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‘Instead of giving a politician the keys to the city, it might be better to change the locks.’ Doug Larsen.

30 May

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

I’ve just been watching the early morning news on the telly.  I’m going to stop doing that.  Seriously.

I am an early riser.  I am up before 5.00am every day (yes, even at the weekends) because it really is the best time of the day.  It’s quiet and calm and peaceful and I like to take my time and kind of ease into the day.  The girls and I usually go for an early morning walk (although they have apparently decided that winter is here now and there will be no more of these until summer comes again), then I take a long shower, get my clothes and gear ready for work and settle down for a leisurely breakfast while catching up with what has been happening in the rest of the world.

Now, I rarely, if ever, wake up in a bad mood but I can tell you this—ten minutes of watching the incessant, arrogant, posturing and listening to the inane, condescending drivel some of our politicians and ‘world-leaders’ spout (and expect us to believe) is enough to seriously damage my early morning calm . . .

But don’t worry—I am not going to vent further about it here.  Frankly, I don’t have the time or the energy for it (and I don’t want to make myself even crankier).  Suffice to say I think we all need to be far more careful in future about to whom we hand over our city (and country) keys.

And, in an effort to preserve my early morning good-humour for as long as I possibly can, I have decided that from tomorrow I shall be searching for alternative viewing while enjoying my porridge and coffee.  In fact, I think I saw somewhere that one of the channels is now showing re-runs of Pinky and the Brain . . . 

. . . although, come to think of it . . . watching a cartoon about a couple of small insignificant creatures (‘one is a genius—the other’s insane’) who are constantly hatching plans for world domination?  How is that so very different from watching the early morning news anyway . . .

 
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Posted by on May 30, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Happiness is a warm puppy.’ Charles M Schultz.

23 May

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

Last Sunday was the most stunning autumn day—bright, cloudless and warm.  The girls and I spent the morning out in the garden—me doing a bit of weeding, tidying and sweeping up after the last rain storm—and girls pottering around after me, supervising and offering helpful suggestions (in between bouts of dozy little doggie-naps in the sunshine . . . )

Around mid-morning I settled myself onto the garden bench to enjoy a quick cup of tea.  Mabel sat on my lap (why on earth would she sit on the dirty old grass when my lap was available), Maudie went to investigate whatever it was that was rustling in the undergrowth down by the shed, and Molly stood guard by the back gate (‘cos you never know who might try and sneak in while she’s not looking).  As I sat basking in the warm morning sun my mind started to wander (as it is wont to do) and I started to think about a telephone conversation I recently had with my mother where she asked me one, seemingly simple, question —”Are you happy?”

I remember being a surprised by the question (Where did that come from?  We were talking about her moving house . . . ) and a bit taken aback.  I had to stop for a moment to think about it.  But, you know, I couldn’t pause for too long or Mum might have imagined the worst (because mothers usually do) so I laughed it off and answered, “Well it’s all relative isn’t it?   . . . but I’m definitely not un-happy . . .”

On and off since that conversation I have wondered about her question—and my reply.  Am I really happy?

The word happiness originally derives from the Norse word ‘hap’ meaning luck, chance or good fortune.  A modern dictionary defines the same word only as ‘the state of being happy.’  I think I’ll go with the original definition because, while I certainly wouldn’t consider myself to be in ‘the state of being happy’ all the time, I do, however, feel I have been fortunate in my life.  I have family, friends, my health, a job, a place to live, and of course, my lovely dogs.  I could be a whole lot worse off.

Perhaps I would more readily describe myself as someone ‘cultivating contentment’.

Are happiness and contentment the same thing?  I don’t know.  What I do know is, that Sunday morning, sitting peacefully in the sun with Mabel all warm and sleepy on my lap and Maudie and Molly pootling cheerfully around the garden, I felt pretty damn content . . .

. . . which, truth be told, also made me pretty damn happy . . .

How could this adorable sleepy face not make anyone happy?

 
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Posted by on May 23, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘. . . and quardle oodle ardle wardle doodle, the magpies said . . . ‘ Denis Glover.

19 May

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

Tap, tap.  Tap, tap, tap.

I know what it is before I even look up.  There’s a big fat magpie baby peering through the office door . . .

Tap, tap, tap.

He steps back and looks up expectantly.  After a moment, unsure, he looks over his shoulder (past his sibling who is hopping from one foot to the other and chortling excitedly) to mum and dad, awaiting further instructions . . .

‘. . . quardle oodle ardle wardle doodle . . .‘

He turns back to the door.  Tap, tap, tap.

Okay, okay, I give in.  Time to raid the college biscuit barrel for a tasty treat for my little magpie family.

They seem particularly fond of the custard creams . . .

 

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘The dog is the perfect portrait subject. He doesn’t pose. He isn’t aware of the camera.’ Patrick Demarchelier.

16 May

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

I am not sure whose dogs Patrick Demarchelier was speaking about when he made that comment but it certainly wasn’t any of mine.  My girls are all complete ‘posers’.  All three of them love the camera and can go from fast-asleep-and-snoring to wide awake ‘pick-me, pick-me’ party smiles, olympic-worthy cartwheels and posey ballerina-leg-lifts within seconds of a camera being pointed in their direction . . .

Unfortunately, they also seem to have figured out that my sketching presents the same opportunities for them to shine and I can assure you that if Maudie had been awake while I was trying to sketch her this weekend she would have been right up in my face, pointing out her ‘best side’ (and giving advice on which pencils I should use) and it is unlikely there would have been a completed sketch to share here now.

As it was, the weather turned all wet and cold and rainy on Sunday and the girls, being the sooky-la-las that they are, decided (en-masse) that winter had finally come and their best option was to try and sleep their way through it.  Thus Maudie found herself all warm and dozing in the prime spot for winter warmth—on her blankie in front of the heater in the living room.

Well, perhaps not the prime spot—that actually appears to be my lap—but after a short, sharp kerfuffle Mabel beat her to it and Maudie was relegated to the next-best-thing.

I have to say—she doesn’t look too unhappy about it, does she?

 
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Posted by on May 16, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Why fit in when you were born to stand out?’ Dr Seuss.

09 May

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

Have you ever changed the way you’ve done something . . . or the way you’ve thought about something . . . or even changed the clothes you were wearing purely because you were worried about what someone else might think?  I have.  Not much these days, I admit, but certainly in the past.

When I was younger I spent a lot of time worrying about what other people thought of me—were they talking about me? . . . were they judging me?  . . . what did I need to do to ‘fit in’?

So I did all the things I thought I was supposed to do.

I went to parties I didn’t particularly want to go to because I thought if I didn’t I would never be asked again (even though I probably wouldn’t want to go the next time either).

I spent late nights out at pubs and clubs listening to music that made my head ache and drinking whatever was put in front of me, when all I really wanted to be doing was sitting at home with a nice cup of tea, wearing my fluffy slippers and watching a really bad sci-fi movie on the telly.

I bought clothes that were bang on trend but looked awful on me (thank God there was no Facebook back then) hung around with people I had absolutely nothing in common with, and was careful to whom I expressed my honest opinions in case I was thought of as difficult or uncool or not ‘normal’.

Well, they say that your true colours will always show through eventually and I guess it’s true.  After all that energy expended in trying to match my own colours to those around me it turns out that I am indeed difficult, uncool . . . and normal? . . .  well, that’s all relative isn’t it?  I reckon I am my own very special kind of normal—just like everybody else . . .

‘ . . . Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?”

Actually, who are you not to be? . . . ‘

(Marianne Williamson)

 
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Posted by on May 9, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Sometimes the best hiding place is the one that’s in plain sight.’ Stephanie Meyer.

05 May

Stories from my Sketchbook  . . .

Out on an early morning walk through the park last weekend I stopped for a moment to take in the quiet and stillness.  The girls were puddling about happily in the undergrowth (school holidays, although over now, had brought lots of new visitors and their dogs to the area so there were still plenty of new smells to investigate), the river was ambling silently by and the sun was just coming up.  We were the only ones out and about.  Or so I thought . . .

Calling the girls to me so we could begin to wend our way home I had to do a quick sidestep to avoid tripping over Maudie who, as usual, had tried to charge ahead of me.  In doing so I pirouetted (gracefully, as you might imagine) and found myself looking directly at a low slung tree branch.  What I did not expect was to find was that low slung tree branch had bright orange eyes—and was looking directly back at me!

Once I got over the initial ‘ . . . what the . . . ?’  I realised I was looking into the eyes of a large Tawny Frogmouth.

What a treat!  The Tawny Frogmouth is  a fabulous bird but although they are quite common around here and I hear them a lot (they make a deep ‘oom-oom-oom-oom-oom’ sound) I hardly ever get to see one close up—not only because they are nocturnal, but also because they are so damn good at camouflage.  After their nightly hunts, when they are ready to settle in for the day, they like to roost on low bare branches (as in this encounter), tree stumps, and even shady patches of ground.  I must have come across this fellow just as he was bedding down and probably surprised him as much as he surprised me.

I stood back a bit to get a good look at him.  He had already frozen in place and now closed his eyes and I swear if I didn’t already know he was there I would never have seen him.  How many of these incredible birds do I walk blindly past every morning I wonder?

I said hello to him, and told him he was a beautiful bird (one does these things when no-one else is watching) but he was having none of it.  He moved not a muscle.  Not even a peek under his eyelids to see what I was doing.  I watched him, fascinated, for a couple more minutes but, as he seemed determined to pretend he hadn’t seen me, I reluctantly decided I should leave him to his rest.

Looking around to see where the girls had got to (they had all gone suspiciously quiet) I found them all sitting at my feet, exchanging nervous glances and looking worriedly up at me.  I imagine it could be bit alarming for any child, even a four-legged one, to watch your mum engaging in what appears to be a one-sided conversation with a rotten old tree stump . . .

 
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Posted by on May 5, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Don’t reject a shoe because you can’t run in it. It’s OK not to run.’ Christian Louboutin.

02 May

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

I don’t think the question ‘Can I run in these?’ was one I ever asked myself when considering the purchase of a new pair of shoes (except maybe for sneakers, although possibly not even then if they were really cute).  In fact, looking back at some of the shoes I have worn over the years I am not sure that even being able to walk in them was much of a consideration either.

I’ve always had a thing for shoes and I’ve pretty much had them all—flats, ballets, heels, boots, sandals, clogs, platforms, wedges, strappy, buckled, lace-ups and peep-toes.

And why not?  Shoes really are a necessity.  No matter what else you are wearing you do still need shoes.  Flats, ballets, or sneakers for everyday wear, heels for work or special occasions, sandals for the summer, boots for the winter.  And of course you have to think about different colours and styles as well because they have to ‘go’ with the clothes that you already have.  (Unless of course you buy the shoes first and then buy an outfit to match them—but that’s a whole other thing . . .)  Anyway, it has always seemed entirely reasonable to me to have (at least) a dozen or so pair of shoes to choose from.  

(One set of statistics I saw states that most women admit to owning at least 10 pairs of shoes, and one in every 12 women claims to have over 100 pairs.  I imagine the words ‘admit to owning’ allows plenty of wiggle-room here.)  

I haven’t actually counted how many pairs of shoes I own at the moment but I can tell you it is more than 10 and a lot less than 100 (remember I have been downsizing lately) but it is absolutely sure and certain that I do not need to buy another pair of shoes any time soon.

It also absolutely sure and certain that when it comes to the purchase of a new pair of shoes need has very little to do with it . . .

 
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Posted by on May 2, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘The limits of your language are the limits of your world.’ Ludwig Wittgenstein.

25 Apr

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

I’ve just started another course at Sketchbook Skool—‘Exploring’.  This week’s homework assignment was to explore the use of hatching (cross-hatching) to define light, and shade and shape . . .

Once your sketch is completed you are urged to upload it to the course site so that other students can see your work and you can see theirs.  This is by no means compulsory but I have found it to be a valuable exercise.  You see so many different styles and mediums and interpretations—and you get great feedback.  (There is only one rule—constructive criticism is allowed but if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all . . . )

On seeing my homework sketch of this small metal owl this week one of my fellow  Sketchbook Skool students (Leah) asked me what it was.  Was it a toy or a ‘tchotchke’?  A what?  I had never seen or heard the word tchotchke (pronounced ‘choch-kee’) before, so I looked it up . . .

tchotchke (Origin—Yiddish) a small object that is decorative rather than strictly functional; a trinket

Well okay then.  Yes—I guess a ‘tchotchke’ is exactly what this is . . .

When I replied to Leah’s comment I did fess up to the fact that I had never heard the word before which then prompted Leah to also look it up as she said it was a word she had used all her life without really knowing where it came from or why she used it.  (I wonder how many times we have all done that?)

So because of my homework this week I learned a number of things . . .

I learned that ‘hatching’ a spherical object wasn’t as simple as I thought it was going to be.

I learned I like adding colour to a drawing after all the shading has already been sketched in.

I learned a new word (from another language).

I learned a new word (from another language) which I really like saying . . . tchotchke . . . tchotchke . . . tchotchke . . .

. . . and I learned that I have a house full of all manner of  tchotchkes . . . .

Who knew?

 
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Posted by on April 25, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Strength is the capacity to break a chocolate bar into four pieces with your bare hands—and then eat just one of the pieces.’ Judith Viorst.

14 Apr

Chocolate.  Mmmmmm . . .

Over the years I have done the old ‘I’ll-buy-myself-the-‘family block’-and-make-sure-I-only-have-a-small-piece-(or two)-after-dinner-and-it’ll-last-until-my-next-big-shop’ dance more than once.  It never ended well.

I would start with the very best of intentions.  I would eat one small piece of chocolate (slowly, slowly, savouring it, letting it melt in my mouth) and then another . . . and maybe just one more. Then I’d ‘be good’ and put the rest safely away and go do some reading, or work in the garden, or get out my sketchpad and pens and . . . nope . . . no good.   How could I possibly concentrate on anything else when there was chocolate in the house begging to be eaten?  It was beyond me.  I would invariably end up eating the whole block and then spend the rest of the day castigating myself (‘. . . this is the  very last time  . . .  I will not be buying any more . . .  no more . . . ever . . . ‘) while also madly trying to exercise my latest indiscretion away.  (Where was Dr Phil and his ‘How’s that working for you?’ when I needed him?)

Moderation does not come easily to me.  For some people it is perfectly sensible to have only one piece of cake, or one glass of wine, or to buy one pair of shoes at a time.  I am not one of those people.  I struggle against ‘wanting’ things all the time.  I want another sketchbook (although I still have a stack in my office that I haven’t used yet).  I want that lovely red sweater I saw on-line the other day (I already have a red sweater, although, in my defence, it’s not the same kind of red)  . . . and I want another puppy (sssshhhh, don’t tell the girls . . . )

I don’t need . . . but I want.

I am (slowly) getting better at wanting less.  Wanting less ‘things’ at least (although, puppies . . .  sigh . . . ) but I still struggle hugely when it come to food.   Especially sweet food like biscuits  . . . and cake . . . . and lollies . . . and chocolate.  I (usually) manage to keep these constant cravings at bay—at home at least.  I just don’t keep any of those lovely sweet, sticky,  yummy things in my house.  Out of sight out of mind.  Right?  (Fair warning: if you come to visit me you will need to bring your own cookies with you.)   Most of time this strategy works . . .

. . . but not at Easter.  Easter eggs are my downfall.  The first Easter eggs appeared in our shops here right around New Year.  I remember thinking, ‘Well, that’s just rude.  It’s pure commercialism and I am not going to buy into it.’  And I didn’t.  I made sure to quickly avert my eyes every time I came across them (or hot cross buns) in the supermarket aisles—I was not going to get sucked in.  Not this year.  I felt all very virtuous and pleased with myself.

And then two weeks ago one of our college students presented me with a great big scrummy chocolate Easter Bunny.  He was gorgeous.  I took him home promising myself I would not touch him until much, much closer to Easter.  Who was I kidding?  I don’t think he even made it to tea-time.  Sigh.

Since then other lovely friends have also gifted me with all manner of glorious festive Eastery treats.  So that’s it.  I’m done for.  Chocolate coma, here I come . . . 

Happy Easter All!

This is an example of what can happen when Sally is let loose with her kiddie paints while on a chocolate high.
It got a little messy . . .
🙂

 
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Posted by on April 14, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘If it’s your job to eat a frog, it’s best to do it first thing in the morning. And if it’s your job to eat two frogs, it’s best to eat the biggest one first.’ Mark Twain.

07 Apr

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

I feel like I have been eating frogs all week.  Honestly.  One frog after another after another . . .

And it shows in my writing.  Everything I tried to write this week has sounded grumbley, whingey or whiney so, as I believe there is enough of that in the world already, I have decided not to add to it (not this week anyway . . . )

Instead, I have decided to post a sketch of a frog—one that I didn’t eat—and I promise to be in a more cheerful frame of mind next week.

Have a great week everyone . . .

 
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Posted by on April 7, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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