Bit of this

She is sat in the sun with a few bits of greenery petals and stones creating miniature works of art. This is indeed a miracle in the middle of a tarmac desert. Bits the man with the weed killer missed.

Several girls take their shoes and socks off as they sat and chatted only to be told off. I zipped my lip with difficulty.

I remember you miss you taught me in nursery says a yr sixer. They want to visit so off we go to mine old memories. He loved dressing up she painting. Do they not paint now then in Ys 6.

Feels like we steal their childhood before its lived.

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The thieving magpie a tribute to conformity !!!!!!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AeQiei1jsJc&feature=related

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Oh my gawd man about the house has implemented a weekly brass cleaning regime. The brass is glowing with shock as am I.

Some of the lads are bouncing. I round them up for a run around. "You mean I only have to go outside for 2 minutes then I can come back in". Half an hour latter he heads for the warm with glowing cheeks and a huge grin.

I am considering making a large poster with "bless this mess". And sticking it up at work.

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Other people getting creative with posters.

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Straight off the school bus nose straight into his library book. He nearly walks straight into me.

She is 95, her grand mother made her mother a lace veil for her wedding, embroidering name and date. The veil has been used ever since for marriages and christenings even if the younger members would rather a more trendy arrangement. After use it goes to The Royal College Of Needle work to be cleaned and carefully packed ready for the next outing.

"They are beautiful" he says dropping 6 fushia heads into my hand. "They smell beautiful". We examine their color and fragility and lay them in a line. He beams from a tear stained face for the first time that day. I breath a sigh of relief that he showed his treasures to me not Mrs A, who takes a dim view of such exploration and sees it as vandalism.

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Of all the things you wear your expression is the most important.

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Bless her heart. Displaying devotion to duty she comes in clutching a list of Hungarian words. The little lad eyes her warily, but mum says "very good". As long as we get the word toilet sorted all will be well.

The NQT is chuffed and so she should be. One of our 4 year olds requested a camera and some envelops and went into the garden. Then asked his mum to print out the 4 pictures he had taken. He placed 1 photo in each envelope and strategically placed them. Hey presto one treasure hunt for his mother each envelop held a clue to the next clue and then to treasure. He had recreated the fun and games on the last day of term.

He is trundling his luggage and clutching a large mug of tea to the car. We exchange a bleary eyed good morning.

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Max

Bit of this

She is showing off her skills on the climbing frame, suddenly telling me to "stay there a minute", nibble legs run over to the wild bit where she searches arriving back with a huge leaf. "Here for you".

Those who are to be obeyed (because they know best and can save us from "special measures") are standing in for an hour, to cover for the young teacher. I watch in utter amazement as the gang and I come in to help tidy up. The bottom of the dressing up box is not full of clothes, they are on the floor, but several children. "Is it a bus or a train" her that has come along to support those who are to be obeyed encourages. While I am trying to encourage them out. "Not at tidy up time" I snap "it's a dressing up box". Those who are to be obeyed are watching the rest of them bounce on the mattress in the corner. Telling them to tidy it up. Now the children have lots of skills but they have not yet mastered the art of bed making from scratch, without a helping hand. So they are doing what they do best, bouncing.

At going home time I spot 4 of the children who were left in their charge still sat waiting for a pick up. While they examine the g pigs. Latter I put my arms around the young teacher who is always having a crisis of confidence. "You are marvelous" I say, "even I am marvelous today". And don't let them buggers tell you other wise.

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G pig enjoying a bit of language and literacy.

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A rare soul this one he doesn't hold grudges for only minutes earlier we had had words. He grabs my hand "come and look at flowers growing, come on". We run up the field to his discovery of sleek hooded daffs that have just avoided being trampled on by the crew.

Swinging around in response to the sound of her voice into a bear hug and unexpected lunch.

It doesn't work but the smell of musk oil fills the kitchen and cheers me. Failure sends me hunting for the instructions thus becoming sidetracked in acres of black and white photo's.

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Friendship

I've discovered a way to stay friends forever

There really is nothing to it.

I simply tell you what to do

And you do it!

Shel Siverstein

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She sees the funny side as a Teaching Assistant puts her right on 2nd and 3rd wave intervention. Twernt me, I had no idea either.

The storeroom is a vision of neat and tidy. And will surely now pass any health and safety swoop.

My luck still holds as I drink their coffee and eat a Marks and Spencer goodie.

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One Minute Brain Game

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Occasionally you are privy to intimate information.

2 girls are sat in the little house outside chatting while observing a wasp, that has been given a sugar kick in the form of treacle, in an effort to resuscitate it. "The kitten dropped worms from his bottom on the bed, now mummy has worms in her bottom".

The wasp flies off while A and I are hunting for a magnifying glass.

The car is blocked in requiring a cancellation with the Alexander Technique lady. Never mind it has saved me an arm and a leg. And I have a lovely 2 hours walk with whippet.

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Wasps

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Cold wind whipping across my face wakes me up with a shiver. I quicken my pace. By the time whippet and I get home we are both ready for breakfast.

2 small boys have arranged themselves over me. A girl who had chosen to stay out of the circle wanders across and flops down leaning into me and the drama queen has claimed the other side. I have missed them.

The thought of a well being group is making me titter. I shall start using the staff room and suggest group hugs then. "Too late" due to the stress of an imminent inspection "it has been put on hold for now". Titters change to roars.

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Greetings from Jupiter

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Frustration in the young often is manifest in the unleashing of enegery. Kicking, punching, a three year old girl executed a perfect head butt when one of the boys nicked her doll, pinching, throwing whatever is to hand even chairs, bitting, one child even tried to push me in the canal, and the bog standard wallop using hand or a harmless object that suddenly becomes a lethal weapon. Our newest recruit blows the most spectacular raspberry, swimming goggles are needed. if you are not to loose deep and meaningful eye contact while explaining why sharing is a good idea. And to retain his dignity you must not smile.

The car door is open and much noise blasts out. The stranger and I lock eyes and decide to investigate together. He too is frustrated and cannot find his disable sticker. "They will do me for parking" he mutters. They certainly won't, because we find it.

He turns out to be an engaging young man whose face transforms and becomes alive when he smiles. United in the fact both of us are clutching a camera, we agree to explore the new sports centre together, after we have both photographed the destruction of bits of the old one. "We shall we have an adventure then", he agrees. And suddenly the day lights up from within. I am enchanted by the long bouncy bridge and so are the teenagers who are coming the other way, it responds beautifully to us all jumping up an down. And there from nowhere I am jumping suddenly for joy.

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For no other reason than she sprang to mind. Some one once described her as having a dark light.

CAROLINE BLACKWOOD

(1931-1996)

Commentary
Gabrielle Annan, reviewing Nancy Schoenberger, Dangerous Muse: A Life of Caroline Blackwood (2001), 226pp., in Times Literary Supplement (6 July 2001), p.25, gives details:

Lady Caroline Blackwood; b. 1931, dg. and eldest child of Marquess of Dufferin and Ava and Maureen née Guinness; raised at Clandeboye; terrorised by nanny; m. Lucian Freud, Israel Citkowitz, with whom three dgs. (poss. one by Ivan Moffat), and Robert Lowell ,with whom a son; shared with him her house on Redcliffe Sq., London, and a country house in Kent while he ‘commuted grumpily to Essex University where the students wanted him to analyse the best lyrics of Bob Dylan and the Beatles’ (Annan); ‘what made her mesmeric was not just her beauty, but her wit, funniness, and her tragic, nihilistic insight which went like a dagger into character and motive. Her writing is often hilarious, and always black.’; d. cancer. Remarks that Schoenberger’s ‘own input is not distinguished enough for her subject.; quotes Lorna Sage (Bad Blood): ‘Caroline hired a succession of more-or-less disastrous people ranging from superannuated hippies to drunken professional butler-and-housekeeper double acts to do the cooking, housework, &c.; in London she ate out or picknicked [...] and ocasionally got contract cleaners in.

She lived for the most part in grand squalor [ … but] the conversation was marvellous and went on well into the night.’; quotes Robert Lowell: ‘I’m manic and Caroline’s panic. We’re like two eggs cracking.’ Lowell died in a taxi on his way to Hardwick’s house on leaving Caroline; attachment to Andrew Harvey, Oxford don; speaks of the ‘macabre factoid fairy tale The Last of the Duchess in which she tries but fails ton interview the dying Duchess of Windsor.’

Bit of this

A boy of about ten walks toward me clutching the Argos catalogue. "Big Issue" he sings in a perfect imitation of the lady in town. And cheekily meeting my eye "only 24.99".

With a bit of help I find that the photographs I have been hunting for are kept at the Oxford Library.

A notecard arrives from someone that disappeared from my over life thirty years ago.

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The dogs for the disabled are having a day out in town. The curly coated retriever is such at handsome boy.

The hands over the mouth and wide eyes conceal mirth. The trips back and forth to the loo was not to wash paint from hands but rather reapplying paint to continue the decoration of toilet doors and walls with hand prints. I like it but feel the cleaner will not, a valuable lesson in washing paint work follows, and they agree it would have been hard work for said cleaner and paper will be used in future. We shall see!

The workmen at the church on top of the hill assure me they will be on hand tomorrow should I get accidently locked in. And that their connivence is available for the asking.

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A principle of early childhood education that seems to have got smothered in the paper work.

Childhood is seen as valid in itself. It is a stage of life and not simply a preparation for the future.

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I get into work and find our tactful comments about rearranging the space have been acted upon. No more children fighting over the box boat at circle time. Now it's, how many can hide under the table. At least there they think we can't see so keep quiet. Bless. You have got to marvel at their resourcefulness.

Now I have finally conquered the video, I record all sorts of wonderful things that delight while I eat lunch.

Sat having a heart to heart at the doc's and she gets a message via computer asking would she would like a drink? Slug of gin for me please I think.

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432. Tunnel Vision
Due to recent budget cuts and the rising cost of electricity, gas, and oil, as well as the rollercoaster market conditions and the continued decline of the U.S. economy, The Light at the End of the Tunnel has been turned off. At least it is no longer a train headed our way. (04-01-09)

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Last time whippet encountered flood water he whined pitifully, I turned to find him stood stock still up to his elbows and refusing to move. A rescue was necessary to ferry him to dry land. Today all though he does not looked pleased, he bravely follows.

The water bars us from crossing over the bridge by the mill. It would have been a bugger if I had walked the other way around.

I am just thinking about the boy. When he walks in the door clutching his play-station. He is quite friendly while he plugs it in. How I miss the lad that is there somewhere.

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Dancing fingers

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Water seeping through red bricks, forming icicles that hang from the arch of Marston Doles canal bridge. What a lovely name Marston Doles.

He brings me a bowl of christmas pud and the jug of cream, upstairs, to temp me away from trying hard but getting nowhere.

Christmas has been boxed, and put away for now. Within the actions, are shards of memories from past and present.

Flashes of red punched through the blues. Small crimson baubles, given by Y, galvanized me from lethargy, into action on christmas eve. They decorated twigs, adorned with ivy, 3 glowing red glass triangular kings, and fairy lights. As their brilliance of color sparkles, I begin to notice dashes of red every where. On cards, dotting 2 miniature ornaments, inherited from beloved nanny. A bright red vase filled with matching silk flowers, brought long ago on a whim, to celebrate Christmastime. Garish maybe but a jolt of joy when I glimpse them warming their dark corner. A tiny red bow on the boys card. I catch all that redness, and with it I see the merest whispers echoed within the snaps of the children. I receive unexpected surges of happiness here and there. (Ironic considering red was the color that has caused me many a panic attack, with the taking, giving, poisoning a body to get it to behave, and that heart stopping moment before a result. For all his tenaciousness and punching above his weight it wouldn't be tamed). Bit like me really, push this Champaign cork down and eventually I will bounce back up with a fizz.

Bless you Y for the small box that held within more than tiny crimson baubles. I start the new year, actually looking forward.

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One of our national treasures.

Chris Watson's water song

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The bow window, of the spanking new sports centre, displays a stack of keep fit machines that are tied. One solitary man pedals furiously while the work men survey their handy work. He looks out over the round a bout and we look up at him. This will provide good early morning entertainment for us who are idling in a jam.

The girlfriend is like a breath of fresh air.

They were having such fun scrunching biscuits under their heel, until all that was left was fine dust. It seemed a shame to stop the experiment. But manners dictate. They were crest fallen. Still can now tick off another bloody box. "noticed change".

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Creative plumber at work

Idle cartoon 9 - search ID ptr0071

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Bit of this

Out side whippet and I peer closely at the tin can clanking in the dark. Once the eyes adjust it becomes evident that it's black cat with her head stuck fast in a whiskas tin.

Man about the house rushes to the rescue, the tin is yanked off and wild eyes glare, followed by her belting up the garden in what I take for a temper. Much latter I catch up with the hero of the hour and he reveals that he had found black cat curled up in doors. The unfortunate look alike we conclude was one of farmer Rex's hungry souls, whom possibly is related to black cat somewhere along the line.

Those biscuits had an interesting taste and texture she comments. Well what do you expect from 3 year olds. Possibly if she had witnessed the process she would have refused one. I am sure cooking with 3 year olds contravenes health and safety. Even when vigilant children sneeze, cough and stick fingers in to taste. To say nothing of the ones with runny noses.

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Thought I would get into the christmas spirit.

(in memory of black cat's sister bubbles)

Bubbles also suffered from mistaken identity, and got solemnly taken to the vet for burial and cried over by another family after they had scooped her up from the road. It wasn't until latter that night when their cat strolled in, that they realized the mistake. The son of the house who was 4 at the time whooped with joy believing that it was possible to come back from the dead. (As I had only just lost Andrew, I replied with a heart felt "I wish", but you had the see the funny side). Days latter we found out what had happened to her, but by then another of Rex's waifs was nicely ensconced after being carried home from the farm in a carrier bag, blind with cat flue, and to my declaration that she would return to the farm after a visit to the vet. She never did of course and lived a very happy life with us, until the lady next door reversed over her. She never could meow I reckon she had used all her voice calling for help from the middle of the yard. Luckily man about the house was near at hand donning yet another superman suit.

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As I power walk up the hill, well more of a pant and gasp really , a line of bright red poppies wave me upwards and onwards.

Flipping over on my side as per instructions, I am confronted by the goldilocks family of bears gonad protectors.

"I thought you had red wellies" I say helping tiny feet into boots , "nooooo and these aren't Roberts", he grins back. Oh how he wishes and wishes for Bob the builder jobs.

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Are you a human doing

Or a human being?

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The silver birch spends her life dancing, todays wind ebbs and flows in and around, she rejoices in the moment, giving expression with dainty elegance.

Bless his heart, he takes charge of the chaos that evidences the baking activity. "now we wash up", he instructs and marches off with bowls he has neatly stacked.

Black cat has arranges herself in the only patch of sunlight to be bathed in, and
looks ready to drip from one step to another.

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It's Dark in Here by Shel Silverstein

I am writing these poems
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.
So please excuse the handwriting
Which may not be too clear.
But this afternoon by the lion's cage
I'm afraid I got too near.
And I'm writing these lines
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.

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3 sleek jets hug the terrain and disappear over the hill their sound rumbling behind like an after thought. Dangerous and deadly thinks I.

He is about 10, and has lined up dinky cars in his yard, oblivious to the drizzle and still in his school uniform. It's is ages since I have seen an older primary school child down in the dirt playing cars. I send a silent plea to who ever is listening. Oh please let me be given the gift of playing granny.

She reads my mind and rings. I fail to spot her in amongst hustle and bustle of the fair. I have a marvelous time and a marvelous headache. But only "sort of 6" reasonable photos.

I collect and relish encounters, the latest was an elderly gent in the Library, who had a passion for old showman engines. And actually made models of them in his shed. He regaled me with stories from the past. In particular about a fair that fetched up in Oxford the day the second world war broke out. It didn't set up camp and trundled off somewhere else.

I call around to see the boy and am delighted to find that the other mummy and daddy there, whom I have never met and whom I like instantly. But I was heartened to spot a book, and find out that he reads. So it was worth the effort and trauma of teaching him to read after all. The self restraint needed when he stuck his fingers in his ears, whenever I picked up bloody Billy Blue hat his reading book, and be encouraging was toxic to my mental health.

She is alight with joy and enthusiasm as they line buckets up to catch the over flow pouring from the gutter. She stands under letting it drip on her head. Latter I find out that her mother probably won't be amused. But I am not repentant as I send her home in school clothes as hers are drenched. How could I not don my water proofs and let those who wanted it experience the rain. Her face sparkles in my memory.

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Show mans engines

and

Landscape of childhood