The theme for this week is Delta – where a river transitions into the ocean. I haven’t seen or photographed any literal deltas lately – maybe not ever – so I’ve been thinking about what a metaphorical delta might be.
I recently told one of my sons that I definitely didn’t want to buy another desk, because I had a perfectly good table I could use. But then someone donated this desk to the oppy/thrift store where I volunteer – and I changed my mind, even though I need to rearrange furniture in three rooms to make space for it. At the moment, this process is in transition -similar(ish) to a river making it’s way into the sea, there is a lot of chaos on the surface!
It’s going to be a lovely, calm room, once I get past the rough inter-tidal zone of working out where everything goes. Those green turtles came from Christmas crackers one year – almost every cracker held another turtle – surprise!
We’ve got a chance for some reflection this week, with the Photography Challenge theme of “mirror”. I have quite a few mirrors in my house – not because I am particularly fond of looking at myself, but because they bounce light around and make our small rooms seem bigger and lighter.I recently gathered five old ones to hang gallery-style above the mantelpiece in our tiny lounge room. This is “before”.. . while I was planning how to rearrange them all. My torso is visible reflected in one in the left-hand pic, while Morgen can be seen in the oval mirror sitting on the hearth.
In the redecorated room, fashionably pink, an old mirrored wardrobe door hangs on a wall – Juniper and her Tablet are reflected in it. I bought the lovely scented daffodils last Friday – the shop door was shut, but the bucket of flowers was outside…so I stuffed a quick note and the $6 under the door, and chose these beauties. They are a mirror of spring.
List-making is a time-honoured method of building a poem, and this poem is basically a list of attributes of a broken unhappy person – but, like Pandora’s box, there is Hope hidden at the bottom.
Cannot fill you in
Time to run away
Nothing defines you
Hours of madness
Joy & Woe
In the end
Quicksand to the neck
In the end
Something else begins
The first image is of Reedy Swamp (aptly named!) near Shepparton, and the other two are of the very broken old harmonium at my parent’s house. Mum would have liked to have had it restored, but Dad moved it outside when some decorating was being done, and that was the end of it as a musical instrument. Years later, it is a poetic ruin, covered in fallen leaves and sticks and slowly falling apart.
I love macro, I miss my old film camera and its set of macro lenses, but I still get as close as possible to things to capture details that might otherwise go unnoticed. The Weekly Photography Challenge this time is to share such images, and I have LOTS. But I’m restraining myself.
I work with textiles a lot – I crocheted the pink and green Soft Vessel and I seem to have a collection of ethnic textiles without even trying – the embroidery is on an Indian child’s garment. It needs some repairs, but is too lovely to throw away.
I took a photo of Matilda’s Daddy’s hand in mine about thirty five years ago, which I need to track down (and scan, since it’s on a slide/transparency) so I can put the two together.
The “love frame” pic is a detail of a random, chance pairing of things on my messy/creative work table. The cake stand is a mini one. I love coloured coloured glass, pink’n’orange is my favourite colour, and I’m quite keen on cake, so it definitely had to come to my house. It’s especially lovely with early winter sunshine to light it up. The ripples in the old shelf echo the fluted glass of the stand.
Curiously, when I went looking for images for this weeks Photography Challenge, the word in my head was “contrast”, not “opposites”. Almost the same, but not quite!
Is “spiky” the opposite of “pretty”? I’ll claim it is with these cacti – and the real ones are opposite of the crochet ones I made for my cactus-loving son, Simon. He grew the real ones when he was a school boy, planted a cactus patch, then left home for uni, leaving his cacti behind…He does come and clean it up when he can, but he lives at the opposite end of Australia from us, so not very often!
Here’s another “opposite” with crochet – a living tree’s smooth bark in contrast (I did it again!) with the textured yarn. The last pic is of regrowth on a eucalypt after fire went through months earlier – young growth being opposite of the dead burned roadside. We are getting lots of rain this winter (unlike last year), so that roadside is now lushly covered in green growing grasses.
It’s my middle son’s 35th birthday today, so it’s about 33 years since I wrote this – we were living in a suburb of Melbourne, next to a road reserve where wattle trees, dog roses and fennel grew wild. We walked along there twice a day in all weathers, escorting his big brother to his primary school.
Tristan trots along in the sunlit frosty morning,
All grey and brown like a small bird,
Clothing with fennel feathers the naked rose bushes,
His nose all rosy, oblivious of the cold.
He’s a bit younger in that pic than when I wrote the poem – all my photos from back then were slides, which are wonderful, but not easy to share when I only have a few minutes to spare, sadly. Now he’s a grown up with a child of his own, and a in a year or two, they’ll be able to go for glacially slow walks, studying nature and having fun.
This pic is from his 21st party – I converted that Something For Kate t-shirt into a cushion cover some time in those 14 years.
I saw a photo of a forget-me-not flower somewhere recently, and this old poem sprang into my mind, every word of it, so I thought I’d share it. It’s dated Dec 2 1971, so I wrote it nearly 45 years ago. The intent was rather romantic – I was 15 – and it was probably coloured by the novels I was reading back then. You might know the sort, they are all much the same, although the modern versions are -ahem- spicier. The heroine has mousy hair and a boyish figure. The guy has a chiseled jaw, piercing blue eyes and is older and in a position of power. She thinks she loathes him but is jealous of a glamorous lady in his life. They fight a bit, then something bad happens to her, and he has to admit he’s adored for from the moment he first saw her. End of story. (Sometimes they got married for some reason of convenience before he realises he adores her…) Mum claimed to read them for the scenery. I read them because they were there. Anyway, by some miracle, I think my teenage love poem transcends all that, and is actually pretty good.
‘Forget me not
For I have loved you;
Through all your dreaming hours:
To you I speak
Through these small flowers –
Blue and mauve and pink –
These three nostalgic words
Straight to your heart –
Despite the fact that forget-me-nots come up around my garden wherever they please (which is how they got the name), I couldn’t find any photos of them. Maybe I didn’t look hard/long enough, or maybe they are too common-or-garden to photograph. I do have the drawing that accompanies the poem in my old book, and I found this moody shadowy image and played with it until it took on some blue and mauve and pink colouring. I think it fits, and I like it a lot. Hope you do also!
The first photo is a vignette (ie collection of stuff) on my mantelpiece, which I think has a nostalgic romantic mood to match the poem too.It’s been rearranged since then…