Passion flower

Treasure flower

Quote of the Day

"Anything too stupid to be said is sung" 

 

Voltaire (1694 - 1778)

 

Or in other words, really silly things sometimes sound beautiful when set to music.   

 

Saint of the Day: St. Theodotus(AD 303)

"When GK Chesterton wrote

'The righteous minds of innkeepers

Induce them now and then

To crack a bottle with a friend

Or treat unmoneyed me,'

he could have been referring to St. Theodotus." 

May 18 is apparently the feast day for saint and vintner St Theodotus who liked to nourish both the soul and the body apparently. 

Da bon bon bon

Just because there is a show this weekend, I have to include this little photo from Flintridge of Minks and Bonnie. 

Froozjen Gladje and I practised in the Equidome yesterday.  Lisa rather devilishly put the jumps up to what looked like four feet and although we sailed around (literally, weeeeeeeeeeeeee!) it did prove to me that I would probably scare myself to death doing the jumpers at that height after a year of nice sedate 3'3" medal classes.  But wow, what a rush! 

Friends, Romans

This was going to be a very positive post on a grey Friday morning but my computer has taken so long to boot up to this page that I stupidly took an annoying sales call from someone asking for Tow-Vay.  I should know better and just hang up immediately.  He annoyingly asked how to pronounce it and I thought to myself, why should I tell you, I don't even know you you are, it's the equivalent of a stranger walking in through my front door and then asking where he is.  I've often thought of changing my name to Elizabeth or Lavinia or Holly or something to make life easier.  One weird name is one thing, two is just a travesty.

I was going to say that it's the kind of grey morning that usually sends me spiralling into melancholy and histrionic misery but no!  Today, driving Minky and her ginormous representation of the roman baths in Bath to school, complete with mosaic tile and sequined pool and Ionic columns (who knew???), I listened the the new-ish Yusuf Islam album (Cat me old mate) which is sublime.  Some klunkers, a few naff numbers but basically, bloody brilliant.  We sang along into our makeshift microphones, as is our wont, on Laurel Canyon, not really caring what anyone else thought.

Minks and I finished cooking her ancient roman profiteroles masquerading as rock cakes (take your pick, Aunt Sally!), thirty eight of the little ricotta and flour buggers, each resting easily on a half bay leaf.  The recipe called for a weighted brick to be lain on them but all I had was the pizza stone and I could just imagine picking gluey burnt dough off the bottom of it for days after (I just got an email with the subject line: Sangiovese with Soul.  I kid you not.)  She will apparently half them (if the knife is strong enough) and drizzle them with mellis purus (honey) at school for her ravenous class to share.  We then moved on to the roman baths discovering a little late, thanks to the sardonic wit of her brother, that we'd gotten the wrong bloody columns.  "Never mind" I said in the most soothing voice I could muster "you'll definitely get points for creativity."  I gazed at the shimmering sea of large round sequins that any drag queen worth her salt would die for, and thought to myself, Bath would be happy to have half the glamour of this little maquette.  Next, an essay on the significance of the recent discovery of Herod's (yes that Herod) sarcophagus.  I went through every book in the house (including Gibson's The Decline of the Roman Empire for God's sake) searching for articles to back up her theories and found that we have quite an envious collection of reference books, including the New First Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, which is just about on my level.  To add to this mayhem, our printer will only print in ANY COLOR OTHER THAN BLACK so all essays came out in a rainbow of shades, just to keep the teacher guessing.  I crawled into bed exhausted at 11 wishing that I hadn't chosen this particular week to give up wine.

 

 

my blueberry nights
It's the first year that I read reports from Cannes, look at pictures from Jeffrey Well's blog of a dinner at Le Pizza, read Anne Thompson's coverage from the Croisette and feel just a tiny twinge of nostalgia.  Not for the early mornings, late nights, too many cigarettes and barely being able to keep your eyes open, but for the camaraderie.  I'm sad to see that Wong Kar-Wei's film isn't getting the best reviews; I have such a soft spot for his work.  James' film is managing to stay below the radar as he arguably the only non-celebrity American filmmaker to have a picture at the festival.  This will, I believe, bode well for him.  As long as Manohla is nice.  According to John Horn's piece in the LA Times today, Wahlberg isn't going because Cuban's company 2929 refuses to pay for him and his entourage to stay at the Du Cap.  (They said he and a couple of assistants would be okay).  The Du Cap is fine as long as you don't have one of those awful rooms at the top of the stairs, over the bar, where you're kept up all night long, because every single party always, without fail, ends up in the bar of the Du Cap.  Bellinis all round and all that.  The best thing, when you're totally exhausted and it's near the end of the festival, and the studio is paying for your stay, is to find a girlfriend and avail yourself of the absolutely delicious buffet lunch down by the sea.  The Du Cap's lunch -- sardines and tomatoes and buffala mozarella and coeurs du palmiers and fresh white asparagus and marinaded mushrooms and cold mussells,  with that amazing french bread and butter, is just delicious, especially when you are functioning on three hours' sleep.

Maddie
The Madeleine McCann drama continues.  I can't bear to see the mother fading away in front of our eyes.  As I said to someone, one would almost prefer death over this hideous vacuum of not knowing.  As my friend Vivi puts it:

"I agree that it's hard to think about anything else than Madeleine - I spent most of last week bursting into tears about it all - it was just so horrendous thinking of this sweet girl asking whoever took her when she would  see her mother again - the imagination runs riot, and every scenario  seems so bleak.  Praia de Luz Mark Warner is where we spent two weeks last summer; we had lunch every day at the Tapas restaurant where Maddie's parents were having dinner when she disappeared.  It's just too strange seeing all the familiar footage of the town, and the church which we walked past every day to get to the beach - the sunny summer holidayishness of it such a cruel travesty.  We are going back there in July - booked it months ago, and it seems quite wrong somehow - I mean will they all still be there?"

Mental

Just when I thought it was time to stop taking the antidepressant meds (after all, what do I have to be depressed about) and forgot to pick up my new prescription, leaving me for three days without a dose, this morning was about the most hideous I remember.  I did not want to get up, felt alternately angry and sorry for myself,  and just bleak house and realized that it was time to drive toot-sweet to Rite Aid on Sunset.  There was a great piece in, I think, the Times magazine about a guy who weaned himself off his meds because his situation changed, and how cathartic it was for him, how he cried at a film for the first time and so on.  Of course I become completely charged up and gungho.  Yes! I can do that.  No, I can't.  That's the sweet thing about anti-depressants -- you really don't notice them at all until they're gone.  It's a bit sad, depending on anything like that.  I'm better now. Thank God.  I can't remember the last time I was utterly useless for a few hours.

Jerry Fallwell died yesterday and today Terry Gross replayed an interview she'd done with him a few years ago.  He seemed pretty reasonable, despite his anti-everything that ain't fundamentalist Christian position.  He grew up with an agnostic father who in turn had grown up with an atheist father and he spoke of the rich spiritual element that was missing in his life.  Isn't it funny how children rebel?  And thus was born the Moral Majority a movement which got Reagan into power and has helped both Bushes since.  A movement, I believe that has done more to harm Christianity than anything else.  A movement, I fear, that has actually made people ashamed of their faith.  But you can't call him evil.  Just a poor, misguided sod.  He took it one step too far.  Maybe three.

I've spent too much of every day out with Coaster, the horse that J wants to rename Timmy or Caspar or something.  I love the name Coaster; it's dorky as hell but it suits him.  He always seems very happy to see me and loves all the attention and the grooming and the baths.  It's very peaceful at Lisa's house. Just me, the dogs and all of her horses standing in their little pipe corrals in the sun and the occasional crow or hawk overhead.  And the peacock next door. He's quite gorgeous and roosts in the big pine tree at night, his enormous tail cascading down.

N is working very hard and getting incredible results at school.  Something happened, an electrical sizzle in his head, something.  But he's firing on all cylinders AND thrilled about it.  I stand back and watch him, trying hard to tamp down my overblown, motherly pride.  Oy. 

 

Country Walks Can Reduce Depression

So my mother was right afterall when she said, "Just go for a long walk on the common."  This is from today's Independent:

Country walks can help reduce depression and raise self-esteem according to research published today, leading to calls for "ecotherapy" to become a recognised treatment for people with mental health problems.

Ecotherapy: the green agenda for mental health is the first study looking at how "green" exercise specifically affects those suffering from depression.

According to Mind, England and Wales's leading mental health charity, it produced "startling" results proving the need for ecotherapy to be considered a proper treatment option.

 

Brandon Adam

This is Mary's grandson, Brandon.  He is the kid on the right.  Mary owns Foothill Saddlery and once took in Briar at the Hansen Dam horse show because the steward forbade me from having her there.  Since then, we've been fast friends.  Her grandson is 21 and in Iraq.

 

And here is yesterday's Mother's Day editorial from the Bonner County Daily Bee:

 

This war keeps getting closer to home front
Posted: Sunday, May 13, 2007 - 01:42:03 pm PDT

The Iraqi war came home to Sandpoint this week.

Sgt. Brandon Adam, a 2003 Sandpoint High School, lost both legs in a roadside bombing last Saturday.

The 21-year-old had no pulse and had lost half of his supply of blood when help arrived.

He is now at Brooke Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas. He underwent surgery last Tuesday and has started 12 to 18 months of therapy as well as bring fitted for prosthesis.

Adam isn't the first local soldier to get hurt or die in this conflict. He definitely isn't the only native injured or killed in the many wars this country has seen.

His injury struck a chord with Bee readers.

Predictably "Bush bashing" was mentioned often around local coffee shops. Reminders of why the United States was pulled into this war also came up on the Bee Webblog.

It's vitally important to remember this country was founded and continues to be the envy of the world because of the call to duty of many soldiers like Sgt. Adam.

This is not his war, this is the country's war as mandated by the Commander in Chief.

A person is entitled to hate this war all he or she wants but it is high time for us all to remember the growing number of fatalities and injuries coming from Iraq impact someone.

Let history write the war as only history can do. For the time being, let's pause and thank God Brandon Adam is alive and that this country continues to be defended by people like him.

Our thoughts and prayers go out to Doug and Karen Adam on this Mother's Day. I have to believe, Karen has her best Mother's Day present ever -- her soldier son is alive.

--David Keyes is the publisher of the Daily Bee.

 

 

Uncharacteristically, there are strains of peppy beat jazz coming from the bathroom, along with the sounds of fast running water and J clearing his throat. I wonder if this is aging?  Suddenly, and without warning changing your radio station.  He made me a bacon and marmalade sandwich this morning for breakfast, certainly not on my diet, but certainly finding a very happy place in my stomach.  Yes, optimism abounds.  Unfounded optimism, no doubt.  Stomach-related optimism? I think about Seligman and learned happiness and how it's all about waking up and thinking about the things for which one is grateful.   Well, I'm grateful for that bacon sandwich, and my mother's day celebration - we had Turkish food, yummy lamb and zucchini fritters with feta and mint, lebanese rice, tzatziki and roasted tomatoes, and lemon cake with strawberries and peaches made by Minks. Pretty sweet, I think you would agree.  I chose to ignore the fact that one of the dogs had explosive di-0-ree-ah in the hall way instead noting at the thoughtfullness of the dog to choose the slate tile rather than the carpet or the wood floors, or god forbid, the bed.  Joy.

Happy Birthday Knokout (sic.)
Happy Birthday to my lovely big seventeen year old boy, who blares Cat Stevens through the house every morning at 5:45am and is rolled up like a crysallis in his blue and white duvet.  I would cuddle him all morning if he would allow me more than about 3.2 seconds.

Unknown Age

Mother's Day

Minky is in the kitchen saying "no, no, no, no" when she hears me approaching with my empty tea cup.  She rushes out beaming, "I'll do that, go back to bed, happy mother's day!" And the dogs and I beat our retreat.  I've opened up all the windows in the bedroom to let in the birdsong and the summer.

Today J & I will trail ride.  His new horse, Coaster, whom I found in Temecula where he had belonged to a little girl in his younger days, is a great success.  He's sturdy like a bull-dog, handsome, and not too big.  He lollops along with pricked ears and a happy expression on his face.  Very sweet.  Jumby hates the name Coaster and fails to see the humor in it.  He wants to call him Caspar.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mammas.

I made a version of Bell Inn Smokies last night, with boil-in-a-bag smoked haddock from the English Shop, some peeled tomatoes, mushrooms and cream.  Yum.  It's that time of year when you start dreaming of the smell of freshly cut lawns, new jersey potatoes with mint, runner beans (the kind with the orange/red flowers) and the lazy buzz of insects.  Oh, and fresh dover sole.  I didn't use to care.  But now, just thinking about English summer makes me comically melancholy.  The lady who washes the horse blankets, I think her name is Gloria, made me homesick this week.  She's lovely, about 75 or 80, blonde in a Diana Dors way, was married to a big American football player, and now runs a horse laundry and bespoke horse clothing shop, grew up near Welwyn Garden City.  She'd been following the Queen's visit and particularly the food she was served -- the cold vichysoisse topped with lavendar, the dover sole ; "lovely grub."  But the best tip ever was her secret for egg salad (egg mayonnaise) -- use salad cream!

Minky has brought me a happy mother's day plate of strawberries and banana:

Isabella Blow

And so it transpires that although Isabella Blow had ovarian cancer, it wasn't the cancer that killed her, but drinking weed killer - Paraquat.

The following excerpts from her obituary in the New York Times: 

Her hats were the big-game kind, trophies of her wit and imagination: a veiled set of antlers, a jewel-encrusted lobster, a sailing ship, a pheasant. Her more exotic choices of headgear could be attributed to an aesthetic link with her paternal grandmother, Lady Vera Delves Broughton, an explorer and hunter, who claimed to have supped on a tribesman in Papua New Guinea. “She wasn’t strictly a cannibal,” her granddaughter pointed out.

and

For a cameo appearance in Wes Anderson’s “Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou,” she fretted, according to her friend Ronnie Newhouse, that she would be nervous and asked one of the actors if he had ever “done this kind of thing before.” It was Bill Murray.

 There is a most wonderful interview with her husband Detmar Blow in the Guardian, which can be found here http://observer.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,,2078261,00.html

The New Forest

Wasted

'Do you really want to stop?' Sean fixes me with his big, brown eyes. 'Some people need to reach rock bottom before they're ready.' I'm sleeping on the streets every night and living by dealing and stealing, how much lower can you go?

Then I remember all the other rock bottoms. The rock bottom of being in jail without having a clear memory of my crime. The rock bottom of sending my prostitute girlfriend out to find men so I could get more crack. The rock bottom of blowing my mind with drugs and breaking down. The rock bottom of having a son and not being able to look after him, of banging up in the back seat of the car and throwing sweets to the front seat to keep him quiet.

The rock bottom of hanging around some of the worst housing estates to score. But none of those was really rock bottom. They were just ledges in the ocean as I sank lower and lower. Now I've reached the bottom. I'm on the streets and I'm thin and lonely and the drugs have stopped working. Yes please, Sean, I'd like to change now.

Excerpted from WASTED by Mark Johnson (former junkie and Prince's Trust award-winner who helps young criminals start afresh. 

Spencer Tunick does Mexico City

Hilton Fires Publicist
Paris Hilton, who has been sentenced to 45 days in jail for driving with a suspended license, has done the thing that all sensible people do in such dire circumstances -- she's fired her publicist.  Yeah, that will really help.  Please.  I'm speechless.