF-X already features the later VF-1’s vectored thrust nozzles/feet, so that no changes had to be made in this respect. A pilot figure was added to the cockpit for the beauty pics, and after the flight scenes had been shot, the canopy remained open on a swing arm for static display. For the same reason, the model was built with the landing gear extended.

 

As a test aircraft, the underwing pylons and their AMM-1 ordnance were left away and the attachment points hidden with putty. I also omitted the ventral gun pod and left the aircraft clean. However, for the flight scene pictures, I implanted an adapter for a display holder made from wire.

 

In order to emphasize the test vehicle character of the VF-X, I gave the model a scratched spin recovery parachute installation between the fins, using a real world F-22 testbed as benchmark. It consists of styrene profiles, quite a delicate construction. For the same reason I gave the VF-X a long sensor boom on the nose, which changes the Valkyrie’s look, too. Finally, some small blade antennae were added to the nose and to the spine behind the cockpit.

  

Painting and markings:

To be honest, I have no idea if there was only a single VF-X prototype in the Macross universe, or more. Just one appears in the TV series in episode #33, and lack of suitable information and my personal lack of Japanese language proficiency prevents any deeper research. However, this would not keep me from inventing a personal interpretation of the canonical VF-X, especially because I do not really like the original livery from the TV series: an overall light grey with some simple black trim and “TEST” written on the (fixed) legs. Yamato did an 1:60 scale toy of the VF-X, but it was/is just a VF-1 with a ventral fairing; they added some shading to the basic grey – but this does not make the aircraft more attractive, IMHO.

 

When I looked at the original conceptual drawing of the VF-X in the “Macross - Perfect Memory” source book, however, I was immediately reminded of the F-15 prototypes from the Seventies (and this program used a total of twelve machines!). These featured originally a light grey (FS 36375?) overall base, to which bright dayglo orange markings on wings, fins and fuselage were soon added – in a very similar pattern to the VF-X. I think the VF-X livery was actually inspired by this, the time frame matches well with the production of the Macross TV series, too, and that’s what I adapted for my model.

In order to come close to the F-15 prototype livery, I gave “my” VF-X an overall basic coat of RAL 7047 “Telegrau 4”, one of German Telekom’s corporate colors and a very pale grey that can easily be mistaken for white when you do not have a contrast reference.

 

The cockpit received a medium grey finish, the ejection seat became black with brown cushions; the pilot figure is a 1:100 seated passenger from an architecture supplies, painted like an early VF-1 pilot in a white/blue suit. The jet nozzles/feet were painted with Revell 91 (Iron) and later treated with grinded graphite for a more metallic finish. The landing gear became classic white (I used Revell 301, which is a very pure tone, as contrast to the RAL 7047 on the hull), the air intake ducts and the internal sections of the VG wings were painted with dark grey (Revell 77).

 

For some diversity I took inspiration from the Yamato VF-X toy and added slightly darker (Humbrol 166, RAF Light Aircraft Grey) areas to the hull and the legs. Next, the panel lines were emphasized through a thinned black ink wash, but I did no panel post shading so that the VF-X would not look too dirty or worn.

 

Onto this basis I applied the orange dayglo markings. On the wings and fins, these were painted – they were applied with spray paint from a rattle can, involving lots of masking. The leading edges on wings and fins were created with grey decal sheet material, too. At this stage, some surface details and more fake panel lines were added with a soft pencil.

The orange cheatline under the cockpit is a personal addition; I found that some more orange had to be added to the nose for visual balance, and I eventually went for the simple, trimmed stripe (TL Modellbau material) instead of trying to apply decal sheet material around the jagged air intakes (F-15 prototype style). The black “TEST”, “VFX” and “U.N. Spacy” markings were designed at the computer and printed on clear inkjet decal paper. Even though the “real” VF-X does not feature the UNS “kite” insignia, I decided to add them to the model. These come from the OOB sheet, which also provided most (slightly yellowed) stencils.

Finally, the model was sealed with a coat of matt acrylic varnish (Italeri).

  

A rather different VF-1 project (and it is – to my astonishment – #28 in my 1:100 VF-1 Fighter mode collection!!!), with more changes to the basic model kit than one might expect at first sight. VF-X and VF-1 differ considerably from each other, despite identical outlines! However, I like the outcome, and I think that going a different route from the canonical grey/black livery paid out, the bright orange markings really make this VF-X stand out, and it looks IMHO more like a testbed than the “real” aircraft from the TV series.

Rome Cavalieri, Waldorf Astoria Hotels & Resorts

Via Alberto Cadlolo 101

00136 Rome, Italy

 

*** In the Beginning ***

 

In 1954 Fred Joyce, the publicity Director for Hilton Hotels Corporation, issued the following press release:

 

"The Societa Generale Immobiliare (Real Estate), in cooperation with Hilton Hotels International have formed the company to be known as Italo American Nuovo Alberghi (New Hotel) which will have an eventual capitalizaiton of some $3 million. The hotel will be known as the Albergo dei Cavalieri Hilton and will cost approximately $7 million. Emilio Pifferi, a famous Italian architect is presently consulting in Rome with John W. Houser, executive vice president of Hilton Hotels International regarding the design and planning for the new hotel. It is expected that Rome's municipal government will build a new expressway from the heart of the city to the hotel."

 

Houser was a former Marine intelligence officer who became a director at Hilton Hotels International. Houser had negotiated with the pro-Batista Cuban faction for the casino in the Havana Hilton which opened in 1958 and nationalized in 1960.

 

The hotel would be owned by the Rome real estate Sociata General Immobiliare (The General Company of Real Estate). At that time the Vatican was the largest shareholder in Sociata General Immobiliare. The proposed name of the hotel was Albergo Dei Cavalieri Hilton (The hotel of knights Hilton). Societa General Immobiliare is known to have the Vatican among its stockholders. It has also built the Watergate Complex in Washington, D.C. The name Cavalieri pays tribute to the riders or knights who for centuries rode the path known as Via Francigene from Canterbury in England through France and on to Rome. Travellers used to rest on the hill of Monte Mario.

 

Conrad Hilton made a trip in 1955 to work with Italian concerns for the construction of the hotel. Hilton's plans were fought by the Left-wing parties in the Rome Municipal Council. The Communists (as Left-wingers were known then) contended the proposed Hilton Hotel was ugly and would ruin the sky line of Monte Mario. A proposal for a smaller, lower hotel was finally approved in 1959. Opposition to the hotel, led by Antonio Cederna, one of the founders of Italian Nostra, began immediately referring to the hotel site as a "wound" in the green of Monte Mario. The site of the hotel was expected to be a public green such as on the Janiculum Hill, the second tallest hill in Rome with Monte Mario the tallest. The Italian Nostra organisation was founded in 1955 with the specific aim of opposing the projected demolition of part of the city’s historic centre. The hotel is located in the residential area of Monte Mario, Rome’s highest hill. The Rome Cavalieri is 3 km from the Vatican and 5 km from the historic city centre and is nestled in a 15-acre private Mediterranean park, overlooking the Eternal City.

 

On September 13, 1960 Conrad Hilton watched as the cornerstone of a six-story hotel bearing his name was laid on Monte Mario. Designed by Ugo Luccichenti (1898 - 1976), Emilio Pifferi and Alberto Ressa the hotel was under construction from 1960 -1963.

 

*** Cavalieri Hilton Hotel opened in June 1963 ***

 

The hotel has 400 rooms and suites and sits high atop Monte Mario northwest of Rome. It has a panoramic view of almost the entire city. The italian architectural team of Ugo Luccichenti, Emillio Pisseri and Alberto Rossa designed the 8 story hotel. An opposing planner and architect, Italo Insolera, was quoted "the hotel was even worse in reality than one would expect." Others say the hotel belongs in Miami Beach. In the hotel lobby's atrium, the spiral fountain was designed by Franco Albini (1905/77) and Franca Helg (1920/89).

 

When opened in 1963 the building was an admirable example of modular architecture, resulting in a style which is both clean-lined and functional. The hotel resembled a Mediterranean vacation village, including olympic size swimming pool, tennis courts and a 7 acre park filled with pines, cyprus, olive pal and lemon trees. The hotel's original restaurants were the roof terrace restaurant night club La Pergolia with a cosmopolitan cuisine with specialties from around the world. At the garden level is a night club/restaurant known as L'Ellisse with French cuisine. La Belle Arti specialized in Italian food. The coffee shop (note the lower case) served Italian and American food with prices from $1.25 to $2.25. The coffee shop had an American style soda fountain and two pizza ovens. The hotel's massive ballroom, Salone dei Cavalieri, could seat 1,600. The hotels opening rates were $10.50 for a single to $74.00 for a two room suite. There was a 18% service charge and a 3% government tax. The ballroom was the largest space without column support at that time in Italy. Italians called it the most beautiful hotel in Rome "l'albergo più bello di Roma".

 

In 2001 the Rome Cavalieri Hilton, started a four-year, $45-million renovation designed to enhance the guest experience across all touchpoints of the resort. Each of the 370 guestrooms were modernized and refurbished, welcoming travelers with opulent new amenities and a higher level of convenience and connectivity. Also new is a collection of 25 individually designed and decorated suites. The property received extensive landscaping attention, the lobby received a face-lift, new fitness offerings were added and meeting space upgraded.

 

The Rome Cavalieri Hilton lobby received new reception and concierge desks by Italian architect Gaetano Castelli which feature surfaces made of Sodalite, a rare Brazilian semi-precious stone dramatically shaded in blue, gray and green. This stone is believed to facilitate communication between people, stimulate creativity and soothe and relax the soul. Antique multi-chrome marble panels, originally decorative features of an aristocratic southern Italian palazzo, adorn the center of each desk, encased at the sides by contemporary curved blue crystal. Also displayed in the lobby are some rare Old Master paintings, furniture, tapestries and artifacts dating from the 17th and 18th centuries.

 

In 2002 the Rome Cavalieri Hilton had 372 rooms. A standard double was US $474, Continental breakfast is US $29. The use of the fitness center was US $28; a massage, US $80. Dinner at La Pergola for two with wine, about US $320.

 

In 2008 the hotel was rebranded from "just a Hilton" to Rome Cavalieri, Waldorf Astoria Hotels & Resorts. Guestrooms were refurbished in 2011. The Imperial La Pergola is Rome’s only 3 star Michelin rooftop restaurant.

 

*** Hotel Art Collection ***

 

The Rome Cavalieri possibly has the world’s most prestigious art collection housed within a hotel worldwide. Among the over one thousand works of art kept in the hotel:

 

Paintings

"Ulysses discovering Achilles among the daughters of Nicomedes" by G.B. Tiepolo (1696/1770)

"Judgement of Paris" by Giuseppe Bazzani (1690/1769)

"Landscape with Hermit" by Alessandro Magnasco (1667/1749)

"Flora" by Carlo Cignani (1628/1719) a pupil of Francesco Albani

"Arrival of the Bucintoro in St. Mark's Square" by Josef Heintz the Younger (about 1600/78)

"Country landscape with bridge" by Giuseppe Zaïs (1709/84) artist from Belluno who died in poverty, exponent of the Arcadian school

"Dollar Sign" by Andy Warhol (1928/87)

 

Sculptures

Bronze statue "Boy with Dog" by Bertel Thorvaldsen (1770/1844)

Marble sculpture "The Kiss" by Antonio Tantardini (1829/79)

 

*** General Managers ***

 

Franz Schutzman (1915-2001) was the opening general manager. He served from 1962-1964. Prior to the Rome Cavalieri Hilton he was the Manager Raffles Hotel, Singapore, 1950-1959 and general manager Nile Hotel, Cairo, 1960-1961. From Rome Schutzman went on to general manager Hyatt Regency Toronto, Ontario, 1971-1974. Vice president, general manager United Nations Plaza Hotel, New York City, 1974-1976 and general manager The Manila Hotel, 1976-1987.

 

It is said Franz Schutzman concocted the popular cocktail, the Singapore Sling, while at the Raffles Hotel. Paul Schreiber was the opening Food and Beverage Manager, previously he was at the Hilton Hawaiian Village. In 1964 Berne Hal-Mann and Group played for seven months in the La Pergola - they were the house band at the Garden Bar at the Hilton Hawaiian Village for many years.

 

From 1964 to 1967 Gabor Olah De Garab (1924-2014) was the general manager. He also managed the Watergate Hotel in Washington DC for 18 years from 1967 to 1985. Gabor Olah de Garab was born in Paszto, Hungary on August 8, 1924. After studying hotel management at the world-renowned Ecole Hoteliere in Lausanne, Switzerland, he held managerial positions at the Gallia Excelsior in Milan, the Hotel Splendido in Portofino and the Cavalieri Rome Hilton. In 1967, at the request of Giuseppe Cecchi, one of Washington, DC's foremost real estate developers and then project manager for the Watergate complex development, Olah assumed leadership of the Watergate Hotel that year and served as its General Manager for 18 years.

 

When Hilton took over the Kaiser Hawaiian Village in 1961 it appointed Olaf S. Bonde as Executive Assistan Manager. German born Bonde came to the U.S. in 1952 and worked for the Statler hotel chain until it was purchased by Hilton. He arrived in Hawaii from the Berlin Hilton which he helped to open. Bonde has a Bachelor of Science in Hotel Administration, Heidelberg University, Germany, 1948. Bonde went on to be the general manager Tokyo Hilton, 1963-1965, and the Cavalieri Hilton-Rome from 1965-1972. He was appointed Area director, vice president Hilton International (central Europe, eastern Mediterranean), officed in Rome from 1973-1988. Currently semi-retired running Bonde Consulting.

 

Serge Ethuin was the Cavalieri general manager from 2008 thru 2014. Serge graduated in 1982 from the Ecole Hôtelière in Strasbourg, and began his career in 1983 working for the Hilton Group as a receptionist at Hilton Paris, Strasbourg Hilton and the Orly Hilton. In 1997, he was appointed general manager of the Hilton Madagascar and followed by Hilton Rome Airport and Hilton Arc de Triomphe. In 2008 he moved to head the Rome Cavalieri Hilton, which became the first European hotel to integrate the prestigious Waldorf-Astoria Collection. Serge Ethuin inspired a new dynamic through the three Michelin Star restaurant La Pergola, the Grand Spa Club, the hotel's unique Art collection. In 2011, he was awarded “Best General Manager” by Waldorf Astoria Worldwide. After 30 years within the Hilton Group, Serge Ethuin moved on to managed the Royal Monceau Raffles Paris and most recently as General Manager of the Hotel Metropole Monte-Carlo.

 

In 2014 Alessandro Maurizio Cabella was appointed general manager of the Rome Cavalieri, Waldorf Astoria Hotels & Resorts. He previously served as general manager at Hilton Molino Stucky Venice, the Hilton Vilamoura As Cascatas Golf Resort & Spa in Portugal and Hotel Mirabeau - Société des Bains de Mer Monte Carlo in Monaco.

 

It seems the best chef in Rome is German. Heinz Beck has presided over Pergola, the panoramic restaurant at the Rome Cavalieri Hilton, since 1994. The dining room tables are arrayed around the picture windows overlooking the city. Rare tapestries, paintings, sculptures, and blown glass give the restaurant an atmosphere of excellence. Rated 3 stars in the Michelin guide, La Pergola is routinely voted the best in Rome. The wine cellar is vast: an array of rooms containing 65,000 bottles of wine, with 3,500 different labels offered on the list. The 7 course tasting menu here was €210, with a full a la carte choice as an alternative. Heinz Beck now has restaurants in Portugal, Dubai, London (Apsleys) and Tokyo.

 

Compiled by Dick Johnson, May 2017

Expecting to see MILW 261 here, but instead BN 5568 showed up leading a kickass all-green consist on an empty coal train east of Galva, IL.

 

This was the "Trip from Hell" excursion day where 261 went limp at Meredith.

 

June 27, 1998.

Model Bianca...

ift.tt/1LDOXAB

So yeah wasn't expecting to be told this had pitched up in Pevensey near Eastbourne!, and this ex West Yorkshire Road Car Buses vehicle has recently been abandoned in a layby on Wartling Road behind Pevensey Services, near to the A259 Road at Pevensey near Eastbourne in East Sussex, and this vehicle which from what I could see through the windows, appears to retain most of its seating, had previously lived on a farm near Hailsham for about 9 years according to Harry Powell, to whom Thanks are due for the tip off about this vehicle (and all the other things I seem to find in Sussex).

 

This year I am making Photography Calendars, and so if you still like my work as much as all your favourites and comments say you do, here is the EBAY link: www.ebay.co.uk/itm/375115679073?hash=item5756a30561:g:Xrc..., and you do not need an EBAY Account to buy one, as you can "Check Out as Guest".

 

All Feedback is Welcome, and I look forward to doing business with you!

I really wasn't expecting to find vineyards in the south of Saudi Arabia, to be honest, but here they are in the wide wadi of Najran. The garpes, of course, are not used to make wine but to make sultanas, which are often added to rice to increase the flavour. There is always something wonderful about vineyards and they are so often to be found in the most beautiful parts of theworld. I will be expecting to see the first buds appearing on my grapevine when I get home (which I am now hoping will be on Wednesday),