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I have had a good and a constructive Saturday, and a slightly less constructive Sunday.
Saturday, I ran the washing machine, had croissants, nectarines and decent coffee for breakfast, did some random shopping, had lunch out, did some more sorting and tidying at home, cleaned the bathroom, had a nice cool shower and a good supper, watched "Serenity" and went to bed.
Today I completely failed to do a software-related thing online that involves knowing what you are doing and what software you're running. I am a pig-ignorant hick and know neither, so I got nowhere. Then I had a long depressing telephone conversation with my mother, who is having some very unpleasant leg problems, and after a late lunch came a somewhat better afternoon. I stuck my creative cap on and hauled it down firmly over my ears, and got some writing done. Not very much (maybe 1500 words in the end) but that's a lot more than nowt. I also mucked about on tumblr and facebook and looked through Fantastic Mrs Fox's lovely photos of the Chap Olympiad (which looks a lot more fun than the real thing, I must say). And now I'm off to bed again.
Shiny.
Showing posts with label my mum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my mum. Show all posts
Sunday, 13 July 2014
Monday, 17 June 2013
Wouldn't it bee wonderful...
I just spent the weekend at my mother's, down in Kent. We didn't do much - talk, have lunch out, that sort of thing. This afternoon when the weather suddenly brightened up we got in about 1 1/2 hours gardening.
I hope I burned off a few calories; I certainly give my back a bit of exercise. I took on the very bend-and-snap job of cutting back the vast amount of golden rod that was overwhelming her gooseberry bushes.
I got thoroughly scratched by the gooseberries, ungrateful brutes that they are; but there should now be an adequate circulation of air, and a good deal more light, getting in around them; which in turn should mean all those little hard green berries like amazonite beads will be able to ripen and be gorgeous sour-sweet goosegogs, instead of falling off and getting lost in the undergrowth.
Later, we were sitting peacefully on the bench at the back of her house, looking down the garden and chatting, when I suddenly noticed an enormous quanitity of insects dancing, quite high up and about a hundred yards or so away. I remember thinking how early in the year it was to have so many mosquitoes. But just a few minutes later we realised it was in fact an enormous cloud of bees.
They were coming closer quite fast; by the time we'd commented on them and stood up to get a clearer view, the buzzing was like a crowd of engines approaching. Common sense kicked in and we went indoors, and watched through binoculars as they came right in to the garden, descending slowly to bunch up in the area of the bigger of the two cypresses. It looked strangely as though they were settling. After a few minutes I got curious, and since they weren't flying so widely anymore I went out again. To my surprise I found I could barely hear them; but when I got closer, I saw why. They had indeed settled, in a huge throbbing mass on one of the cypress branches. It was unmistakably a swarm.
The rest of the evening was spent trying to track down a local bee-keeper, which is one of the odder things I've done in my time. Just before I had to leave for my train we managed to raise one on the phone; but she was in Thanet and didn't really want to drive over to Canterbury in the dusk. She reassured Mum that the bees would probably stay put for the night now, and gave her the contact details of another bee-keeper who lived a bit closer. When I got back to London, and rang to say I was home safe, I learned that number two bee-keeper had put Mum in touch with yet another, who was looking for new bees; and he is coming over tomorrow morning to collect them. Apparently he said "Oh, I'll just knock them off and put them in a cardboard box", an image which has got my poor mother just a touch squeaky. I'd never realised before, but she isn't too keen on bees.
So, one small addition to the bee population of east Kent will be leaving their wild youth and entering the professional arena tomorrow, by the sounds of it. And Mum will not have to worry about them any more.
The swarm was really very beautiful; in the air, they were dramatic and furious, like a sandstorm of honeybees, and once they'd found the cypress they all packed in very tightly, and stopped flying and buzzing almost completely. The last thing I saw they had formed into a seething, scrambling mass of golden furry bodies, all clinging together in a sort of melted-ice-cream shape, hanging off the branch.
All rather exciting, anyway. But back to work and normal life tomorrow.
I hope I burned off a few calories; I certainly give my back a bit of exercise. I took on the very bend-and-snap job of cutting back the vast amount of golden rod that was overwhelming her gooseberry bushes.
I got thoroughly scratched by the gooseberries, ungrateful brutes that they are; but there should now be an adequate circulation of air, and a good deal more light, getting in around them; which in turn should mean all those little hard green berries like amazonite beads will be able to ripen and be gorgeous sour-sweet goosegogs, instead of falling off and getting lost in the undergrowth.
Later, we were sitting peacefully on the bench at the back of her house, looking down the garden and chatting, when I suddenly noticed an enormous quanitity of insects dancing, quite high up and about a hundred yards or so away. I remember thinking how early in the year it was to have so many mosquitoes. But just a few minutes later we realised it was in fact an enormous cloud of bees.
They were coming closer quite fast; by the time we'd commented on them and stood up to get a clearer view, the buzzing was like a crowd of engines approaching. Common sense kicked in and we went indoors, and watched through binoculars as they came right in to the garden, descending slowly to bunch up in the area of the bigger of the two cypresses. It looked strangely as though they were settling. After a few minutes I got curious, and since they weren't flying so widely anymore I went out again. To my surprise I found I could barely hear them; but when I got closer, I saw why. They had indeed settled, in a huge throbbing mass on one of the cypress branches. It was unmistakably a swarm.
The rest of the evening was spent trying to track down a local bee-keeper, which is one of the odder things I've done in my time. Just before I had to leave for my train we managed to raise one on the phone; but she was in Thanet and didn't really want to drive over to Canterbury in the dusk. She reassured Mum that the bees would probably stay put for the night now, and gave her the contact details of another bee-keeper who lived a bit closer. When I got back to London, and rang to say I was home safe, I learned that number two bee-keeper had put Mum in touch with yet another, who was looking for new bees; and he is coming over tomorrow morning to collect them. Apparently he said "Oh, I'll just knock them off and put them in a cardboard box", an image which has got my poor mother just a touch squeaky. I'd never realised before, but she isn't too keen on bees.
So, one small addition to the bee population of east Kent will be leaving their wild youth and entering the professional arena tomorrow, by the sounds of it. And Mum will not have to worry about them any more.
The swarm was really very beautiful; in the air, they were dramatic and furious, like a sandstorm of honeybees, and once they'd found the cypress they all packed in very tightly, and stopped flying and buzzing almost completely. The last thing I saw they had formed into a seething, scrambling mass of golden furry bodies, all clinging together in a sort of melted-ice-cream shape, hanging off the branch.
All rather exciting, anyway. But back to work and normal life tomorrow.
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
First frost, more writing, & a diet idea
Yes, you did read that right. A diet idea. Stop press: Fat girl has diet idea. Well f*ck me for a blue strawberry.
I read recently that people who have a seriously restricted calorie intake for two days in each week tend to lose a respectable amount of weight and decrease their chances of developing type 2 diabetes by around a third. The rest of the time, they can eat and drink as normal, and that is why this strikes me as the perfect diet for me to try. I eat fairly healthily, apart from my sweet tooth and penchant for alcohol (oh, and I do like my cheese). I just eat too much (& have said penchants).
So I am giving this plan a try. Announcing it like this is intended to make it stick - now my sense of public shame will fuel the desire to eat bugger-all but salad two days a week. Watch this space. See if I last a month...
Meanwhile; I had a good weekend at my mum's - shopping, lunching out and gardening. I'm now behind on my cleaning, clothes-washing and grocery-shopping, and it took me until this morning to get the dirt out from under my fingernails (good garden dirt, this is!), but I can handle that.
I've now blown up another bit of the Droit Institute and injured one of the Evil Bad Guy's cohorts. My heroine is reeling about in shock and the hero is still busy digging himself and his companion out of the rubble. The dénouement has been slow coming, but it is coming, and I'm beginning to get excited about revisions. This is an odd state of affairs, I have to say. Normally I hate revision with a passion. But this has come out like turning on a tap, and as it has flowed I've found it developed and changed shape, and I've seen things more clearly; so that now, approaching the end, I've got a list of points I need to wiggle in earlier. Have a scene where x happens; have a scene where A discusses B with C so that we know more about C; make sure D mentions y and z in his talk to the students... But I won't let myself write any of this until I've finished the main narrative. It just doesn't feel right; also I don't want to stymie the flow when I don't yet have a completed story.
I've been lucky with this one. It had an odd genesis. I'd had a vague idea in my mind for ages, but with no plot to speak of. I'd had two names - Anna Maple, Thorn Reynolds - and no idea who they were or what they would do, except that they would feature in this vague-idea-no-plot story. The I went to the cinema, and came out with them sitting in my mind saying "Hey, here we are, this is what happens to us! Write it now, please!" and I sat on the bus scribbling on a bit of scrap paper and grinning like an idiot. All jokes about lust and chestnut purée aside, I actually owe Jeremy Renner a debt, since it was seeing "The Avengers", and specifically discovering him, that set me off. Thorn acquired a face. Bizarrely, Anna immediately acquired a face too (& her face was a completely new one to me, which is odd). And there they were; not two names, but two people.
The moment I can really see a character they start to come real; once they get a face I'm able to get going. It's as if I get them inside me (ahem) - I can feel their muscles imprinted on mine, if you know what I mean. That does sound kinky; sorry. But that's how it is, that's how my creativity works for me. I know where they grew up, what they eat, what their handwriting is like... As soon as he had a face I knew Thorn was allergic to chocolate, that he was a good swimmer, that he was left-handed... I knew how Anna would hide her amulet, and where she worked and lived, and what had happened to her brother...
It was the first frost last night, too. Walking into work my feet were crunching on crisp white-edged leaves. The sky was a clear, hard blue like an enamel glaze; all the autumn trees glowed golden and red around the Green. It was beautiful - and decidedly cold. But now it has clouded over and outside the window it just looks grey and muted, and dismally about-to-rain-ish. Oh well, we can't have it all. I've just been reminded by a friend who lives in southern California that she never gets any Fall to speak of at all, and that is a sad thought. No scarlet autumn leaves to kick through, no bright frost, no cold blue skies; no sudden gales, no soft silent November rains... So I will remind myself again to cherish what I have and appreciate all its beauties, even the muted grey ones.
I read recently that people who have a seriously restricted calorie intake for two days in each week tend to lose a respectable amount of weight and decrease their chances of developing type 2 diabetes by around a third. The rest of the time, they can eat and drink as normal, and that is why this strikes me as the perfect diet for me to try. I eat fairly healthily, apart from my sweet tooth and penchant for alcohol (oh, and I do like my cheese). I just eat too much (& have said penchants).
So I am giving this plan a try. Announcing it like this is intended to make it stick - now my sense of public shame will fuel the desire to eat bugger-all but salad two days a week. Watch this space. See if I last a month...
Meanwhile; I had a good weekend at my mum's - shopping, lunching out and gardening. I'm now behind on my cleaning, clothes-washing and grocery-shopping, and it took me until this morning to get the dirt out from under my fingernails (good garden dirt, this is!), but I can handle that.
I've now blown up another bit of the Droit Institute and injured one of the Evil Bad Guy's cohorts. My heroine is reeling about in shock and the hero is still busy digging himself and his companion out of the rubble. The dénouement has been slow coming, but it is coming, and I'm beginning to get excited about revisions. This is an odd state of affairs, I have to say. Normally I hate revision with a passion. But this has come out like turning on a tap, and as it has flowed I've found it developed and changed shape, and I've seen things more clearly; so that now, approaching the end, I've got a list of points I need to wiggle in earlier. Have a scene where x happens; have a scene where A discusses B with C so that we know more about C; make sure D mentions y and z in his talk to the students... But I won't let myself write any of this until I've finished the main narrative. It just doesn't feel right; also I don't want to stymie the flow when I don't yet have a completed story.
I've been lucky with this one. It had an odd genesis. I'd had a vague idea in my mind for ages, but with no plot to speak of. I'd had two names - Anna Maple, Thorn Reynolds - and no idea who they were or what they would do, except that they would feature in this vague-idea-no-plot story. The I went to the cinema, and came out with them sitting in my mind saying "Hey, here we are, this is what happens to us! Write it now, please!" and I sat on the bus scribbling on a bit of scrap paper and grinning like an idiot. All jokes about lust and chestnut purée aside, I actually owe Jeremy Renner a debt, since it was seeing "The Avengers", and specifically discovering him, that set me off. Thorn acquired a face. Bizarrely, Anna immediately acquired a face too (& her face was a completely new one to me, which is odd). And there they were; not two names, but two people.
The moment I can really see a character they start to come real; once they get a face I'm able to get going. It's as if I get them inside me (ahem) - I can feel their muscles imprinted on mine, if you know what I mean. That does sound kinky; sorry. But that's how it is, that's how my creativity works for me. I know where they grew up, what they eat, what their handwriting is like... As soon as he had a face I knew Thorn was allergic to chocolate, that he was a good swimmer, that he was left-handed... I knew how Anna would hide her amulet, and where she worked and lived, and what had happened to her brother...
It was the first frost last night, too. Walking into work my feet were crunching on crisp white-edged leaves. The sky was a clear, hard blue like an enamel glaze; all the autumn trees glowed golden and red around the Green. It was beautiful - and decidedly cold. But now it has clouded over and outside the window it just looks grey and muted, and dismally about-to-rain-ish. Oh well, we can't have it all. I've just been reminded by a friend who lives in southern California that she never gets any Fall to speak of at all, and that is a sad thought. No scarlet autumn leaves to kick through, no bright frost, no cold blue skies; no sudden gales, no soft silent November rains... So I will remind myself again to cherish what I have and appreciate all its beauties, even the muted grey ones.
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