Grannymar

Gently he ran his fingers through my hair.

“Ahhh! Lovely” I purred.

“It has been a long time” he replied with a hint of laughter in his voice.

“Way too long.   I can hardly remember….” I said with a girlish giggle.

Right from childhood I loved to have somebody, anybody play with my hair.

For half an hour he worked his relaxing magic and finished with my hair spread in a wide circle around me.  I felt transformed, relaxed and ten years younger.

“I feel like a new woman!”  I said as I sat up straight.

“So do I” was his reply as he helped me to my feet.

Quickly I handed over my money and skipped out the door with a “See you in six weeks!”

At least I didn’t have to sweep up all the cuttings!

Back in April, I produced a recipe for Brian.  It was a test of memory and a trip down memory lane.  Alas, the memory was not as good as I hoped it would be.  Mind you my sister, she the keeper of the Books was not much better, even if she is way younger than I am!!!!

Well I had a phone call from my sister the other night, she was sorting and clearing out a box of old papers and what do you think she found….

A Notebook!

It was a little notebook that Mammy had used for her one visit to my brother in Australia.  There in her own fair hand were six or eight recipes and lo and behold in amongst them was the shortbread. Bingo!

Nana’s Shortbread 11 (from Oz Notebook)
Preheat the oven to 190°C

10 ozs Self Raising flour
2 ozs cornflour
1 pinch of salt
3 ozs  caster Sugar
6 ozs margarine
caster sugar to dredge

Grease two 7 inch sandwich tins.
Sift the flour, cornflour, salt and sugar into a bowl and rub in the butter.
At this stage mammy worked with her hands, patting, squeezing, pounding & kneading until the mixture formed a smooth paste.  Divide the mixture in two and press into the two prepared tins.  Mark top in eight segments and decorate the edge with a fork before pricking randomly across the surface.
Bake for 30 minutes until pale golden.
Slice in wedges while still warm and dredge with caster sugar.

Now Brian, as you sit and soak your feet and rub your weary knees, have a slice of shortbread.  You know it will make you feel better.

Another peek at some of the wonderful sculpture I enjoyed at Art in the Garden.

Lady in a striking pose I to IV
Michael Duhan

Lady in a striking pose I

Michael Duhan was born in Limerick in 1956.  He attended Limerick School of Art 1972 to 1974.  He first sculpted in 1984 and first exhibited at Temple Bar Gallery 1986.

Lady in a striking pose II

“Art is just another envelope from within which ideas can be delivered. Artists have used the human figure to do just that since mans beginnings. I use the figure as the metaphor to explore and describe my ideas on the human condition and humanity’s place within the world. In my work I choose to use traditional materials and techniques, clay, metal, fire.”

Lady in a striking pose III

“The work an artist does expresses who and what he or she is; not only that, the creative processes involved, both physical and mental, serve as exercises in self-exploration and discovery, helping one know oneself.”

Lady in a striking pose IV

An artist can only work with whatever resources and opportunities, which are available to him or her. This can and does restrict an artist’s output but most people have to deal with restrictions in their lives and simply getting on with what is possible and achievable in ones own personal circumstance is all that can be expected of one.

Yes, Yes, Yes, Lady with Largesse - Fibreglass

The Fibreglass Lady did not have much appeal for me, I show it for the variety of the sculptor’s work.

My camera ran out of charge before I managed to capture all the images I liked.  This one below was one of my favourites and I borrowed it from the link above.

Man and Muse - Bronze

Ramana is forever talking about his muse…. I wonder if this is how he gets his inspiration?

I was listening to the radio, well make that half aware of the sound coming across the airwaves the other day when I found myself quietly singing along.  The song was I talk to the trees from Paint Your Wagon by Lerner & Loewe.

I talk to the trees
But they don’t listen to me
I talk to the stars
But they never hear me
The breeze hasn’t time
To stop and hear what I say
I talk to them all in vain

I have been known to talk to the trees…..
When suddenly straightening up from weeding a border only for a branch to poke me in the small of the back or when a sudden gust of wind whisks a branch dripping with rain, to land right across my face.  Noting very romantic in that, is there!

I have heard the HRH Prince Charles talks to his plants, I tried talking to my weeds nicely…. But they don’t listen and just keep on growing.

I have a friend who talks to herself, no she is not the one I want to tell you about today, it is the other one, the one who talks to a rock.

TALKS TO A ROCK!

Well it is more like a fancy boulder in her garden and it has a seat beside it. Hail, rain or blistering sunshine (not that common in Ireland), when she is troubled she goes and sits on that garden seat and talks forty to the dozen to the Rock.

Refrain;
But suddenly my words
Reach someone else’s ears
Touch someone else’s heartstrings, too
I tell you my dreams
And while you’re listening to me

I suddenly see them come true

Who hears your secrets?

Today I wait with baited breath to read the talented work of our Loose Blogging Consortium members.  The topic was brought to us this time round by Delirious.

Talents

Talents I would like to have:

Spontaneity – To just go do whatever - NOW this very minute.  I am learning… well I will tomorrow!

Reading – Learn how to sit and get lost in a book and not move until I reach the end.  No.  Not War and Peace, a normal sized book.  Maybe If I ever land up on a desert island with no phones, computers or doorbells….

Singing – It would be so much easier to carry a voice around compared to a double base or a grand piano!  No.  I don’t play them either. Air guitar is my limit.

Enamelling - particularly on small items.

Sculpture – Bronze in particular.  The more I see the more I am drawn to the process.

Drawing - The only thing that I can draw, is a chair across the floor!

Painting - The town red?  Is there another way?

ϗ ϗ ϗ ϗ ϗ ϗ

I have agreed to host @eolai for a few days & nights, on the final leg, of his Painting Cycle Tour of Ireland.   It is his intention to Twitter, blog, and update FaceBook as he goes along.  The brushes will be well exercised along the way.

Eolai works for his cake

Beginning on July 1st and continuing right through August this year, the exact route through the 32-counties will be determined by the location of those of us who follow him on social media and volunteer to host him.

Ideally, the route will go from Dublin clockwise around the island back to Dublin, but as Eolai says “There will be some serious zigging and some frivolous zagging’ to cover all the inland counties.

So far there are about 30 offers of accommodation and hopefully another thirty plus will be added before the trip starts.  That way he will have a reasonable idea of the general route come Friday, 1st July. He also expects as he cycles, to be looking for a few hosts along the way, and these will fill in the gaps on the route.

As the man himself says:

The idea is that I’ll do a painting for you in return for you feeding & sheltering me for a night. Paintings will be done in your locale or en route the day I cycle to you.

This type of project is not new to Eolai.  He has tried it before.  Across the pond. He cycled across America!  Ireland should be a doddle after that.

So what will I need for my house guest?

I better write a list…

A tea plantation… Eolai is a serious tea drinker, so a years supply might cover it.
Milk.… a bottle or a cow?  The cow I think.
Butter…. Do you think 6lbs will be enough?   I’ll put it in the fridge and tiptoe past it.
Tiger Bread…. I know where to get that.
These are just to keep hunger at bay. :D  I promise to feed him properly!  He is the kind of guest my mother would like - “He eats everything you set in front of him!” - Roll on August!

BROADBAND… Elly tells me I am well up to speed for the man!

ϗ ϗ ϗ ϗ ϗ ϗ

Active LBC Members are:

• Anu
• Ashok
• Conrad
• Delirious
• gaelikaa
• Grannymar
• Magpie 11
• padmum
• Ramana
• The Silver Fox Whispers
• The Student Diaries - Anki

Anki will join us when she has her broadband difficulties sorted.  Others may be distracted by work rest or play… wait now… that is a chocolate bar, but you know what I mean.

An elderly man in Louisiana had owned a large farm for several years.

He had a large pond in the back. It was properly shaped for swimming, so he fixed it up nice with picnic tables, horseshoe courts, and some apple, and peach  trees.

One evening the old farmer decided to go down to the pond, as he hadn’t been there for a while, and look it over.

He grabbed a five-gallon bucket  to bring back some fruit.

As he neared the pond, he heard voices shouting and laughing with glee.

As he came closer, he saw it was a bunch of young women skinny-dipping in his pond.

He made the women aware of his presence and they all went to the deep end.

One of the women shouted to him, ‘We’re not coming out until you leave!’

The old man frowned, ‘I didn’t come down here to watch you ladies swim naked or make you get out of the pond naked.’

Holding the bucket up he said, ‘I’m here to feed the alligator…’

Σ

Σ

Σ
Mayo, thank you for this contribution today.

That would be Dan’s bird.  We never really knew which of the 200 regularly occurring bird species in Ireland, Dan’s bird belonged.  It was certainly swift, that is in speed terms.  It had no name other than ‘Dan’s bird’,  Had the brothers been older, then constantly referring to Dan’s bird might have raised smiles or eyebrows. But it was holy catholic Ireland and we were young innocent children.

You see the Dan’s bird seemed to spend most of the day watching our every movement while remaining invisible to us.  All six of us - no matter whether we were all at home or scattered to the four winds of Dublin.  The bird knew exactly where we were and what we were up to.

There were days when Dan came in tired and weary from work, with a face as long as he was tall.  Those were the days when the bird had pecked on the windscreen of the car, her way of asking Dan to roll down the window.  You won’t remember, sure it was long before the days of electric windows in cars.  You had to turn a handle in a circular motion to open or close a window.  Now the car might seem antiquated, but it was magic too… It had a spare gallon of petrol hidden for emergencies.

Tales of all kinds of mischief were told.  A brother jumping off the roof of the shed at the end of the garden, another ‘boxing the fox’ at Baldy D’s.  Trips to hospital for stitches or checking a broken collar bone.  I am sure there might have been a wee story about me, but I cannot for the life of me remember what it might have been.

Dan’s bird was not into all doom and gloom, she reported the good stories as well as the bad.  Someone winning a race, or passing an exam got a mention.

We thought that every family had a bird like Dan’s.

Did you have one in your household?