Young sons and cream walls do not good bedfellows make.
But a ‘brick’ wall, chalkboard paint and a little graffiti might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. About $35 of supplies and a drearily rainy afternoon made for a satisfying day’s worth of work.
PS, graffiti is challenging art!
Introduction:
Over the last few years, I’ve had great fun looking through the lens of my little camera. Ireland certainly put her best face forward each and every time I snapped a shot. While I’ve just recently posted some of my overall favorite pics, these two posts bring great nostalgic joy for what was seen through that lens…not only through my eyes, but through the Kiddies’ eyes as well…
Through A Child’s Eyes (originally published 31 August 2007)
What happens when you give a camera to your children just for something to do?
Full Circle (originally published 30 May 2008)
Indulging in a bit of retrospectivity…
One of my favorite pictures from our first days in Ireland.
Had stumbled upon a hidden inlet, rocks relentlessly battered by waves until rounded and smooth. What a treat as we, too, felt relentlessly battered by new cultural experiences in those early days.
How small the Kiddies seem!
Appropriate, then, to come full circle for another visit to the inlet during our last days on the island.
A few other pictorial indulgences thrown in for good measure…
Off the coast of Wicklow
Glendalough, Co. Wicklow
Let’s face it, we can’t all have Kodak moments.
Okay, I see a fabulous site.
I reach for my camera.
Arg.
Not there.
I reach for the mobile phone.
Crappy camera but better than none.
I realize the never-to-be-repeated image is sitting hundreds of feet above me.
And no, camera phones don’t come with telephoto lenses.
Grr.
But hey, (cue inspirational music) Crappy-Photographers-Of-The-World unite!
Let us not be ashamed of our blurry, wonky, and garbled images!
Let us post these photos with a bit of pride!
For a shoddy, miserable, amateurish picture is better that nothing!
What you are not seeing is the protected and rarely seen American Bald Eagle sitting atop the trees over Mount Vernon. An awesome sight to behold.
Here’s a crappy close-up.
And here’s what it ought to look like.
…cuz in university it wasn’t those kind of dates I was interested in.
Training Week Number 1 is complete and so far I have not:
a) Passed out in front of estate visitors
b) Engaged guests in a staring contest as my mind goes blank
c) Broken any artifacts
I’d say that’s a success.
I suppose the continual headache I’ve experienced the last 4 days is a tangible result of my brain expanding against my skull for all the facts being dumped in there. One more week of practice yet to come ends with a final test of my readiness to be sprung upon the unsuspecting public without a safety net. (shiver)
In the meantime, a few pics of the workplace. Archived pic of ‘my office’…
The ‘waiting room’…
The view. Wave to Maryland, everyone…
The environment….
Gotta confess, it’s cool.
Indulging my ‘walk down memory lane’ of archived favorites.
Favorite Architectural Image
Exterior of Selfridges, Birmingham, England
Favorite Irish Street Scene
Which town? Can’t remember, but frankly, they all look fairly similar…
Favorite Flower Image
Either Holly’s extraordinary orchid growing or from the National Botanical Garden in Dublin.
Favorite Farmyard Image
Irish-Neighbor-Sean-And-Mary’s laughing newborn lamb.
Favorite Food Image
All the important food groups—chocolate, raspberries and freshly whipped cream.
Favorite Carefree Moments
One cape, one camera, two children, lots of space.
Favorite Yarnstorm-esque Image
Because doesn’t every knitted item need some sugar alongside?
Favorite Image Composition
Vegetable hawking on Moore Street in Dublin, so very Agnes Brown.
Favorite Knitted Image
The young rebel in his knuckle-busters at the schoolyard…looking a little incarcerated.
Favorite Son Image
Family Christmas pictures a la 2001. When enough is enough.
Favorite Daughter Image
With Hannah, a girl’s best friend.
Favorite Sibling Image
Before they learned to bicker.
Oldies but goodies…sniff.
…the dog can tell time.
At 2.30 every single afternoon, Dog-Rocket reminds me that it’s nearly time to collect the Kiddies at school.
Some would say that dogs have a biological clock in their brain and while we’ve come to rely upon external clocks, dogs instinctively know what time of day it is. I’ll just stick with the ‘he’s gifted and brilliant’ notion.
To those in northern climates, this will seem like child’s play…and it is.
Snow. The Kiddies are jumping out of their skin.
While we all know (more in the intellectual sense, not necessarily the experiential sense) the horror of Siberians winters, my Russian-born offspring have never seen much snow. I mean, really, Ireland isn’t known for its wintertime sports. So, three to four inches of pure frozen atmospheric water vapor has sent them into ecstasies and they are frolicking and romping to their kiddie-hearts’ content.
Warning: Sentimental Flashback Approaching
Quite odd the things you remember from childhood snow days. When school was called on account of inclement weather in the hills of West Virginia, on days when no one in their right mind would venture outdoors, my family would automatically climb into the standard-issue SUV, drive approximately 1 mile down the gravel lane, 8 miles on the tarmac road, 15 miles on the country road to the nearest family restaurant and order plenty of bacon, eggs and biscuits…the scone-y ones, not the cookie ones, just to be clear. Actually, those were the only times that I recall ever going out for breakfast and they are some of the best memories I have. By the way, my legs are indeed the same length despite the mountainous upbringing, thank you very much.
Anyway, since we haven’t properly celebrated a snow-day-and-school’s-cancelled occasion in their little lives, I feel something warm and yummy needs to accompany their hot chocolate and rosy cheeks.
A little bit of white powder surrounding freshly made doughnuts. Here’s hoping this becomes imprinted as a good wintertime childhood memory!
…and a story as well.
I’m becoming reacquainted with some of the more obscure works amongst my books. One practically jumped off the shelf, forgotten until now, Spinning-Wheel Stories by Louisa M. Alcott, a collection of short narratives. Whether you’re a handspinner or not, here’s a charmingly antiquated series of excerpts, familiar to anyone who’s been lured by the magnetism of a spinning wheel.
In one corner [of the garret] was a bookcase full of musty books and papers; in another kitchen utensils and rusty weapons; the third was devoted to quilts hung on lines, and in the fourth stood a loom with a spinning-wheel beside it, both seemingly well cared for, as the dust lay lightly on them, and flax was still upon the distaff…
“I mean to take this down and ask grandma to show me how it’s done. I’ve heard her tell about spinning and weaving when she was a girl, and I know I can learn,’ said Minnie, who had fallen in love with the little wheel, and vainly tried to twist the flax into as smooth a thread as the one hanging from the distaff, as if shadowy fingers had lately spun it.
“Queen Victoria set the fashion in England, and we might do it here. Wouldn’t it be fun to have a wheel in the parlor at home, and really use it; not keep it tied up with blue ribbons, as the other girls do!” cried Lotty, charmed with the new idea…
Glorious fires were roaring up the wide chimneys in parlor and keeping-room, and old and young were gathering around them, while the storm beat on the window-panes, and the wintry wind howled as if angry at being shut out.
“See what we’ve stolen, grandma,” cried Min, as the procession came in, rosy, dusty, gay, and eager.
“Bless the child! What possessed you to lug that old thing down?” asked Madam Shirley, much amused as the prize was placed before her, where she sat in her high-backed chair,—a right splendid old lady in her stately cap, black silk gown, and muslin apron, with a bunch of keys at her side, like a model housekeeper, as she was.
“You don’t mind our playing with it, do you? And will you teach me to spin? I think it’s such a pretty little thing, and I want to be like you in all ways, grandma dear,” answered Min, sitting on the arm of the great chair, with her fresh cheek close to the wrinkled one where winter roses still bloomed.
“You wheedling gypsy! I’ll teach you with all my heart, for it is pretty work, and I often wonder ladies don’t keep it up. I did till I was too busy, and now I often take a turn at it when I’m tired of knitting. The hum is very soothing, and the thread much stronger than any we get nowadays.”
As she spoke, the old lady dusted the wheel, and gave it a skilful turn or two, till the soft whir made pleasant music in the room…
…when the little ones were in bed, the elders playing whist in the parlor, and the young folks deciding what game to begin, Minnie sat down and tried to spin, sure that the familiar sound would lure grandma to give the lesson…She was right, for the wheel had not gone around many times, when the tap of the cane was heard, and the old lady came rustling in… “No dear, that’s not the way;…Fetch me that chair, and I’ll show you how, since you are bent on learning.”
Establishing herself in the straight-backed seat, a skilful tap of the foot set the wheel in swift and easy motion, and the gray thread twisted fine and evenly from the distaff.
“Isn’t it a pretty picture?” said Min to Lotty, as they watched the old lady work.
And so, the remainder of the book is then a collection of stories told by ‘grandma’ while she sits at the much-loved spinning wheel. It’s good to know that 125 years after this was published…some things never change.
…and those that I forgot.
A quick trip to Dublin.
Compliments of my family.
A breath of old-world air to fill my emotional lungs.
Many lovely things to remember about living here.
And, surprisingly, a goodly amount of things I had forgotten…
I remember how well Dubliners do tea and scones. Coffee morning at Rosie’s where, as usual, she pulls out the stops—table linens and china, abundant sweet and savoury scones, fountains of coffee and tea.
But I forgot how much urbanites use public transport and walk to get places. And here I thought I didn’t use the family car that much in the US! My legs are in a perpetual state of ache.
I remember how much I love Avoca. An endless array of tasty delicacies for all the senses.
But I forgot just how many shades of grey the sky wears in Dublin. I confess I don’t miss that part of life and am happy for generally sunny days in northern Virginia.
I remember the soothing sight for sore eyes granted by ancient architecture. What has been there for centuries will most likely remain for centuries more—stability is a good thing.
But I forgot how much energy it takes for the basic fundamental things in life—dodgy supermarket trolleys, narrow aisles, miniature clothes washers, micro parking spaces, perpetual dampness…
At the end of the day, a lovely trip to remember and one which I will not forget.
‘Life’s enchanted cup sparkles near the brim.’ —Lord Byron
A Confession About Poetry Before We Begin:
So I don’t really know what Lord Byron was on about, but the quote sounded quite lovely, don’t you think?
You know how they say married couples start to look like one another? And also that pets seem to resemble their owners? So, I wonder if the same holds true for cups and the personalities of the possessors? Thanks to those who took the time to take a pic of their favourite hot drink vessel and emailing it to me. I do hope I got everyone included in the mosaic! Here’s how it looks—
1. Knuki, 2. FuzzyMitten, 3. JamieLurker, 4. VATravelingLightly, 5. CraftyPeach, 6. CoastalAussie, 7. TanyaTurtle, 8. LisaB, 9. JenniferD1, 10. JenniferD2, 11. Katrin4, 12. Katrin3, 13. Katrin2, 14. Katrin1, 15. Cornflower, 16. TheresaC, 17. CindyF, 18. WoollyBits
Received a wee late for the mosaic, but glad to include in the post is Melissa’s!
As for the winner of the Kilcarra yarn, the random number was—
Applying the number 9 to the order in which I received the emails (not the order of the photos), the yarn goes to Theresa. Congratulations! Thanks for sharing a little bit of yourselves with me and have a great weekend!
…to overcome my unreasonable fear of the Metro.
Okay, I’ve been on the London Tube. I’ve ridden the Dublin DART & LUAS. I’ve even navigated the Moscow Metro. But I have not been able to bring myself to climb aboard the DC Metro system. It took Gina-Of-The-District to lure me into DC with an invitation to the National Gallery of Art.
It was worth every flutter of the heart and every fear of heading the wrong way. Just wishin’ I hadn’t forgotten my camera. Good ol’ iPhone…
The one and only Leonardo da Vinci on the North American continent. Ginevra de’ Benci looks as enigmatical as Mona Lisa, wouldn’t you say?
I like a thrifty artist, using both sides of the ‘canvas.’ Ginevra reverse view…
Vermeer, always a favourite.
And a new interest…Flemish Peeter Neeffs The Elder’s view of Antwerp Cathedral.
…Non-Photograph-On-Friday.
I really like this scarf.
The problem is I can’t photograph it. Yes, I realize you are looking at a photo here, but bear with me. I have tried time and again resulting in
a) blurry photos
b) washed out photos
c) that-certainly-isn’t-red-but-more-like-pukeish-orange photos
The latest attempt last Sunday found us visiting friends, and Husband-Will agreed to take along his camera. Marble-Of-The-Greenwood also agreed to don the scarf and pose for pics. Come home. Transfer photos to Will’s iPhoto and then the %$@@!%$*& photos refuse to transfer to my computer in any shape or form—only readable in teeny tiny thumbnail size. Even the blog sized photos here are pushing the pixel envelope and certainly won’t work with ‘we-need-1000-pixel-width-Etsy’. Grrrr……
If I keep repeating the mantra, this will all go away. I love my Mac…I love my Mac…I love my Mac…
So, I guess this scarf is gonna be gifted for Christmas since it’s destined to be photo-resistant.
