31 Dec 2011
27 Dec 2011
- Black Forest Gateau
- Spiced Apple Pie
- Sherry Trifle
- Rhubarb Crumble
- Lemon Meringue
- Treacle Tart
Thank you brother-in-law.
19 Dec 2011
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art -
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite
The moving waters at their priest-like task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors -
No - yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel forever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever - or else swoon to death.
|John Keats by William Hilton|
John Keats was an English Romantic poet,
his reputation grew after his death and by the end
of the 19th century he had become one of the
most beloved of all English poets.
It is thought that the first version of Bright Star might have been
originally written for Isabella jones
with whom he was romantically involved in 1817.
Letters suggest he first met Frances (Fanny) Brawne in 1818
but their romance was overshadowed
by Keats' ill health.
"I have two luxuries to brood over" he wrote to her
"your loveliness and the hour of my death"
He left England for Rome as tuberculosis took hold in 1820
knowing he would never see Fanny again.
He died five months later.
now the Keats Museum
Keats grave in Rome
Keats died in 1821 and was buried in Rome.
Fanny stayed in mourning for six years
after which she married and had three children.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever
Its loveliness increases, it will never
Pass into nothingness, but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams,
and quiet breathing.
I loved this film
Jane Campion has captured the Georgian feel perfectly
fields of daffodils
the austerity of the house interiors
The film has such an intensity of feeling and passion
I almost held my breath all the way through
to hear his poetry spoken aloud gives it such profound meaning.
Be still my beating heart.
15 Dec 2011
12 Dec 2011
In the Bleakmidwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
music by Gustav Holst
Winter's timid child,
Awakes to life,
bedew'd with tears
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the withered air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, and housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure
in the landscape - the loneliness of it - the dead feeling of
winter. Something waits beneath it - the whole story
Most people, early in November, take last looks at their
gardens, and are then prepared to ignore them until the spring.
I am quite sure that a garden doesn't like to be
ignored like this.
It doesn't like to be covered in dust sheets, as though it were
an old room which you had shut up during the winter.
Especially since a garden knows how gay and delightful
it can be,
even in the very frozen heart of the winter,
if you only give it a chance.
There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you ...
In Spring, Summer and Fall people sort of have an
open season on each other;
only in winter, in the country,
can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can
savour belonging to yourself.
When the ice of winter holds the house in its rigid grip,
when curtains are drawn early against that vast frozen waste
almost like a hibernating hedgehog
I relish the security of being withdrawn from all that summer
ferment that is long since past.
Then is the time for re-appraisal: to spread out,
limp and receptive,
and let garden thoughts rise to the surface.
They emerge from some deep source of stillness
which the very fact of winter
All photos: Pinterest
9 Dec 2011
4 Dec 2011
The word ballet comes from the French and was borrowed
into the English language around 1630.
The French word has its origin in Italian balleto
from ballo (to dance)
which comes from the Latin ballare
which in turn comes from the Greek ballizo
Ballet is a dance executed by the human soul
You don't have to know about ballet to enjoy it
all you have to do is look at it
If it were not for dreams there would not be such a thing as ballet,
the cruelest of the performing arts
Ballet is completely unnatural to the body
it is not the way the body is supposed to function
so you train your body to be a different structure
than you were born with
Ballet is not a technique
but a way of expression that comes more closely to the inner
language of man
than any other
Most people think of ballet as
children in tutus
They don't know it is
sweat, blood and tears as well
Dance is very old it started with
Louis XIV at Versailles
27 Nov 2011
Hoo Goes There?
Softly feathered for silent flight,
Moving about in the calm moonlight,
We cannot hear them unless they call,
Who cooks for you? Who cooks for y'all?
A soft call is carried away by the wind,
Hoo, hoo-hoo, over and over again.
A flash of white swoops low overhead,
Shh-shh, enough said.
Night-time hunters see well in the dark,
Almost never miss their mark.
Hearing is even better than sight,
They hunt by sound on the darkest night.
With powerful talons to catch their prey,
Rarely a rodent gets away.
In daylight, hidden, blending in well,
An owl or limb? It's hard to tell.
Meadow, forest, farm or town,
Owls are great to have around,
They come in all sizes, live anywhere,
Some species common, some are rare.
Wherever they live, they add to the place,
A sense of mystery and natural grace.
21 Nov 2011
|I like a nice cup of tea in the morning|
|Just to start the day you see|
|and at half past eleven|
|my idea of heaven|
|is a nice cup of tea|
|I like a nice cup of tea|
with my dinner
|and a nice cup of tea with my tea|
|And about this time of night|
|What goes down a treat - you're right|
|is a nice cup of tea|
14 Nov 2011
Open a book
And you will find
People and places of every kind
Open a book
And you can be
Anything that you want to be
Open a book
And you can share
Wondrous worlds you find in there
Open a book
And I will too
You read to me
And I'll read to you.
Open a Book
7 Nov 2011
A song of enchantment I sang me there
In a green-green wood, by waters fair,
Just as the words came up to me
I sang it under the wild wood tree.
Widdershins turned I, singing it low,
Watching the wild birds come and go,
No cloud in the deep dark blue to be seen
Under the thick-thatched branches green.
Twilight came: silence came:
The planet of Evening's silver flame,
By darkening paths I wandered through
Thickets trembling with the dew.
But the music is lost and the words are gone
Ages and ages have fallen on me
On the wood and the pool and the elder tree.
A Song of Enchantment
Walter de la Mare
Photo source: Pinterest