Isn’t it odd?

Isn’t it odd how phrases from entertainment slip so easily into our collective psyche?  I used the phrase today ‘as high as an elephant’s eye’ to describe the alarming heights to which our lawn has grown and in saying that I suddenly fancied hearing the song that spawned these words for me – ‘Oh What A Beautiful Morning’.  I couldn’t have told you what musical it was from (‘Oklahoma’) yet I know this song so well from childhood.  I also realised today that I spookily seem to know the other songs from this musical incredibly well … well enough to mentally sing along.

I generally don’t like musicals, and nor did my parents, so I assume I saw this move once, maybe twice as a child on BBC Sunday afternoon viewing.  Maybe what made the songs so memorable back then is the exact same feeling I get now watching this compilation: Doesn’t vintage American country life look so ruddy wholesome?  Don’t you just want to step into that world?

Go on – get lost …. in that idyllic world…

…………………………………

Apropos of nothing, other than I read this only a couple of days ago and feel I have to share it:

All photographer friends out there – have you seen the news that Photoshop in its hard copy form is being discontinued?  Oh sure, you can subscribe on a monthly basis to a Cloud version but you will no longer own a copy of the program.   I don’t know about you but it strikes me that monthly subscriptions to the ‘world and his wife’ are the quickest way to lose track of finances and get into debt…. especially if the monthly subscription is Adobe’s proposed $50.  This drastic change seems destined to cut out the little people once and for all and I, for one, am pi$$ed.

Looking at the Stars*

If you listen to the lyrics of the song below, you realise that it’s not necessarily all happy-clappy and yet the music and tempo ultimately sells a feeling of hope and happiness.  When and how did we swap to the awful reality of  lyrics reflecting gang warfare and songs that so roundly demean women.

Yes, everything is cyclical and it does remind me of those horribly depressing movies of the early 1960s, when it seemed that showing the grubby and depressing side of life was considered artistically de rigueur.  Every time I think of these movies I think of Rita Tushingham, such was the scar one particular movie left on my very young mind.  I found, and still find that kind of entertainment hugely depressing and try to avoid it like the plague.  To mis-quote my father-in-law:  ” life is full of hell, I know life is full of hell because I’ve lived it – I don’t need to be fed it as popular entertainment’.

It begs the questions (again) : What is art? Should art always make you think? Or can art simply be something to lift the spirit of humanity?  For me, it can sometimes be the third alone and I must admit, I do miss that bolt hole from the harsh realities of life.

Source: youtube.com via Jayne on Pinterest

* ‘We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars’ ~ Oscar Wilde

Pareidolia…and a brain that just won’t STFU

pareidolia  (ˌpæraɪˈdəʊlɪə)

- n,  the imagined perception of a pattern or meaning where it does not actually exist, as in considering the moon to have human features

(They look to me as if they’re reminiscing about something)

Apropos of nothing at all, do you have an undermining/know-it-all voice in your head that simply won’t STFU? I do. I say things to people and as I’m saying them the know-it-all (KIA) is contradicting and questioning me.

‘Should you really have said that? Won’t she be thinking you’re just weird now?’

Case in point:  I was at the supermarket pre 9 o’clock the other morning.  We were having a mini-heatwave, with temperatures to rival Barbados, and as the doctor has advised me to try not to get too hot I thought it wise to knock the grocery shopping on the head really early on and then relax in the relative cool at home.  The checkout girl knows me well and I happened to mention my master plan for shopping early and then ‘vegging out all day’. As those words tripped off my tongue the KIA went into full swing:

‘Now she thinks you’re lazy and anyway, that wasn’t very subtle – she has to work all day.’

You know what they say about people talking to themselves.  Well I’ve been doing it for years.

Curious

So here’s a little of the S.P. around here recently:

I’ve been silent on my blog because I’m going through a sustained period of ‘hermitude’ (new word …but you know what I mean, right)? It’s not unusual for me to mentally retreat from the world occasionally but it’s never been for as long as now.  So what’s all that about?  I’m not depressed, just feeling uncommunicative.

I’ve also been fixated on crochet since Christmas, making project after project and maybe that has drained all creativity in other areas of my life but I’m bothered by how little my photography is inspiring me right now.  Photography has sustained me and so often given me joy in recent years that it seems a shame to have it suddenly fall by the wayside like this. I simply don’t have the urge to be out there taking photos and when I look back on the vast majority of what I’ve taken, I’m frankly underwhelmed.  I see the lovely images taken by internet friends, their inevitable and constant improvement as they practise their art but me?  …I feel I’ve been at a standstill for a long time now and don’t know how to improve things.  I also wonder, after all this time and all this practise, why too many of my images are little more than snapshots, only of passing interest to me or my family.

I’m curious: Why the need for such sustained ‘hermitudedness’ and silence?  Why the self-doubt?   Why the lack of enthusiasm for something that I know in my heart that I still love?  Why can’t I just lighten up and enjoy the fact of taking photos, even if they are snapshots, and not constantly compare myself (always unfavourably) to others?  Why must so much of my life be turned into a sub-conscious competition in which I am the unwilling participant and inevitable runner-up?  Give it a rest girl ….!

Then there is the curious and sad tale of the disappearance of our cat ‘Bo‘.  In the past she has gone on a walkabout, only very occasionally, for a period of 3 days.  A couple of weeks ago she disappeared and day 3 passed, then day 4…and day 5…and by the evening of day 5 I was beside myself with worry.  My daughter came and walked all around the roads where we live, asking the neighbours she bumped into if they’d seen her, but no – nothing.  The next day we canvassed the entire area, knocking on doors and leaving ‘Missing Cat’ notices in letterboxes.  In the evening we were out at dusk, searching, and I was yelling her name into the wind as loud as I could.  Still nothing and by this time the weather was shaping up to take a turn for the worse.  The next day my husband was out for almost two hours (in the rain), checking in fields, along the grass verges that line the roads, in the thick undergrowth fringing the cliffs and along cliff paths.  After 7 days, there was the unspoken fear that she had been winged by a car and he was looking for a body.  What I also hadn’t voiced however was that in my head constantly from day 5 was the possibility that she could have chased a rabbit down a rabbit hole and now be stuck and dying slowly of starvation.  I just couldn’t get that hideous image out of my head, couldn’t concentrate on anything else and was regularly crying when alone.

On day 8 she turned up, mid-morning, looking unhurt and really quite well.  I think I spooked her by my semi-hysterical greeting and tears of joy.  I don’t know where she had been but the only lasting effect seems to be that she’s very nervous, wants to be close to us constantly and sometimes calls to us until she hears our voices.

I’m curious here therefore:  Why did my brain so quickly go to the blackest possible place and become so fixated on the worst case scenario?  That also begs a constant question I’ve had in my life which is how can I control the faulty  faucets that are situated behind both my eyeballs?   It was bad enough before but an unfortunate lingering effect of my stroke is that my emotions have been heightened still further (if that was even possible).

Gah...I’m such fun to be around.

Anyone with answers to these questions – please pop them on a postcard and send them to me at: Happy Acres Rest & Care Facility, Hermitville, UK.

Fairytale Dopplegangers

Doing the rounds here is an email that shows some interesting fairytale doppelgängers.  Is this for real, or is someone being a bit of a smart alec with Photoshop?  Anyway, it made me smile:

See?  …Sometimes fairytales do come true.  (Oops, sorry B and E)!

BTW, forgive me if you’ve already heard this… Beatrice has put that hat on ebay, the proceeds going to UNICEF – a very worthy cause.  Bidding started at a minimum of £5,000 yesterday and those with a few thousand to spare (not me) have until the 22nd May to snap up this piece of royal memorabilia.

Heaven on Earth

 

Dusk is one of my favourite times to be at the beach, especially at the end of a busy day.  Stay until all have gone home, sit on sand that has been warmed for hours by the hot sun, enjoy the sound of waves gently lapping on the seashore and silently watch the setting sun. I defy you not to have deep, philosophical thoughts. Our world at its magical best and for me? Just heaven.

Photo watermarked using

Whatever Next?

Have you ever seen TV footage of old folks homes where they are singing along, and sometimes dancing, to old favourites from their particular relevant era?  For a long, long time it seemed to me that here in the UK an awful lot of mileage was squeezed out of Flanagan & Allen’s ‘Underneath the Arches’.  Time moves on however and not to put too fine a point on it, people die, so that Messrs. Flanagan & Allen no longer had very much significance to the bulk of the new batch of retirees/elderly.  I recently saw a particular piece of film footage showing a retirement home where Frank Sinatra and Bobby Darren were now the artistes of choice.  It’s good to see that things have finally moved on but also kind of alarming to me that I too like these songs.  (I guess old age is closer than you think)!

I’ve often wondered, and it made me think again: What music would they play for me in my dotage?  To be honest, my music taste is so widespread, so eclectic and covers such a large time span that it could be anything from T Rex to Michael Jackson right up to a smattering of music from the present day. There is a lot of music that is relevant to me, some conjuring up interesting visions in the future of the old folks home with geriatrics gyrating and singing along.  Frankly, some songs might have to be banned on health and safety grounds – I can imagine the thumping, catchy beats causing a few slipped discs in over-enthusiastic pensioners (like me). 

Here’s the thing though, is it just me or do you find that, particularly in recent years, music has rapidly descended further into the gutter, an unhealthy proportion of it being hate-filled and full of misery?  So what will subsequent generations to me be singing and bopping along to?  50 Cent?  Ke$ha?  Now that’s something to really mess with your mind.  

Thinking about who I’d like to be listening to prompted me to put together this short Marc Bolan tribute – I think this is who I’ll be voting for as a regular fixture at my weekly tea dance.  Won’t you join me for a little turn around the dance floor?

Sweet Summer of ’72

It’s raining today so I’ve been loading some of my old photos to Flickr and Red Bubble here.  This is one of my favourites, taken when I was in California in 1972 on a beach somewhere between Carmel and Monterey. It appeals to me because it reflects gentle innocence.  The child is buck naked.  That’s not something you’d see too often now because of concerns about weirdos and pervs around every corner. 

I’ve also been looking at how that beach quickly shelves just in front of the toddler, and now that I’m older I know that this area of coastline is home to many, many seals … and many, many seals = shark food (i.e., there is a thriving shark population here).

I’ll let you into another secret … just yards away from Mum and babe was some kind of small outlet pipe.  I’d like to think that it was for rain water but back in the ’70s it wasn’t uncommon for houses to empty out their waste water directly into the sea.  

I bet that’s just ruined your enjoyment of the innocent idyll.  I should really have just kept schtoom, now shouldn’t I?

Photo watermarked using

My New Car

I couldn’t resist it – those beautiful sleek lines, that elegant, palest of pale powder blues and a soft top – just what I want for the summer.  Go on…ask me what it is.  It’s an Aston Martin.  An Aston Martin DB 9 Vantage thingamy.  Doh!  Oh, you got me.  No sadly it’s not my new car.   We went along yesterday to see the soopa doopa new Aston Martin One77, so named because it costs one million Pounds and only 77 will be made (and there have already been in excess of 250 enquiries). 

Many of us went along to the event yesterday armed with cameras, lots of posing was done with, around and in all the luxury cars that were there but my sad offering of The Showstopper (the One77) is this:

You can find better pictures of the One77 here. 

I’m not a ‘car person’ you see and I have this theory that most of us only photograph well what we truly love.  I can appreciate good design but, for me, the One77 was shouting a little too loudly ’look at me’ in a very testosterone filled way.  A fine piece of design but not my cup of tea, even if I did have a million Pounds to throw at a car.  

So I had a good time looking at the cars, certainly loved the more understated charm of the powder blue beauty, but I’m not heartbroken that I can’t afford any of them. For now, at least, my Smartie remains my mode of transport.  She’s my Polly Pocket car and she’ll even take her top down if asked nicely. ;)

By the way: Why do people stand around looking under the bonnet at car engines?  Yet when a car breaks down, none of us have a clue what to do!

Photos watermarked using

Feeling … delicate

Maybe it’s from a lot of poor sleep, fighting off another cold. Maybe it’s my Cancerian/ruled by the moon thing of feeling particularly sensitive close to a full moon.   (It’s a biggie at the end of this week –  the moon is unusually close to the earth so watch for very high tides…and teary, emotional Cancerians). Maybe it’s both of those, coupled with my usual empathy for anyone suffering. From Friday last week I emotionally plummeted (well, no surprises there then).

I stress however, I am not depressed – just … feeling delicate and feeling, to a large extent, the need to be alone with my thoughts..  I’m being made aware every time I turn on the news of just how lucky I am.  Whilst others have lost everything, my ‘big news’ is the arrival of a new lens.  Wow.  But it made me feel happy and  in a child-like state of enthusiasm I put it on the camera body and started snapping ‘Miss Boo’  beside me, without checking any ISOs, f.stops, apertures or any of the other paraphernalia that makes for a technically ‘good’ photo.   

What I got was blurry and all the rest of it but you know what?  I realised that this captured today.  It’s a moment in time, a moment when I felt happy and Miss Boo was happy and relaxed too, and my personal world was safe and…just right.   Given the last few years, that felt particularly good.  So that’s what made me think of writing here:

It doesn’t matter that my photos are out of focus – when I look at this I’ll enjoy the memory of the here and now. 

So I’m posting this silly post- with the photographic message that even ‘bad’ shots may be worth holding on to, and the rather more important reminder that although the here and now may not be perfect in your world, find the good and hold on to it.