Stormy weather

Its as stormy as I've seen it here today.  The Channel is foaming, the tide is staying in, the rain is almost horizontal at times.  The sea road must be well flooded by  now.   I did try to go to the Hall this morning - got all kitted up - but was almost swept off my feet by the wind as I tried to struggle to my car. 

So I gave up and retreated inside.  Its not possible to go door to door in this anyway.

I must struggle out to the meeting tonight though - and the second Circuit Overseer talk.

Spoke to Col this morning on Skype - and we have emailed.  The small island which sits almost on the equator, is in its full blazing sunshine once again, so maybe their monsoon has arrived here.   I set my as yet unpublished Dive thriller on the island. 

If I were younger and my back wasn't hurting - and I was sure i could stay on my feet - I would have gone down to the beach and watched the waves close up for a while.

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A migration

Captain Butterfly has migrated to warmer climes - with his Shoal.  I am counting sleeps until the great circle of life turns again and they all swim back home.  Just talked to him on Skype. He seems very happy.

I will be glad when he is back though.

Maggie and were out this morning.  It was very cold and we were on a difficult road (for the two of us) with lots of steps.   Not many good calls.   Went back to Maggie's with Barbara and Beryl afterwards.  Got back feeling very tired - back aches, head aches.   Took paracematol.

Went to meet Louise, a young pioneer sister, as arranged and had a good hour and a half with her which has made me feel much better.  I feel as if Jehovah has very very kindly cheered me up, éven though I did not do anything wonderrful on the doors for Him today.

Missed the Mark Twain short story that Captain B had carefully set up a reminder for, but was out.

We had our first Circuit Overseer talk last night.  His theme is basically keep awake, dont get distracted, not at this time in human history when a rescue is so close at hand.

We got a letter from a local Estate Agent today asking if we would like to sell our flat, as they have a client waiting.  Unusual letter to get in today's property climate, but we don't want to sell anyway.

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The feathers of the willow

We came across a  'feathers of the willow' corner of Swanbourne Lake (see the poem 'November' in previous blog).  We went there this afternoon as it is probably a last chance to see the tender glowing colours of Autumn in their glory.  High winds are forecast for tomorrow so I think most of the remaining leaves will be blown away.   Already you can see a lot of trees in skeletal shape, with a surviving nest showing up here and there.

What a different feeling the human skeleton evokes - for all that it is a miracle of engineering.  But then the trees were designed to be seen in skeletal form in season, whereas we were not supposed to die.
So when we see a human skeleton, it tells us that something has gone catastrophically wrong.

I took some bread with me which was deeply appreciated by all the waterfowl - and a Hitchcockian swarm of seagulls.  They especially liked the currant bread.

The meeting at the Hall this morning was as wonderful as ever. We were reminded about the importance of listening to our Creator, not to 'the world', and about  Christian unity and how we can play our part in achieving and maintaining it - always remembering that without Jehovah's spirit all our efforts to do so would be futile.

It is a unity based on Jehovah's law of loving-kindness, not the sort of forced uniformity that you would get in an efficient army.

Col was off Metal Detecting this morning.  He found a Roman something that will almost certainly appear in his blog.

Anne skyped me from South Africa and we had a lovely long talk.

It was a cold day - although not where Anne is.

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The Laughing Postman

Jean and I entertained a postman this morning.  We couldn't find no.131 and he kept coming across us bumbling around this large estate, lost in a strange mixture of numbers.   "Its between 130 and 132",  he said, laughing heartlessly.

Oddly enough, that did not help.

Captain B is packing up for his dive trip which is making me feel rather melancholy, but I am already filling up next week. Audrey just rang to book me for Friday morning, and Jackie is coming round in the evening.

Its the Circuit Overseer visit, so a busy busy week - hopefully.  I just hope i am not starting a cold. Everyone else seems to be.

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November

John Clare is as good on November as he is on the other months, but I have a specific poem in mind for this month.   So here is:

NOVEMBER
by R.W. Dixon

The feathers of the willow
Are half of them grown yellow
   Above the swelling stream ;
And ragged are the bushes,
And rusty now the rushes,
   And wild the clouded gleam.


The thistle now is older,
His stalk begins to moulder,
   His head is white as snow ;
The branches all are barer,
The linnet's song is rarer,
   The robin pipeth now.

A lovely evocation that will become truer and truer as the month goes on.
Its a grey and rainy day today.  Captain B has been out helping the Duke of Burgundy (the butterfly, we don't have any aristocratic friends) by toiling away with the working party improving the woodland terrain.  And Maggie and I went out on some calls and then we shopped.  Lots of difficult driving, but a nice morning.  I was exhausted  when I got back - lunched on crisps and yoghurt and fell asleep.
Dinner at Jackie's tonight.

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Neglecting Maurice

and everything, as my wings have been severely clipped since our day out in London.  I was confined to the sofa yesterday, trying to keep my swollen ankle higher than my head, every trip to the loo like climbing Everest without oxygen.  I feel about a hundred and seventy five. 

One day out in London!  And I used to be a great walker.

And there is Maurice on the beach. We are supposed to be friends by now - posing for one of those cute animal pictures in The Daily Mail - Me and Maurice, my mussel friend - well there will be some terrible punning headline but a great picture.

He has yet to speak to me. But he will.  And he is going to break my heart.  But not by getting eaten by a seagull.

I had to cancel my field service with Audrey yesterday. Will I be able to go out with Jean today?

I hope so. I am up early just about to take my medication, but it is still painful to set foot to ground.

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Paul Gauguin

We went to the Gauguin Exhibition at The Tate Modern today.  Jacks was supposed to come, but she wasn't well.  And I only just made it - I was limping badly by the time we got home.

What can I say about it?

It was more sad than I expected.  I hadn't realised that the Polynesia he found was not the island Paradise he painted it - I hadn't realised how westernised it was by then.   But in any case he seemed to have had some strange ideas about 'savages' versus 'civilised' people.  (He was all for the 'savage'.)  Whereas we are all the imperfect and dying children of disobedient Adam, and if you don't see that, then does it affects what you can paint?

I hadn't realised what a sculptor he was!  Some brilliant things, but I don't like a lot of his subject matter.  His severed head mug for example, is very much not something i would want to drink my coffee out of.

And i think I found an example of contemporary Art Speak.   We had the audio guides, which do help us to get a lot more out of exhibitions, and when discussing the women in Gauguin's Polynesian paintings, the commentator noted that some were "uncomfortably young".

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