tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41875374045764782342024-03-13T18:37:42.022+00:00Writing from the EdgeLorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.comBlogger225125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-25093728063488758572019-01-20T23:00:00.002+00:002019-01-20T23:03:44.000+00:00Ropes Let Down to the LostI went down to the sea late this afternoon. The sun was setting in pools of pink gold behind me, but as I walked around the headland, the sky was a wash of early evening blues and greys and lavender, hazed with clouds, and with a vast moon rising: luminous, silver-gilt, almost full. The mountains behind the bay just lightly sketched - mist on mist.
The sea itself was pale, the way it goes at duskLorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-89502074622013678262019-01-01T15:12:00.000+00:002019-01-01T16:38:35.936+00:00New Year's Day
We went down to the sea this morning. I say that as if it were a rare occurrence, when actually we go down to the sea most days - drawn inexorably to the water, to the inimitable smell of salt and seaweed like lemmings.
It was the softest of mornings, drippingly soft, shroud-grey enveloping mizzle.
Surprisingly beautiful.
The dogs didn't even notice the wet. They rarely do.
But Tizzy, the Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-38024669241782537452016-05-07T15:10:00.000+01:002016-05-07T15:10:40.447+01:00Veiled with GhostsIt is my favourite time of year. Fleeting, but so beautiful.
The
woods are filling up with drifts of bluebells again, but they are full
of ghosts too, each morning as I walk through them in wind, or rain or
dappled sunlight.
People and dogs and places that I can no longer reach out and touch.
The gradual veiling of our lives that happens, I suppose, to all of us.
I wrote this piece some yearsLorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-60285688315622422672016-04-17T19:05:00.000+01:002016-04-17T19:11:30.245+01:00One Household Name to EraseNot long ago, on Countryfile - a favourite Sunday evening programme about life and work in the British countryside - a small article in the programme showed the 'new' Boots the Chemist factory. Bizarrely, I felt a small inner glow - that warm kind of feeling generated by safe, familiar, homely things. Not about the ultra-modern state-of-the-art factory, but about Boots itself.
Who Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-50854625503858510672016-02-02T23:47:00.000+00:002016-02-02T23:56:11.953+00:00Candlemas Snowdrops
'The Snowdrop, in purest white array, First rears her head on Candlemas day'
Folklore, an Old Rhyme
Snowdrops and Violets by Eva Francis (c) Rochdale Arts and Heritage Service; Supplied by the Public Catalogue Foundation
Today is Candlemas, inextricably tied up with snowdrops in my head - one of my favourite flowers. There were often called Candlemas Lilies or Candlemas Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-83602353043490796642016-01-31T17:42:00.000+00:002016-01-31T18:54:33.956+00:00Reading Week: Being Mortal, Bees, Meadowland and Gods in Ruins
Lady in the Mirror by Harold Dunbar
The In-Charge tells me that I'm not very good at taking time off.
He has always had the knack of pacing himself. He does a job and when he gets tired, he stops and does something else. Later on, he goes back to job A.
How enviable that is.
How sickening.
The thing is, my To Do List is endless, so I throw myself at things like a headless chicken, and if -Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-78293980286361212702016-01-28T17:50:00.001+00:002016-01-28T17:50:05.136+00:00Challenge? You've 10 Trillion to DinnerI'm not much of a scientist. When I was at school (back on Noah's Ark), Science wasn't a collective subject, there was Physics, Chemistry and Biology and they were three separate things.
I loved Physics. Miss Alfred, a young black woman, was an inspirational teacher, and had I stayed in the West Indies, perhaps the whole path of my life would have been different. Perhaps I would have grown up to Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-51341523332168535402016-01-10T18:56:00.000+00:002016-01-10T19:39:21.973+00:00Nollaig na mBan and Other Seasonal TraditionsThe Hunt is in the village today.
Sometimes we hear the hollow clopping of hooves on the bridge, or the steady beat of them streaming up the road, excited yelping, the sonorous call of the horn.
They are all very smartly turned out in their dark coats, the odd flash, here and there of a scarlet collar (or should that be pink?), the horses splendid, the hounds seemingly oblivious of anyone but theLorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-83426121346963420582016-01-03T18:45:00.000+00:002016-01-03T23:36:52.816+00:00Christmas and the Mystery of the Missing Spoons
We had some friends over for supper on Boxing Day - or Stephen's Day as I always forget to call it.
It was a lovely, informal evening of food and wine and chat.
#2 Son was home for Christmas, and as he is an excellent cook, I was only too delighted to have him help with all the preparations. He made some lovely baby peppers stuffed with a spicy cous-cous, feta, mushroom and Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-11962447016256967192015-12-13T18:07:00.000+00:002015-12-14T16:36:07.376+00:00Merry Christmas, Belfast!
A window in City Hall
I've been dodging the rain recently - if at all possible.
I was back in Suffolk, visiting my folks, where it is notoriously dry compared with the rest of the British Isles. While I was there, the In-Charge was nearly washed - and blown - away here on the west coast. I ended up staying on in the UK for an extra few days, not as a deluge-avoidance tactic, but because my Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-36171449148480416582015-12-05T18:29:00.001+00:002015-12-05T18:29:16.879+00:00The Ghost of Christmas PresentWe're Country Hicks these days, the In-Charge and I.
It wasn't always thus - back in the day, we were happy-go-lucky Londoners, but these years there's a good bit of straw in the auld hair and heaven knows what on the boots.
But recently we threw some vaguely respectable duds in the back of the car and headed to Dublin for a couple of days.
Listening to some radio show en route, I instantly Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-16558131560795288762015-11-15T18:01:00.000+00:002015-11-16T00:17:28.393+00:00You Have Been LovedShe came to us back in the summer of 2000.
I think I remember the date so easily because, not only was it Millennium Year, but also, most of my family were visiting from the UK to celebrate my parents 50th Wedding Anniversary.
The circumstances of how she came were unusual enough to need no aide-memoire.
Three little boys, classmates of my sons, rang the front door bell.
'Is this your kitten?' Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-2240271427215685782015-11-09T19:04:00.001+00:002015-11-10T19:46:30.712+00:00Sicily: Hot on the Heels of MontalbanoItaly 5
The main reason we wanted to visit Sicily was because - some years ago - we fell in love with Inspector Montalbano.
I know - I know - his fans are multitudinous, but we couldn't help ourselves.
And strictly speaking, I fell in love with Inspector Montalbano, the In-Charge just fell in love with the series.
Many a Saturday night we'd happily stay in with Il Commissario - Il Dottore - Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-25729449938943030982015-11-05T18:57:00.002+00:002015-11-11T18:16:41.430+00:00Tango-ing to MessinaItaly 4
We drove the length of the Calabrian coast after leaving the glorious cliff-top towns, hairpin bends and incredible views of Amalfi.
It was a lovely journey.
I'd looked for a place to stay half way to the toe of Italy, and came up with Maratea, a tiny seaside town that the Romans have taken to, apparently, as a weekend retreat.
I'm not surprised. It was just what we were looking for.
Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-2844059352020989982015-11-02T18:37:00.000+00:002015-11-11T18:17:09.828+00:00Amalfi: The Road More Travelled
Italy 3
It was stunning, the Amalfi Coast.
It seems that everyone thinks it's stunning, so all in all I'm glad we weren't there in July.
It's probably like the M25. Or the Ring of Kerry on super-steroids.
Every hairpin bend brings another wonderful view. Buildings perched on sheer mountain sides, rocky peaks towering above, boats strewn haphazardly on a jewel coloured sea far below.
It's Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-51228678135277603132015-10-30T18:58:00.001+00:002015-11-11T18:17:34.631+00:00Sipping Limoncello in SorrentoItaly 2
We had planned to stop in some lovely part of Naples for breakfast, but it was not to be.
By the time we'd crawled through the melee of me-first mopeds and cars that constitute the morning rush hour, Napoli, that 'beautiful woman in a dirty dress' had lost her allure and we just wanted to hit the road south.
When Vesuvius eventually loomed up reassuringly on our left hand side, we Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-66245767301537501732015-10-26T19:00:00.000+00:002015-11-11T18:18:40.017+00:00See Naples and DieItaly 1
It doesn't really seem possible, but it's a month ago today that we returned from Italy.
We came home to blue skies and balmy stillness and have been cocooned in blissful warmth ever since. It has elongated our holiday beyond all imagining, and - according to our local postmaster, 'broken the back of winter'. I hope he's right.
But our weather extension came to a sudden end last week Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-61233372092046771682015-10-20T18:59:00.000+01:002015-10-21T23:24:46.543+01:00A FuneralThis morning I was at the funeral of a friend's husband who died, very suddenly, last Friday.
I don't know how many times I woke up last night, her face in my mind, her loss heavy on me, like too many blankets.
The funeral might have been sooner, possibly, but their beautiful younger son was abroad with his school, and had to be fetched home. A shocking and tragic way for his exchange trip to Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-56594688809352787112015-10-17T18:21:00.000+01:002015-10-17T18:35:44.743+01:00A Gold Medal at Bloom for WB YeatsBLOOM - The Final!
When you get behind with something, it becomes ever harder to spur yourself into catching up.
I seem to be suffering quite badly this year with un-catch-up-ability.
My garden has gone to rack and ruin, my house looks like Miss Haversham's, and my blog feels largely abandoned.
But recently I had an email from Bloom, asking if I'd like to submit a design for next year's Show.Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-41936040024496659072015-10-04T18:52:00.000+01:002015-10-05T15:38:33.764+01:00Farewell, My Lovely
Pixie learning about cuddles
Long years ago, I was the Editor of a magazine here in the North West, Editor being a euphemistic term as I wrote 90% of the content and most of the ads.
The magazine's office moved from here to there and back again. In 2009 it occupied the ground floor of an old house in Sligo town, its back rooms overlooking a wilderness that might once have been a small Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-78218473640016841582015-09-05T23:17:00.000+01:002015-09-06T16:12:13.013+01:00Refugees
Pic via Avril Sims
I've been watching the TV coverage of refugees arriving in Europe.
Like everyone else, I was silenced, brought to my knees by the picture of little Aylan Kurdi's body, washed up on a Greek beach a few days ago.
I cannot even imagine what it must be like to flee from my home, taking only what I could carry in my arms, whilst trying to protect those I hold most dear, and Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-25526600642141201342015-08-29T18:53:00.003+01:002015-08-29T18:53:50.875+01:00The Lake Isle of Innisfree GardenBloom
The Yeats garden I designed for Bloom was based on his poem 'The Lake Isle of Innifree'.
It had to be. It is, possibly, WB's best known poem, but more importantly, it's the only one about a garden.
To be brutally honest, I don't think Yeats was much of a gardener.
Maybe I'm wrong, but he strikes me as being someone who thought great thoughts and spent a good bit of time shaping them intoLorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-53847812825368100632015-08-26T15:04:00.000+01:002015-08-26T15:04:04.985+01:00Pudding Row Posies
It's Wednesday today. My elder brother's birthday, as it happens, but closer to home, it is Flower Day.
A lovely girl - a contemporary of my two sons - has returned to the area and opened a café in the village. It is delightfully called Pudding Row and, although I have not yet sampled any puddings, her bread and jam - both homemade - are dangerously good. We dropped in late one afternoon andLorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-61212005659703920162015-08-15T19:43:00.000+01:002015-08-26T15:06:25.862+01:00Swanning Off to Meet PrincesIt's August. It's pouring with rain and I'm not doing the things I should be doing.
Instead I've logged onto my blog, although I almost can't remember how...
I haven't been here since May. Time closed in on me back then, and swallowed me up.
I'm still trying to burrow out.
But it's been an exciting few months, and I'd like to try and catch up, if I can.
Never go back, they say.
There may be Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4187537404576478234.post-4795788272141311092015-05-14T20:01:00.000+01:002015-05-14T20:29:03.596+01:00The Park is BloomingBloom 9
I know it seems ridiculous, but I haven't had time to think since I last wrote anything here.
The days have telescoped into one long Bloom-bound roller coaster.
It's exhausting - but fun.
I'm actually living up in Dublin now, in a B&B just outside the gates of Phoenix Park.
I may never go home again. I have fallen totally in love with the park
It is a pleasure, going to work - Lorely Forresterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01055051415631750885noreply@blogger.com1