tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60847958158667719472024-03-13T05:56:32.583+01:00thoughts about life from beyond the graveDelphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-38333677315019476702010-03-03T18:31:00.006+01:002010-03-04T18:33:04.551+01:00YOU COULD BE MISSED<div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/S46dlnnkriI/AAAAAAAAAt8/tupszcB7vaY/s1600-h/man-thinking-silhoette[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444462269153193506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 315px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/S46dlnnkriI/AAAAAAAAAt8/tupszcB7vaY/s400/man-thinking-silhoette%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#000000;">YOU COULD BE MISSED</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><em></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>You could be missed.</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>Afterwards, she will speak</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>more than these centuries</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>of wedlock and its silence,</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>but you won't hear.</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>The words will come slow</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>at first,through her eyes bleeding,</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>resonantly, like dull hammers</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>where your eardrum should be;</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>you won't hear, I promise.</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>But she will speak, repeatedly,</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>will try to explain, forgive.</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>The time could come when</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>she will answer all her own</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>questions about love and things.</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>And, if she's honest,</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>you will be deeply missed.</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>But you shall never know.</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em></em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em></em></strong></div><div align="left"><strong><em>by my late husband. Alex-- May 1972</em></strong></div></div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-44630796322253952322010-01-23T10:29:00.005+01:002010-01-23T10:39:11.944+01:00THE CHILD<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/S1rBwPhPR4I/AAAAAAAAAts/76pYQNuvsAk/s1600-h/images[19].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429865335292381058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 146px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 115px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/S1rBwPhPR4I/AAAAAAAAAts/76pYQNuvsAk/s400/images%5B19%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">I see the child</div><div align="center">in the garden, her head</div><div align="center">filled with the wind,</div><div align="center">and her eyes in the summer of children</div><div align="center">bright as the sun;</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">I hear her laugh</div><div align="center">in the garden, her mind</div><div align="center">swallowed in dreams,</div><div align="center">and her mouth in the learning of children</div><div align="center">full of the sun.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">I watch her dance</div><div align="center">in the garden, her face</div><div align="center">determined and lent,</div><div align="center">and her limbs like the gallows of children</div><div align="center">crossed in the sun</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">I love the child</div><div align="center">in the garden, a voice</div><div align="center">that I once knew,</div><div align="center">and remember the growing of children</div><div align="center">lost in the sun.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left">by my late husband ALEX written in the 70's</div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-22365185244958445982009-11-03T18:32:00.003+01:002009-11-03T18:43:40.876+01:00ALONE by AlexWe stand together where the earth<br />finds us, fairly close, could be<br />our fingers touch; two stones mating<br /><br />and it's cold, instantly breakable.<br /><br />I can't blow your blood<br />round if it stops,<br />we can only pretend. You should<br />be told there is a limit to this<br />heartbeat and looking like<br />the same piece of machinery;<br />that someone else will disconnect<br />the necessary organs, break off<br />the productive flow; that one half of us is<br />daubed with different time.<br />You should be told.<br /><br />or perhaps you already know<br />and the craft today is how<br />you blindfold your tomorrow.<br /><br />Maybe you see how separate we are,<br />even when our breath feels now<br />like one delicious thought.<br /><br />copyright Alex May '72Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-66550072428145212632009-05-13T18:41:00.011+02:002009-05-13T19:18:50.511+02:00A BLOGGERS' FLOWERY FAREWELL !<div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">My present partner Chris, and I, are taking off for an adventure in our motorhome this weekend, to spend some time with no pressures or time limits. Chris has recently had a heart attack and needs the rest, and I, well, I just need some book time and scrabble time, with no TV bulletins about swine flu, nor politicians arguing about expenses abuse. I want to experience late mornings, early nights, meals outside, shorts and tee shirts, B-B-Q's, wandering, swimming, exploring, site-seeing, chatting, and stopping to smell the flowers on the way, etc etc. </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Speaking of flowers I shall leave you will some beauties which I took last week at an animal park here in mid France......</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335352969684313490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sgr7Qg1b5ZI/AAAAAAAAAqw/ojyUxvzzCsE/s400/zoo+045.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">Beautiful pink rhodedendrums </div><div align="center"><br /><br /> </div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335358274215950098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SgsAFRwVNxI/AAAAAAAAArQ/sWc5YLo_1dM/s400/zoo+046.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">A darker variety!<br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335353494907882914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sgr7vFcfjaI/AAAAAAAAAq4/zmLn3y73dsw/s400/zoo+039.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="center">Not sure what this is? Perhaps magnolia - I am hopeless! </p><p align="center"> </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335354125780484770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sgr8TzoPgqI/AAAAAAAAArA/VZe1BTPY3ek/s400/zoo+048.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="center">Lovely pink and white heather!<br /></p><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335355281393203570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sgr9XEnyOXI/AAAAAAAAArI/K8rvluxEUtc/s400/zoo+049.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">Another gorgeous rhodedendrum this one a delicate cream colour!<br /></p><br /><br /><br />But- I shall miss the internet, and the blogging , and, believe it or not, some of the soaps!! ( sad isn't it!) So I shall be back sometime !!Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-78457864916264502262009-05-11T18:33:00.011+02:002009-05-11T19:12:56.989+02:00THE WORLD REALLY IS A STAGENothing changes does it?<br /><br /><br />First time I have really read these words! I was surprised to see the french words creeping in on the last line!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334610031491003506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 366px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SghXj0ZBtHI/AAAAAAAAAqA/8Gwlv4pF_fo/s400/william_shakespeare%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. At first the infant, mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; then the whining school-boy, with his satchel<br />and shining morning face, creeping like snail unwillingly to school. And then the lover, sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad, made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, seeking the bubble reputation even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, in fair round belly with good capon lin'd, with eyes severe and beard of formal cut, full of wise saws and modern instances; and so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, with spectacles on nose and pouch on side; his youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide for his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,turning again toward childish treble, pipes and whistles in his sound. Last scene of all , that ends this strange eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion; sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.<br /></p><p>William Shakespeare</p><p>As You Like It, 2. 7</p>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-74256191823252308232009-05-09T18:36:00.015+02:002009-05-09T19:25:33.971+02:00IMAGINE JOHN TODAY<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SgW0-AvPjwI/AAAAAAAAAoo/7xXTyFhpnGc/s1600-h/john-lennon[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333868311133261570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 366px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SgW0-AvPjwI/AAAAAAAAAoo/7xXTyFhpnGc/s400/john-lennon%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">IMAGINE</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Imagine there's no heaven</div><div align="center">its easy if you try</div><div align="center">No hell below us</div><div align="center">Above us only sky</div><div align="center">ImAgine all the people</div><div align="center">living for today</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Imagine there's no countries</div><div align="center">It isn't hard to do</div><div align="center">Nothing to kill or die for</div><div align="center">And no religion too</div><div align="center">Imagine all the people</div><div align="center">Living life in Peace</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">You may say that I'm a dreamer</div><div align="center">But I'm not the only one</div><div align="center">I hope someday you'll join us</div><div align="center">And the world will be as one</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">Imagine no possessions</div><div align="center">I wonder if you can</div><div align="center">No need for greed or hunger</div><div align="center">A brotherhood of man</div><div align="center">Imagine all the people</div><div align="center">Sharing all the world</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center">You may say that I'm a dreamer</div><div align="center">But I'm not the only one</div><div align="center">I hope someday you'll join us</div><div align="center">And the world will live as one.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left">lyrics by John Lennon</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left">You cannot read the lyrics of John Lennons' Imagine , without singing it in your mind, the haunting music just floods in! But it's the words that are shouting his outrage at life, and they are even more poignant today. He tried to make the world listen and care, but instead outraged the church, increased his fortune, and pushed him further forward, centre stage of the world! I wonder , had he lived, how would he view the world today? </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">On the 8th December 1980 I was visiting my husband in hospital following a major road accident. I heard the news of the assasination of John Lennon over the car radio just as I was leaving; I rushed back to the ward to Alex and we just wept, along with the entire world. What a loss!</div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-38132345956375127152009-05-07T18:52:00.012+02:002009-05-07T19:26:26.408+02:00THOUGHTS ABOUT A ROOM!This following poem was written by my late husband in the '70 's....<br /><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center">THE ROOM.</div><br /><br /><strong><em><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SgMStH7wiwI/AAAAAAAAAmw/vti_tnL8xAI/s1600-h/pics+006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333126950169905922" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SgMStH7wiwI/AAAAAAAAAmw/vti_tnL8xAI/s400/pics+006.jpg" border="0" /></a></em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br /><strong><em>A clock ticks,</em></strong><br /><strong><em>twice a second in the vacant air,</em></strong><br /><strong><em>it hits against the silence</em></strong><br /><strong><em>of the room,and holds in defiance</em></strong><br /><strong><em>the emptiness, the apparent nothing.</em></strong><br /><strong><em>And tells of someone near.</em></strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><strong><em></em></strong></div><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SgMUN1eCdJI/AAAAAAAAAm4/_KN0kLwfLsU/s1600-h/pics+009.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333128611660723346" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SgMUN1eCdJI/AAAAAAAAAm4/_KN0kLwfLsU/s400/pics+009.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><p><strong><em></em></strong></p><p><strong><em></em></strong></p><p><strong><em></em></strong> </p><p><strong><em></em></strong> </p><p><strong><em></em></strong> </p><p><strong><em>The clock ticks,</em></strong></p><p><strong><em>a scarf liesdraped across a chair,</em></strong><strong><em>cold silk not worn today, but</em></strong><strong><em>used some time. But not today</em></strong><strong><em>so discarded it is still, still.</em></strong><strong><em>Placed across the chair.</em></strong></p><p><strong><em></em></strong></p><p><strong><em></em></strong></p><p><strong><em></em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em></em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em></em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em></em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em></em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em></em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em></em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em></em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em></em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em></em></strong> </p><p align="center"><strong><em></em></strong> </p><p align="center"><strong><em>Clock's ticking,</em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em>still twice a second. Someone will know</em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em>what the time is, in this patient silence;</em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em>someone wants to know, someone not yet there</em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em>and the room waits silently.</em></strong></p><p align="center"><strong><em>Like the scarf across the chair.</em></strong></p><strong><em></em></strong><p><br /></p><div align="left"></div>Poem by Alex copyrightDelphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-82792691915877523812009-05-01T19:15:00.015+02:002009-05-01T19:58:51.302+02:00LIFE IN OUR GROUNDS!<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sfsvzr3nTnI/AAAAAAAAAkI/SiapwRQ65lE/s1600-h/posting+001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330907148918935154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sfsvzr3nTnI/AAAAAAAAAkI/SiapwRQ65lE/s400/posting+001.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>My last posting was labelled " Death in our Grounds " ! It was a sad post and I want to counter-balance it with this post " Life in our Grounds "- because although we are devastated at losing so many trees, new and beautiful life is bursting forth everywhere and that is wonderful! I have no idea what the above tree is bit it does have the most magnificent blossom....<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330906056996864066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sfsu0IJGwEI/AAAAAAAAAkA/B0cstm785Xg/s400/posting+004.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div align="center">A large, but oh so delicate flower!</div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330910458575299474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sfsy0VTLo5I/AAAAAAAAAkQ/1OWTpDOxpf4/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+004.jpg" border="0" /> Even the grass this year is sporting purple flowers! I don't like to think of them as weeds!<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330911740666744050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sfsz-9dmjPI/AAAAAAAAAkY/9jz469uX6eo/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+020.jpg" border="0" />These are lovely too, again I have no idea of their name, but they are growing everywhere in the woods in big luscious patches!<br /></div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330912394512033090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sfs0lBOd5UI/AAAAAAAAAkg/JK1HyJnmG6o/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+036.jpg" border="0" />....and look at these little beauties, fragile, wild flowers growing ' willy-nilly'.....<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330913357348577954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sfs1dEEloqI/AAAAAAAAAko/WS_oQ_ey6mE/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+009.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />... and how can we forget those stingy things, ouch!.......<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330914012502579250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sfs2DMteWDI/AAAAAAAAAkw/wEOpVwwEkH4/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+010.jpg" border="0" />.......but they have a beauty all of their own-- and they make an excellent nettle wine :) </p><p><br /><br /></p><p></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330914617317119090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sfs2mZ0f1HI/AAAAAAAAAk4/lCatM2I_83g/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+017.jpg" border="0" />Finally, keep your fingers crossed for this poor chap, he is hanging on in there!<br />We do have the 'proper' flowers too, but I thought you might appreciate the ' walk on the wild side' of my gardens today!Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-56904919512073540192009-04-27T19:49:00.015+02:002009-04-27T20:39:08.372+02:00DEATH IN OUR GROUNDSDramatic words! But nevertheless true, this winter has decimated our struggling trees--they gave up the ghost and came crashing down! Not one or two , but five huge trees shattering their branches as they fell.<br /><div><div><div><div><div><br /><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329434411991523410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfX0XHR_YFI/AAAAAAAAAiI/QwyOQFwClKo/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+028.jpg" border="0" /></div><div><br /></div><div>The trees appeared to be healthy.......<br /></div><div><br /><br /></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329435135053571986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfX1BM5ap5I/AAAAAAAAAiQ/BR8txCU9AXM/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+026.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><div>What caused this devastation?<br /></div><div><br /><br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329435673037003666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfX1ghCqW5I/AAAAAAAAAiY/cZYDvupEEe8/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+038.jpg" border="0" /> There have been no particularly strong winds here in mid-France ; </div><div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329436577415294226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfX2VKHP7RI/AAAAAAAAAig/9MlxMLuDLng/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+014.jpg" border="0" />We had to call the local farmer in to help......<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329437421846335842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfX3GT3TEWI/AAAAAAAAAio/R4ll8LivlkM/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+011.jpg" border="0" />Who cut them up for us.... </div><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329438043787978770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfX3qgxvaBI/AAAAAAAAAiw/OrL8HqAsAbQ/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+013.jpg" border="0" />and stacked them neatly...... </div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329440419420680370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfX50ystsLI/AAAAAAAAAi4/OSxy4A7EPzU/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+023.jpg" border="0" />One or two trees have also been struck badly with the beetle....</div><br /><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329441141624652514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfX6e1HjwuI/AAAAAAAAAjA/wvy9x4xqxAg/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+005.jpg" border="0" /> Look closer! It's horrendous isn't it! </div><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329441696539832530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfX6_IVpcNI/AAAAAAAAAjI/4tFhYz46N24/s400/lfe+and+death+in+the+garden+006.jpg" border="0" />The farmer will cutting this down this week!</div><div> </div><div>Anyone else having the same problems?<br /><div></div></div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-62202911383675571352009-04-24T19:20:00.006+02:002009-04-24T19:43:23.980+02:00SEALS, SYNCHRONIZING, & SUPPER<div><div><div>Please forgive the aliteration, I couldn't resist it!</div><br /><br /><div>I am posting a few photos to lighten up the end of my week! it's been a funny week for me-- I joined Twitter and couldn't get the hang or point of it, also couldn't load my photo, then pressed the wrong button and I am now left with a default 'blank' in place of a photo, and a new name of " the mystery woman"? not my choice so have no Idea why they are calling me that. My heart doesn't seem to be in anything this week, I had better buck up as its my Birthday soon! AHA! Perhaps that's it!! I just dont want to be a year older -help! So here we go with the photos all taken whilst I was on holiday in Spain a few years ago....</div><br /><div>First one -- the seals....................... and loving</div><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328311891310866642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfH3bz4S8NI/AAAAAAAAAgI/4_l1FyhDpsk/s400/P1010023.JPG" border="0" /></div><br /><br /><div></div><div>Aren't they gorgeous... </div><br /><br /><div>The second on is of a group of synchronizing swimmers with dolphins, it was an amazing show to watch...</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328313024383846226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfH4dw58h1I/AAAAAAAAAgQ/OWeBZwVLoJY/s400/P1010040.JPG" border="0" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I KNOW! It's not the best of photos-- the girls are the circle of pink things! Nobody said this was going to be a professional shot! You have to use your imagination.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The final photo is the ' piece de resistance'----The Last Supper!!! ( on the beach- amazing)</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328314280618627890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SfH5m4vqEzI/AAAAAAAAAgY/oaOM0G281ys/s400/P1010018.JPG" border="0" /></div></div></div><br /><p> </p><p>Great job, Sandman!</p><p>Well that's it folks! Hope it did it for you :)</p>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-56202617093415965622009-04-20T19:11:00.009+02:002009-04-20T19:49:42.363+02:00ALEX and UNEMPLOYMENTLooking through my late husbands' work I came across the following poem, written by him and dated November 8th. 1971. In this current recession it seems apt to post it today. He wrote it at the time he had left the BBC- where he had worked for many years- to take over the running of our household of four children whilst I persued my career. I guess we were one of the early 'role-reversal' couples! It would appear on this particular day, he wasn't too happy about the situation! However I am happy to to say that it did work and very successfully up until 1983 when we both went into business together..... So here it is.....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326826003457100162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 303px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SeywBwRfyYI/AAAAAAAAAeo/8SWftn8mSAw/s400/53125300.r6YX6qMS.53125300.6n2idU93.Ericeira107copy_1%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p></p><p align="center">CELL</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center">I sit unemployed in redundant Autumn</p><p align="center">listening</p><p align="center">to the wind</p><p align="center">cutting its first Winter teeth</p><p align="center">through the grass and my uncombed hair.</p><p align="center">The imprisoned day</p><p align="center">watches</p><p align="center">the distinction it makes</p><p align="center">between light and shade,</p><p align="center">like the idiotic sun</p><p align="center">drawing its inevitable circles in the air.</p><p align="center">The day is a shorter one than yesterday,</p><p align="center">perhaps, tomorrow</p><p align="center">the sun will lose its way.</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center">by Alex, copyright '71</p>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-32284234912512150552009-04-09T18:29:00.000+02:002009-04-09T18:52:31.578+02:00SEA VIEWS<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sd4jUIWIY8I/AAAAAAAAAcs/g-IhT5ZseIU/s1600-h/wavesbreaking4[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322730638343168962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sd4jUIWIY8I/AAAAAAAAAcs/g-IhT5ZseIU/s400/wavesbreaking4%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">SEAS.</span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">Bare feet on the sand.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">Cold sea-water,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">white shanks belching</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">out of the slick havoc,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">confides over them noisily,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">the tide's breath</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">and twists of water</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">stepping from the sea.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">Staring out of the world.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">The deep, audacious sky</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">stays put</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">where someone outside</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">drew a line around the world.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">Its cold edges trickle over my mind,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">in a moment of immense time,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">embracing me with false colour,</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">and depth boasting its loud head off.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">Then the water breaks its spine.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">And I watch it</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">slide back</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">breathlessly into the sea's gullet.</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="left"><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong></div><div align="left"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">Poem by Alex: October 1971 Copyright</span></strong></div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-38282310780366140662009-04-06T10:26:00.000+02:002009-04-06T10:40:10.431+02:00FINGERS ON THE GLASS<div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Window-pane</div><div align="center">with traces of moisture,spirals</div><div align="center">of each finger's tip</div><div align="center">pressed firmly, leaning, against</div><div align="center">the transparent division</div><div align="center">Separating;</div><div align="center">inside from outside,</div><div align="center">warmth from cold,</div><div align="center">sound from sound,</div><div align="center">opulence from poverty,</div><div align="center">You and I.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><p></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321492944508890354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sdm9o3gzLPI/AAAAAAAAAbc/0jOpSk1e7D0/s400/CSM106243%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" />Though we may see each other,</p><p align="center">only the sun crosses between us, blindly</p><p align="center">penetrating the partition</p><p align="center">and revealing, for a moment, my reflection</p><p align="center">against the sky;</p><p align="center">our eyes, together.</p><p align="center">Place your hands on mine</p><p align="center">and we touch different sides</p><p align="center">of the same witness</p><p align="center">to our cool familiarity.</p><p align="center">Close your eyes, easily.</p><p align="center">Nothing,</p><p align="center">just fingers on the glass.<br /></p><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="left">Poem by Alex- copyright</div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-28188799855343866762009-04-02T11:51:00.001+02:002009-04-02T12:08:36.518+02:00POEM FOR A BIRTHDAYIt was my daughter's birthday yesterday, so this is for her and for everybody's birthday at this time. It was written by my late husband for when she and her sisters were little!<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320029745580564850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 359px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SdSK3evXYXI/AAAAAAAAAak/cV1VxyU8BSg/s400/birthday_cake%5B1%5D.gif" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">BUILDING A BIRTHDAY</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">My wife draws a breath.</div><div align="center">Carefully she explains</div><div align="center">the architecture of her frivolous cake,</div><div align="center">a large one,</div><div align="center">with fruit, and icing</div><div align="center">white as brides, calmly wading over the top.</div><div align="center">She has buns planned.</div><div align="center">Home-made.</div><div align="center">Sandwiches cut to budget size</div><div align="center">and filled with luncheon meat,</div><div align="center">cheese, meat paste and supermarket jam.</div><div align="center">Jellies figure prominently,</div><div align="center">what's a party without a jelly?</div><div align="center">My daughter will receive her friends</div><div align="center">in the giant shadow of her Mother.</div><div align="center">It's her ninth birthday.</div><div align="center">The foundations are laid.</div><div align="center">By tomorrow evening</div><div align="center">the house will have been eaten.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="left">Poem by Alex-1971 copyright.</div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-91426100223774603902009-03-30T19:43:00.000+02:002009-03-30T19:56:47.078+02:00STAINED BEAUTYWhat beauty can be found in little french village churches................. <div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>From outside......<br /><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319039282741789826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SdEGC9IsRII/AAAAAAAAAaU/fWTIpECzKPA/s400/nikon+photos+016.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div align="center"><br /> </div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319038721416889586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SdEFiSCaBPI/AAAAAAAAAaM/cBDlsNcsFW0/s400/nikon+photos+019.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div align="center">to inside !<br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319040251781743506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SdEG7XF0g5I/AAAAAAAAAac/vhf3i_T7n-g/s400/nikon+photos+020.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">Magnificent in their colours!<br /></div><br /><div></div><div></div></div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-91312404354946845822009-03-26T18:32:00.000+01:002009-03-26T18:52:35.543+01:00ALEX'S TRIBUTE TO HIS GRANDMOTHER<div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">My Grandmother Louise.</div><div align="center"><br /> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317551531778642482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 264px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Scu88c6AEjI/AAAAAAAAAZI/8eyb0R_z6Io/s400/Nan+Reuby.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I remember her hands,</div><div align="center">work-worn and scaly</div><div align="center">against my feathers.</div><div align="center">Daily scrubbed in service</div><div align="center">when she was a young girl and</div><div align="center">never idle a moment.</div><div align="center">Working fingers. Lean, like her voice,</div><div align="center">always correct and</div><div align="center">always correcting me, sharply,</div><div align="center">best as she knew how.</div><div align="center">Hands that bathed me.</div><div align="center">Hands that chastised me.</div><div align="center">Hands that fed me, filled my own</div><div align="center">with the strength a child needs.</div><div align="center">Hands that loved me like her own.</div><div align="center">Hands that knew pain; that felt, </div><div align="center">through the hardy skin, </div><div align="center">her love, only one, lifelessly</div><div align="center">slip through her fingers</div><div align="center">(to rest her hands from his weight)</div><div align="center">Hands that touched winter</div><div align="center">and denied the cold,</div><div align="center">half-way to heaven as the knuckles</div><div align="center">told her life in knotches.</div><div align="center">These were the hands that shone stone</div><div align="center">for a living, a lifetime;</div><div align="center">the hands I remember</div><div align="center">ground to the bone.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="left">By Alex</div><br /><div align="left">my beloved husband who passed away 27th March 2001.</div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-59907103964744554762009-03-24T11:07:00.001+01:002009-03-24T11:32:24.508+01:00SUNSET IN FRANCE<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316695710251050274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SciylFRbZSI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/zQy0skPQ4tY/s400/origny+pool+001.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div>I was inspired to post these pictures, after visiting <a href="http://itsazoo4u.blogspot.com/">cori's blog</a> , as it is true that some photographs never look quite as good when they are posted up, particularly if your blog will not support a larger size? I remembered that I had taken these in November last year, one evening when the sky was really blood red. By the time I had fetched the camera the colour had dissipated a bit, but I was quite pleased with the pink hue it gave everything!</div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316698440528848146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sci1EAWYZRI/AAAAAAAAAYY/J-Jf_oVdl0g/s400/origny+pool+005.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Nature is wonderful isn't it?</p>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-29571870281052888052009-03-22T19:43:00.000+01:002009-03-22T19:48:33.521+01:00HAPPY MOTHERS DAY<div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScaHG55YCRI/AAAAAAAAAXc/WJa_U5QDhgA/s1600-h/mothers-day-clipart1[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316084962847885586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 225px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 225px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScaHG55YCRI/AAAAAAAAAXc/WJa_U5QDhgA/s400/mothers-day-clipart1%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>TO ALL MUMS OUT THERE .........</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316085849863683650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 316px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 332px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScaH6iSa_kI/AAAAAAAAAXk/6UDWAPAb16Y/s400/mothers_day_polar_bears%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div></div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-16623703089131510562009-03-18T16:53:00.001+01:002009-03-18T17:00:44.692+01:00IT'S RAINING BOWS !<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScEaMjLcJGI/AAAAAAAAAWE/jJ8fEiFBbHY/s1600-h/rainbows+011.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314557838177870946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 293px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScEaMjLcJGI/AAAAAAAAAWE/jJ8fEiFBbHY/s400/rainbows+011.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScEaCQlm2-I/AAAAAAAAAV8/uXx0ITy6uho/s1600-h/rainbows+005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314557661388659682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 293px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScEaCQlm2-I/AAAAAAAAAV8/uXx0ITy6uho/s400/rainbows+005.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScEZxRk2XiI/AAAAAAAAAV0/Hrn7IlZ0N54/s1600-h/rainbows+006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314557369596141090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 293px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScEZxRk2XiI/AAAAAAAAAV0/Hrn7IlZ0N54/s400/rainbows+006.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScEZjrN8xEI/AAAAAAAAAVs/G_pFeWQ982c/s1600-h/rainbows+008.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314557135961244738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 293px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScEZjrN8xEI/AAAAAAAAAVs/G_pFeWQ982c/s400/rainbows+008.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScEZUYey6bI/AAAAAAAAAVk/wQ6eCckWEws/s1600-h/rainbows+010.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314556873233590706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 293px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/ScEZUYey6bI/AAAAAAAAAVk/wQ6eCckWEws/s400/rainbows+010.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />What fun I had tracking the rainbows! But I didn't find the crock of gold though :(<br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-25432805201896955062009-03-14T10:28:00.000+01:002009-03-15T10:11:35.536+01:00A TWITCH OF SEVERAL NERVES<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sbt8V-gtn2I/AAAAAAAAAUw/74awkrq8bh8/s1600-h/galerie-membre,coucher-soleil,dscf1176[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312976902412935010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sbt8V-gtn2I/AAAAAAAAAUw/74awkrq8bh8/s400/galerie-membre,coucher-soleil,dscf1176%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">A TWITCH OF SEVERAL NERVES.</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="left">Bird,</div><div align="left">wings, wind arriving.</div><div align="left">Clock,</div><div align="left">fell sun, face diving.</div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Darker as bones cramp,</div><div align="left">a skivvy for Time.</div><div align="left">Discreet sky: a line,</div><div align="left">late, perhaps the bird</div><div align="left">at flight, or a word</div><div align="left">was unwound straight,</div><div align="left">merry on its hook.</div><div align="left">The stained fingers</div><div align="left">that wrote it, long mute,</div><div align="left">wearing an ashtray</div><div align="left">for their grave of talk.</div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Twitch,</div><div align="left">the silk bird grieving.</div><div align="left">Cold,</div><div align="left">listen, wind leaving.</div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left">By Alex,</div><div align="left">copyright delphine</div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-76510909479953847492009-03-12T12:48:00.000+01:002009-03-12T13:19:56.894+01:00AN ANNOUNCEMENT !Wonderful news which I would like to share ....<br /><div></div><br /><div>The day before yesterday my sixth great grandchild was born! A beautiful little girl.... mother and baby doing fine, she weighed in at 6lb 12 oz and her name is Natasha! </div><div>and here she is less than 24 hours old.......</div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312268215809421874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sbj3y_LrMjI/AAAAAAAAAUI/Qa4xzrFYn18/s400/Natasha+1.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div> </div><div>My family now consists - 4 children ( all girls), 11 grandchildren ( 5 girls and 6 boys) and 6 great grandchildren ( 5 girls and 1 boy) -- isn't that wonderful!</div><div></div><div>To me that is what life is all about---families .</div><div></div><div></div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-58920279665884887642009-03-10T09:32:00.001+01:002009-03-10T09:48:03.619+01:00THE BEAUTY OF FORSYTHIA<div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SbYlvqznK3I/AAAAAAAAATY/qdSXlQbRp28/s1600-h/2221782260060889682S500x500Q85[2].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311474311404923762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SbYlvqznK3I/AAAAAAAAATY/qdSXlQbRp28/s400/2221782260060889682S500x500Q85%5B2%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Forsythia is a beautiful flowering plant , native to China and was discovered by Robert Fortune a great eighteenth century plant hunter. It was named after William Forsyth who was Director of the Chelsea Physic Gardens in 1770, and one of the founders of the Royal Horticultural Society.<br /><br /><br /><br />I love the way it blooms before the leaves push through, because you can pick and display the budding branches and watch the pretty lemon flowers open day by day until it is in full bloom.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311477130504029474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SbYoTwxNxSI/AAAAAAAAATg/i775JT3earA/s400/forcythia+003.jpg" border="0" />and this is what I picked two days ago, nearly in full bloom, heralding he Spring!Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-37115996690629961262009-03-08T19:41:00.000+01:002009-03-08T20:14:16.278+01:00MEET CHARLIE MY ADORABLE RAMA while back in England , Alex and I ran a holiday Caravan Park set in a beautifuL rolling Valley in North Devon, near Barnstaple. There were 12 luscious acres of parkland, and , at that time we had no animals , except a Pekingnese - a lot different from the Dobermans we were to have later- and a cat! Feeling broody one day with all our daughters growing up and moving away ( college, marriage ) I approached the local farmer with a view to adopting a baby lamb! He was very sweet and presented me with two, who I immediately called Charlie and Shambles.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310891072625229442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 273px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SbQTStCevoI/AAAAAAAAASQ/yfO-rA3DbpI/s400/charlie+lamb.jpg" border="0" />Shambles is the lamb lying down, bless the poor little one, he had damage to his back legs and couldn't stand, but the farmer had said there might be a chance for him if we massaged his legs and tried to encourage him to stand and walk. This we did every day to no avail. He fed well each day from his bottle of milk, as did Charlie , but his legs didn't get any better and not long after , the vet informed me that he had brain damage from the birth which was his main problem. I took him back to the farmer, and cried all the way home.<br /><br /><br />Charlie, however, went from strngth to strength and grew into a beautiful ram.....<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310892710796237010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 319px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SbQUyDs4mNI/AAAAAAAAASY/zxFkNBgY_2Q/s400/charlie+the+ram.jpg" border="0" /><br />All the holidaymakers thought he was adorable, he would frolic around the chalets and caravans and they would feed him scraps--- then he became too cheeky, I remember hearing a rumpus one day, and went running to see what the fuss was. Charlie whizzed past me with someones' large chocolate cake in his smiling mouth, hotly persued by campers shaking their fists!! After that Alex insisted we had to fence him off an area of his own.</p><p>When it was our turn for us to go on holiday , Charlie went off to stay at the farm, and one year he fell in love with Lucie.....</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310893928499096098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 312px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SbQV47_3qiI/AAAAAAAAASg/K__cVY1hPjM/s400/Charlie+and+Lucie.jpg" border="0" />I was unable to persuade te farmer to part with Lucie, so he made fleeting visits from time to time. AAH!</p><p>This was a long time ago and Charlie is now that big fluffy cloud which you see so often in the sky that looks just like him!! I shall always remember him.<br /></p>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-44474696715133327762009-03-07T16:34:00.000+01:002009-03-07T17:00:55.227+01:00DUCK DIAGNOSISThe white Duck which featured in my post a few days ago, is still with us! She ( I think she must be a she) now has a name-- Phoebe. Phoebe just hasn't flown at all she has taken up residence in the little house on the little island.....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310471801387452130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/SbKV959thuI/AAAAAAAAAR4/vvl2M-U_U7I/s400/white+duck+010.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />I have looked her up on Google and am convinced she is a Muscovy Duck. Although it is difficult to see from this picture she has the unique lumpy crest around the eyes and above the beak which is a feature of the Muscovy. They are said to have the nicest character of all the breeds of duck, with a pronounced sense of humour, being intelligent and the females are very loving mothers . More <a href="http://www.domestic-waterfowl.co.uk/mozzie.htm">Muscovy information </a>with pictures .Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6084795815866771947.post-59238429400307886562009-03-05T11:34:00.000+01:002009-03-05T11:58:58.592+01:00IN A BAR SOMEWHERE<div align="center">WHAT LOOKS LIKE A MAN.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">A bar somewhere.</div><div align="left">Crowds of cigarettes shouting and laughing,</div><div align="left">and booze burning brdges, building some others</div><div align="left">or just licking the lips of an empty shoreline.</div><div align="left">He, an uncanny Messiah, solitary,</div><div align="left">sits in a glass on the edge of life;</div><div align="left">listening to the sweet stench of voices</div><div align="left">and the record that slips on the turntable</div><div align="left">and the loud money waving goodbye</div><div align="left">and the world playing for time</div><div align="left">and the silence of his mind,</div><div align="left">and the silence, where it crawls, in between the noise.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sa-rEigzs2I/AAAAAAAAAQo/X7uFWhipBi4/s1600-h/CLF00190[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309650580165342050" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 113px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 170px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__6o5a_4eKE8/Sa-rEigzs2I/AAAAAAAAAQo/X7uFWhipBi4/s400/CLF00190%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div align="left">So he relaxes, deeper, protected</div><div align="left">by the glass walls in his hand,</div><div align="left">watching the sound of the evening</div><div align="left">in its delirium pass by.</div><div align="left">Through the glass, through the smoke,</div><div align="left">through the talking air on its nightly rounds,</div><div align="left">there, close to the fire, stands a man</div><div align="left">smiling: The father, dead from yesterday,</div><div align="left">grey teeth reflecting the flames' murmurs, appearing to speak.</div><div align="left">The son hears nothing from behind his walls,</div><div align="left">only sees the smiling man walk away</div><div align="left">in the passage of flames - the moment fades.</div><div align="left">A river takes to the roads where an age of ice</div><div align="left">marked out the channels he knows too well:</div><div align="left">at other times they are dry reaches</div><div align="left">that his face calls maturity, creating</div><div align="left">what looks like a man.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">written by my late husband Alex circa 1978 </div>Delphinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02608268258366892659noreply@blogger.com4