Clown hound.

I was watching Air Bud the Disney film with the Golden Retriever that sold us on having a Golden and getting our Iz, what they don't tell you on the film is that Golden's are not as well trained as Buddy the dog in the film is, it takes a lot of work to get this stubborn loveable hound that well trained; they are however wonderful family dogs that love games and are very happy waggy tailed creatures that will raise a smile from 'almost' everyone that meets them - read my last post for more details on the odd person who can't raise a smile!

 

 Back when we had just our Suki, our lovely Heinz 57 variety mix mongrel from the rescue centre, Ricky our beautiful German Shepherd having passed away, my kids were younger then and we sat one rainy summer afternoon and watched Air Bud and the love affair for Golden Retrievers was born.

 

 

In the film, Buddy is a Clown hound for a mean clown and he meets a little boy that has lost his dad and between them they heal each other and find a new forever loving home.  Its a classic Disney tale designed to tug at the heart strings - it works we live with two mud wallowing waggy tailed Golden's now - and make you weep with tears of saddness then those of joy.....

...not a brilliant combination when you are at the torch, long hot flame stretching before you and melted glass on the rod waiting to become the arms and legs of the next creation.  But it did inspire my Clown hound.

 

You can find my glass creations in my Etsy shop waiting to be adopted.

www.Izzybeads.Etsy.com

 



What a crock of ....

...Poo.

People fascinate me.  They amuse me.  They annoy me and they totally grate on my nerves like nails down a chalkboard.

Walking Iz and Defi this morning, the sun is struggling to show its face, but its a worthy cause, its not too wet, more damp after a lighter than light frost so the grass is dewy but the cobwebs on the hedge haven't got that sparkle, the birds are chirping loudly to each other and flying in clouds of feathers and noise, its an idyllic country walk through the orchards.  The apples lying on the ground rotten and mashed, their perfume rising through the dead leaves and still letting the passing thought of apple pie and cider give life to their otherwise decaying mass, so why, oh why, do some people find it nigh on impossible to smile?

I wear the classic dog walking attire, jeans that I wore the day before usually with a dried muddy dog paw of someone else's dog that has jumped up in greeting, wellington boots that have a dab of Gorilla glue down the back seam on the right boot; this dab looks like dried slug snot but it works and as long as I don't go wading in the swollen river Wye I will be ok to walk through the mud and leaves.  My jacket, rain mac - call it what you will - is covered in muddy splatters from the down pours of last week, I haven't bothered washing it, what's the point? its winter and it will be the same next week when the rains comes again, besides I am out of water proofing 'stuff'.  I do sport my lovely snuggly hand crocheted fingerless mittens and my old battered once purple now a faded spectrum of weak lilac and puce bag that holds my doggy poo bags, dog biscuits, two spare balls as Iz keeps losing them amongst the apples and with their lime green colour now replaced with a concoction of cow poo doggy saliva grass stain colouring they blend into the undergrowth too well and become lost for a few days - we do usually find them again, this morning we found the two we lost last week.....

So I am a catch, a sexy, dog walking female with red hair, blown into a wind swept style with rosy country cheeks and a smile - more walking wardrobe disaster, mud splattered and scowling at Defi rolling in a muddy puddle, BUT, I always smile and say good morning to few people I meet.

They came towards me in clean and almost new, so new I could see where the tags had been attached on their matching red jackets with blue trim, their waterproof trousers and very swanky walking boots, they even had those walking sticks that I covet each time I slip and fall on my arse in the mud but the husband tells me I will look old, like wellies with slug snot glue doesn't have the same effect?  Defi goes one side of the older couple and Iz walks the other side, both dogs shiny clean - I raise my eyes to the heavens and thank the Lord for his kindness this morning - and I smile at the smaller of the couple, the woman, whilst two golden tails wag slowly and up right past them. The scowl from the old hag as she flinched from; I am blaming the dogs here but I feel it was me in my ancient water proof jacket, once white now an off ivory mud stained colour with my dirty jeans and mad hair and the look she gave me would have floored Satan and put out the fires of damnation with their icy glare.

I mean, really.  Do people really expect to not see dogs on a river side walk, when they have walked past the cows in the field, the sheep in the field on the lanes?  When they have spied the dog poo in all its glory from the 70's styled white dried out look to the more modern, but none the less well known, fluffy white with mould mounds?  Are the manky tennis balls, discarded by faithful hounds chasing tails not a dead giveaway that dogs might actually be here amid the plethora of squirrels, badgers, foxes, hedgehogs, wild birds, birds of prey, farm animals and such like?

Would it have a devastating effect on her walk if she had smiled?  At least her matching husband acknowledged me although he failed to comment on my attire as he straightened the blue trim of this jacket.

Blackberries and mild days of Autumn.

....and as another week ends and we are a day nearer to the onset of Winter, we are still having very mild Autumn days and nights, last night reaching 18 degrees C still at around 8/9pm and did mean that Izabel panted her way through the early hours of this morning before either she, or I, nodded off to sleep in exhaustion.

 

I am still remembering Autumn, the berries and golden vines.

 

 

This bead is one of my favourites of the week, its a big bead with layers of glass, gold and silver leaf and lots and lots of hand pulled canes in which I can mix the colour to get what I want.

Its not always easy to mix glass colours as they don't mix like paint, blue and yellow don't always make green and red and white don't make pink, its a lengthy process of layering the glass and pulling into canes which can be used to 'paint' onto glass.  I am really enjoying this painting style of bead making it both relaxing and meditative and I have found that I prefer to work without the radio on so I can disappear into my own world for hours at a time.

Its Friday!

 

I don't have much to say tonight, which is something coming from me, other than the rain lashing down at the windows after a very mild October day, I am sat at the computer with a cup of tea, I really know how to rock a Friday night.

 

I just listed these head pins, the blue ones, in my Etsy shop but to be honest I just can't find the energy or the inclination to list anymore so I am calling it quits for the evening.  I might make myself some cheese on toast I have a fancy for that right now, and sit in front of the television for an hour before going off to bed to read my book, like I said, I know how to rock on a Friday night!

 

Blue icicle head pins now in the Etsy shop.

Head pin bouquet of lilac buds and leaves.

 A couple of buttons.

A two holed button.

Another head pin bouquet.

Have a fun Friday, it can't be more exciting than mine!!

The Notebook.

 

I love notebooks, sketchbooks, doodle pads...paper.  And pens.  I have handwriting pens, fancy ink pens, pencils: these are my absolute favourite writing and drawing implement and coloured pencils, the artist ones.

 

 I have collected various books and pads over the years and kept most of them, some sadly have been lost or destroyed for various reasons, moving being one of them. 

 

I have kept a journal, or diary, for as long as I can remember, like the blog its been sporadic and usually documents times in my life when I have been down and depressed or some great moment that has been just wonderful and note worthy.

 

 

 

 

The top book, in the photo above,  that looks like stained glass is one of the oldest ones in my collection, full of life stories that date back to the early days of parenthood, the kids now being almost 21 and 19 so its almost an antique.

The purple one is my current one, although its one of many current ones, I have one by my bed, one in my hand bag, the little one that's open is the one that comes in the 'dog' bag with me on dog walks that I stop and write a word or thought in.

I haven't shown the very oldest one, I am slightly embarrassed by the dog eared corners and childish writing: it was a collection of poems I wrote when I was around 12, they make me smile now, some are pretty good too.

 

This file is my collection of typed and printed words and holds the beginning of my novel, a whole 20,000 words, minus 200 and something and as I am about half way through it should be a good book, at least in size.

 

As well as lined journals and notebooks I have a large collection of scrap paper and sketchbooks dotted about the place, its amazing really that I get away with it as I am forever moaning at the husband to tidy up his piles of 'stuff'.

 

See the rocking chair in the distant corner of the kitchen?  See the piles of dog toys? they get away with it too!

Wordless Wednesday and a few favourite beads of the week.

My beads can be found on eBay.com or click the Etsy link in the side bar to your left. 

The misty shroud.

Shrouded in mist, as far as I can see;



 

The only person in the world, the only one is, Me.

Just beads and weird days.

 

Saturday's are odd days, they are neither a Friday; working day, nor a Sunday; resting, sort of as much as you can on a Sunday for a family that are not particularly religious or follow any family rituals of a Sunday nature.  Saturday's are weird.

 

I walked the dogs, then I came home, no one was here, I stood in the lane talking to people for about an hour, in my wellington boots, then the delivery man came and the postman, I was still in my wellington boots, then I came in, had a cup of tea and went to the studio shed whilst my husband returned home from a night shift and snored his way through the motor racing he had recorded, in the guise of catching up, meanwhile, Izabel snuggled and snoozed on the sofa, Gordy languished in his old cat tree, not the impressive tower in the hall but the more used small version now behind the sofa in the living room and Defi and I went to the shed and listened to the audio book from Terry Prachete, I am still unsure as to whether or not I like all of Prachett's books, I love the witches in his stories but the other characters just don't do it for me but listening is easier than reading them......

 

I was commissioned to make a Robin bead this week, I made a few and have offered them up for made to order in my Etsy shop, I love them, they are cute and colourful and well....Christmassy; don't shoot the messenger, it was a commission remember!

 



I have been making some very LONG focal beads, rather pleased with these two, the top one has been described, not by me, as romantic, I was thinking Victorian elegance when I was making it so I think that fits, the one below is my version of grape vines; I am wondering about my sculptural beads I rather like the more 'solid' versions too, maybe I should try sets like this style?  Who knows and next week is still a day away.

 



Its Saturday night and tonight I am going to finish this crochet poncho I have been working on for weeks, photos will follow in a day or two.  I have been looking at crochet lace and I really wanting to have a go, it looks so delicate and I am wanting to make some lace jewellery with the beads I have been making, so many ideas go round in my head at one time, the luck of the 'artiste' I suppose, but the down side being not enough hours in any one day!

 

 

Have a great Saturday evening and I will chat tomorrow, this Blogtoberfest and 31 days of writing challenge is keeping me blogging!!

That Friday feeling.

I woke up this morning, after a long wet and windy week to a beautiful sight, my little cat Gordy was curled up in the middle of the bed, between the husband and I, with Izabel, he had his head tucked under her fluffy tail and she was snoozing with her head over his back, they were as snug as a bug.  It was a lovely sight to see first thing.

The sun was out this morning, Autumn is keeping Winter at bay for a little longer, after the wet, cold and grey week its a welcome sight, which made this afternoon's funeral a bright affair.  The church is the beautiful one at Breinton where I live and dog walk past each and every day, a old Norman church that has been added too over the centuries, I believe the earliest date for there being a church on this site is around the 14th Century. 

 

 This is the side of the church and the entrance we used today, us dog walking friends, to the right of this picture is the site of the Motte and Bailey, a fantastic raised mound that towers above the orchard in which the church stands.

These photos are not from today, you could barely see the church today, the car park was full, the lanes around the church were full, it was standing room only and a beautiful service to celebrate the life of someone so young, I know on our row a few tears were shed, but it was lovely to come out into the sunshine and see late afternoon dog walkers go by and see life continuing on as it always has and always will.

Now, to cheer myself up and bring myself back to the world of 'me', I am off to photograph a few beads that I have made this week, and will be sharing photos tomorrow.
 

Wordless Wednesday.

 

Well, almost wordless anyway; headpins. 

 

These sold this afternoon but I will be making more!

 



 

Recovering.....

I am recovering from a fantastic hangover from self inflicted indulgence of very cheap wine in the company of nice friends, its safe to say I have completely trashed my image of a wonderful lady like persona and am now not much more than a loyal lush.

I will be back tomorrow with more sordid details....off to find the painkillers.....

 

The Trout Trainers

You know the type; the Sunday morning, dog trainers with their clean wellys and posh body warmers from a named and labelled brand.  They stand there in a circle with their over weight pooches talking amongst themselves about how dogs should behave and throwing dirty looks over to the rest of us walkers in scruffy clothes, our dogs running with each other, chasing balls, rolling in cow pats and wet grass, barking in delight and having a great time, their muscles lean and toned, whilst we, those in scruffs, laugh and walk, whistling and calling our much loved pets and generally enjoying the weather; whether it be sun shine or rain or deep snow with icicles hanging from branches and glowing from within whilst we walk in thick jumpers and hats, obviously on those days the Trout Trainers are not out and about, they only do fine weather.

Trout Trainers?

Well, they all look like they have been slapped in the face with a wet fish, their scowling faces set in a downward tilt from years of looking down their noses at us mear pet owners.

The group that frequents the river walk on a Sunday morning has become smaller, hopefully those other members realizing that you can't train an over weight puppy who only wants to run and jump and play not learn to sit at heel and have the joy of life replaced by some sour faced old hag telling him that life is about learning and all fun is cancelled.

There was a time I would put my dogs on leads to walk past, but now I don't, call me rebellious but I can't stand to see dogs, over weight and joyless; my dogs might not be the most obedient of the year but we have rules, I like them to play nicely, be friendly and have waggy tails, they know that the first rule of the house is make sure they get the best spot on the sofa before any one else, take up as much room on the bed and when 'she in charge' aka me, looks like she is going to blow a gasket because we are not listening, run to heel, sit, look up with butter wouldn't melt adoring brown eyes and the smallest tail tip wag will guarantee complete success in winning her over.

So I let mine run forward and join the over weight black Labrador puppy, he could only have been 12 months old, this morning.  Defi always does the introductions perfectly, I am very proud of his manners.  He goes as close as possible, without encroaching on space, and lies down, his tail swishing from side to side in the leaves, the Lab puppy, joyous in the fact another hound is there and offering to chase, bounds over, leaving the Trout Trainers scowling in disgust at his lack of obedience and their failure to lasso him with his lead in time, and within seconds the two dogs are charging round and round the group threatening to knock them all down, whilst I call over, friendly like, 'don't they love to play, shame he is a bit like a bull in a china shop'.  I like to throw that out there as it makes the Trout Trainers all band together in fear of getting their immaculate attire the slightest bit hairy or muddy, as I walk past with Iz trotting faithfully behind me, her smile wide on her face as her ball is between her teeth, her flowing coat and toned tummy belying  the fact she is now 8 years old and not the 3 or 4 year old she looks.  Sadly the quick charge with Defi and the puppy was short lived as they failed to get far enough away before the youngster was lasso'ed and fun was curtailed.  I call Defi and walk away knowing that the looks directed at my back from the Trout Trainers are shooting to kill, whilst the puppy, his tongue pink and panting looks at Defi's retreating tail with a smile on his little pudgy face.

But I get the last laugh.  I walk down the lanes with two happy, contented, walked, toned, well behaved Golden Retriever pet dogs, whilst they have to over take me in their cars with the dog that has figured out that you can defy the authorities and have a bit of fun!

You can train dogs that young, I certainly started training Iz as soon as she came to live with us at 8 weeks, all the other dogs as soon as they arrive (they have all been re-homes or rescues except for Iz) but you have to let the dog have fun first and burn off some energy, then they will sit, walk to heel and whatever else you ask them to do.  Fun and training together make happy, well adjusted, friendly dogs that have some manners at least.

Until next Sunday then.

Saturdays smile

I have had a lovely day with lovely people melting glass in the studio and having a chat just about life, experiences, youth.... not mine!... a wonderful day all told and so I am sharing a photo from a couple of weeks back.... I am sharing a smile.  Bit of a cop out for a blog post but I am supposed to be blogging each day for Blogtoberfest and can't back out on day 4!

Happy smiling Saturday.

Throw back Thursday, the last cats and Gordy.

I am not going too far back, just enough to remember Megan who left us in December 2012 aged 23, the lost and mentally abused cat that came to live with us back in April 1994, she was never a cat to have a cuddle, always wary, but at least she knew she was safe with us and she had, I hope, a happy life.

Then remembering our Claude who left us back in September 2013 aged 22, he very nearly got longest living cat in this house but missed it by a whisker.  Arriving on our doorstep back in 1995/6 he was around 1 years old, a happy chap, an amazing killer of wildlife and he had a swagger that kept foxy loxy away.

To Gordy, who arrived here a few weeks after Claude had passed, our little man with brain damage who has become an internet star loved around the world for his funny ways and sticking out tongue - which is not apparent in this photo, one of the first I took when he came here so he was still a bit bewildered but found his paws with Iz and Defi.

 



Defi just saying hello on the first day, the tongue is now out and dribbling.

A year on, Gordy is the baby of the family, always into mischief when he is not snoring on his many beds or in his castle in the hallway, loved by millions but mostly by us and he each month he writes for Cat World Magazine...with a little help from me.

 

 

31 days and Blogtoberfest

So this whole introduce yourself thing, odd I had to do that last night at my writing group, we had a wonderful chap come to talk, a retired actor and director of theatre productions as well as some television back in the days when TV was brand new.  He was a fabulous chap with twinkly blue eyes and a sense of humour.  I do love hearing stories so I was transfixed on his life, not more so when he told of doing 2am feeds with his son whilst on the phone to a writer and discussing plays, obviously earing brownie points from both parties and having a contented baby to boot, so, we had to introduce ourselves and I falter, as normal.

October; I have signed up to do the Blogtoberfest, organized by Shells in the Bush and also 31 Days and as soon as I figure out how to download and add buttons I will do that.  So, the first thing you learn about me is that I am computer daft! 

I make glass lampwork beads, those with bums and those with petals, a Jekyll and Hyde character in female form, I have a grown up side, flowers and a childlike side, bums and eyeballs.

 

Pink Lily flowers in glass.  SOLD.

 

Seal on the sea shore.  SOLD.

Guelder Rose and Lavender on eBay.com

As well as glass, I have two dogs, Izabel and Defi my Golden Retrievers that are with me all day and help me look after my little cat with brain damage who is an internet star with his own column in Cat World Magazine every month.  Here he is with my daughter.

and my three amigos together... my daughter is a photography student currently studying her degree course and she let me have this photo below.

So that's me. 

I love to write, about what happens to Gordy and also everything and anything that pops into my head, I am finding my own style with the writing and enjoying the journey.

I live in Hereford, UK amongst rolling fields and moo-ing cows and watch pigs snuffling in the mud from my bedroom window, I share my home with my two grown up kids that I fear will just never leave, everyone tells me I will miss them when they have gone, its the 'gone' bit that they don't seem to want to do! and my husband, he that supports and loves me, even though I don't shop, or cook, in fact banned from both as I let woman kind down in those departments, thankfully he is excellent in both so we have food in the fridge and no one is starving.

There is a few people on the Blogtoberfest this year click on Shells in the Bush blog to find other participants, and for the 31 Days writing just search until I figure out the button thing!! 

 

 

There is danger on the horizon.

I, have always considered myself a dog person. The bigger, the hairier, the better.  I don't much like muddy paws, the stink of drying fur in the Winter, or waking up in the morning in my space on the bed showing my backside hanging over the side and exposed to the morning, or that twinge in my back that suggests I have been contorted in my sleep, whilst my lovely Goldens, Iz and Defi are stretched out full length, one across the bottom of the bed and the other down the middle with Gordy somewhere in the middle, all three snoring gently but not quite loud enough to cover the noise from the husband who doesn't seem to be sharing an inch of his side.

 

The argument would be to make the dogs sleep downstairs, or..shock...on the floor of the bedroom, which is the same banter husband and I have when I moan about my lack of space, to which he raises his eyebrows when I refuse to make my babies sleep on the cold hard floor; they do have lovely beds and castles but they all like to snuggle with me at night and who am I to stop them?

 

Throughout my childhood I lamented after a dog, all the homes I lived in - I had a 'collective' life when it comes to parents and surrogates; we never had pets, not a dog, cat, hamster, rabbit...nothing.  Once, when I was very young we had a goldfish, and before I can remember so was only told we apparently had a kitten called Mischief who sat on my head in the pram and I stopped breathing so my mother evicted her from the home.  Had I been more aware of this at that young age I most probably would have argued that she was comfortable and I should have moved.

 

So, as soon as was possible I got a dog.  Actually it was my boyfriend, now husband, who said we could have Ricky, my much loved German Shepherd, a handsome 9 month black and gold dog with issues.  Between us we had racked up a collection of small pets, a rabbit called Thumper, my collection of pet rats, a hamster named Hannibal the Cannibal on account he was aggressive, a lizard called Philpot that sadly had died and his fish tanks of piranhas and other underwater creatures, he being brought up with cats and dogs so it was second nature for him to fill a home with everything that had whiskers and fins.

 

My love of dogs blossomed, although not without problems and issues, Ricky was ex-show dog and he was big and strong and had never been in a house having come from kennels so I got a shock with house training and the enormous piles of poop one dog can hold before depositing over the floor. 

 

Once I was house proud and fussy now I live amongst dust, dog hairs and dribble.  And love it.

 

After Ricky came Suki the rescue Lurcher X and inbetween came a myriad of cats, all abandoned and beaten up, until we come many years down the line to Gordy.  My little cat with brain damage.

 

I still love dogs, especially my mud attracting, bed stealing stinkers, but Gordy is swaying me in ways the other cats couldn't.  We, that's the Royal we, Gordy and I, write a monthly column for Cat World Magazine about his adventures, and he has a few.

 

 

The first article we were asked to write back in December/January of this year.

 

Last months about being the chosen one, seen here with my daughter and the diva himself, Gordy.

 

Stealing the limelight by being in the light tent.

 

Its a hard life being Gordy!

 

So, coming home this afternoon from a trip to the library and yet another collection of stories about cats and dogs tucked under my arm, I opened to the door to the newest edition of Cat World magazine and the article about how Gordy over heated this summer, so if you will excuse me this afternoon I will be reading a glossy magazine all about cats!

 

Throw back Thursday

 

This was me, didn't I have frilly knickers over my nappy?  My mother, the headless one on the right, is wringing her hands anxiously waiting for the dog, whose name I can't remember, to take my head off, apparently he was known to be a bit of a grumpy dog, but he didn't;  I am still here and still love dogs.  My mother still isn't keen on dogs, although Defi makes it his mission when she has visited to sit on her and pretend that his ginormous Golden Retriever backside is lapdog sized and that he fits nicely on her lap so she can fuss him.

 



Bi-polar and sex addiction

I don't get a newspaper and I avoid the television news, I don't want to know what's going on around the World, its too depressing.  I do listen to the radio news in the glass studio shed; Radio 4 nice and quick, just a few minutes outlining the mis-deeds of human kind and its back to The Archers - my kind of news, even their weather seems much more positive, the outlook for the coming week being not as wet as last year.   

 

There has, however, been no getting away from the referendum in Scotland these last couple of weeks and I for one am glad its all over; families falling out over who to vote for, should they stay within the UK or go it alone?  I fall out with the kids on where they dump their washing so I think arguing with them over the state of the country is taking things a little too far, needless to say if there was a referendum in this house over whose job it is to put soiled clothes in the washing basket, I would vote 'theirs' and they would vote 'mothers', leaving a 3 to 1 divide (including the husband in this election and him siding with the kids...its inevitable *sigh*), one I would lose and unlike the politicians that are now saying they are quitting, no doubt on huge retirement funds, I would still be loading the washing machine or risk losing the cat under the mountain of stinking socks - all that without a retirement plan: the one of 'the kids are leaving at 18' now a distant memory as both are still at home and showing no signs of vacating the building. 

 

So I 'don't do' news, but I do like a little read of Yahoo home page when I turn on my laptop in the morning to check my emails.  I skip the celeb stuff, is anyone truly interested in who has milk in their coffee or was seen out and about...dare I say it...doing their own shopping?  What is the world coming too?  So imagine my surprise when I did click on the link that was discussing the latest scandal surrounding Gail Porter.  She is bi-polar, so am I.  She is a sex addict and blaming it on being bi-polar.  Good grief don't let the husband read this, if he thought that being bi-polar made me a sex addict he would be having a referendum of his own!

 

Maybe I shouldn't read Yahoo news either!

 

My daughter had her back drop for her photography delivered last week, and after leaving the massive box in the hall for a week, she finally set it up and had Izabel, Defi and Gordy pose, whether they wanted to or not, she took some lovely photos, this one is one of my favourites of all three.

 

You can find her on Facebook, Charley Mead Photography  and although the next picture shows her as being 12 she is really almost 19!

 

 

That's the daughter and yes purple hair is hereditary, and that little chap is our Gordy holding his most recent instalment of his adventures that are published monthly in Cat World magazine - I write them but as he says I couldn't do it without him, and yes, he does leave me piles of cat hair to clean up, he voted with the kids!

 

Maybe I should just go and eat magic mushrooms, won't make the front page, but who cares?

 

 

The old typewriter.

Forgotten in the dark, at the back of the garage under a layer of dust and grime, probably two layers of dust and grime really; there is a cover for this but after bleaching it and scrubbing it and leaving it outside to dry and air I am not holding out much hope for its survival, the vinyl has become brittle with age. 

How old? 

I can remember the day I got this machine, the day started early, as did all birthdays back then.  We lived in Rheindahlen in West Germany on an RAF base, my mum, dad, twin brothers and me; no pets allowed in our house, it was dust free and every surface gleamed with layers of polish the heady scent of lemon in the air in every room, trying to cover up the faded old tobacco smell of my fathers cigarettes.  My mother hated smoking.  It was stood on the big glass coffee table, the chrome legs gleaming and the table top itself devoid of finger prints even though I was the eldest at 8, and my twin brothers were 4 years younger than me, we knew better than leave sticky prints on that table top. 

No dirt in our house, shoes were removed at the door, the back door, and we had slippers.  Clean and fluffy like the day they were new, so it was a bit sad and forlorn to see this old typewriter with its layers of garage filth.  Its been brought into the house and I cleaned her up with plenty of washing up liquid and hot water, flushing out the bodies of several spiders that had made their home amongst her metal keys and never moved out; it was a delight to find she still works like she did all those years ago, the ribbon still allowing the strike of the keys to make a legible mark on the paper: its hard work using a manual typewriter!!

I have done a bit of research on the internet and found out that this machine is royalty amongst manual typewriters, built to last, a real workhorse of its day, many famous authors bashed out their novels on one of these models: unfortunately its quite a common machine still so in terms of money its not worth a huge amount, although I remember being told it cost the equivalent of £10 second hand back in 1979, but what the Deutschmark conversion would be back then I don't know, makes this machine more of an antique to think that not only was it a foreign currency for us back then but now the DM is an obsolete currency as Germany now uses the Euro. 

I have found a couple of these old relics for sale in the US for around $300 today so maybe in another ...ahem...25 years ...ok...35 years....it will be worth a bit more, a modern antique for my kids, but for now its priceless with its memories of how I learned to type...that A button used to make my little finger ache, thank goodness for modern technology and the ease of the laptop keyboard, having said that my laptop is virtually a modern antique but the keyboard is still much easier than the old Olympia.

I haven't banished her back to the garage, she now sits on the Welsh Dresser, her faded white plastic now a soft cream and her dark grey trim a bit faded, but there she will sit and gather dust......

The sights and smells that take me home.

As much as I miss the long hot summer days I do love a walk first thing in the morning when the ground is dewy and the sky is blue, when its not too cold so that you have to wear a coat but its cold enough to feel your nose tingling and be snuggled in a big old jumper and wear wellington boots to walk through the long damp grass.  I love wellington boots.  This morning was that morning.

I walked my normal walk down by the river with the dogs, but we were early this morning, no one was around, no fishermen, no other dog walkers, no joggers...no one, just the birds in the trees and the squirrels scampering around in the orchard, even the sheep and the cows were still lying down and snoozing.  The spiders had been busy in the night and their creations of silk stretched between hedges and long grasses the dew droplets glistening like jewels.

The sun wasn't quite up when we walked, it was still burning off the sleepy dust that is the mist over the river and fields.

 

 

From behind me it cast my shadow long and almost lean in the grass that's now turning from deep Hooker's green to limey yellow.  The smell of wet grass reaches my nose and takes me back to when I was a child.  That old damp smell that was always in the back of my Granddad's sheds and workshops, I could almost smell the old tobacco that he used to smoke and the old wooden benches that he used to work at.  The damp dog smell from his dogs I don't have to remember as mine, I know, will stink for most of today whilst they are drying off, but its a smell I both loathe and love.  I can imagine the big silver pans on the stove in the kitchen of the house my Grandparents lived in, the newly podded peas scenting the kitchen with a sweet vegetable smell whilst the roast in the oven smells warm and delicious; potatoes newly dug that morning, their earthy smell heavy and rich now bubble on the stove.