heart day

happy valentines - a big bunch of flowers on the table and not from the garage either. and magnetic poetry on the fridge - I like this one - 'but you my love could drive eternity to me' or 'run on and milk your luscious life' and oh ho, so many more. The snow is slowly thawing but it's still a white dress over the green. This is the longest unbroken white I can remember - and its only been about ten days - imagine the feeling after six months of snow cover to see the first green shoots come early April? That would work on the soul would it not?
I have started teaching poetry in college and I have been working with the poet as maker seeing how the word poesis from the Greek means to make and also a poet in Scots is Makar. So we worked with making things. I asked people to list things they remember their parents (or guardians) made as they were growing up. Some had a big list, some could think of nothing. One man could only remember his father making chips. Then it struck me - dwelling a tad further on things that 'work on the soul' that growing up in an environment where things are made is good for ya. It gave me a deeper appreciation of my dad. Oh boy - did he make things - extensions, tables, stairs, summer house, garage, beds, knocking down walls, breakfast bars, pictures where you put thin bits of wood in different tones - an art form whose name I have forgotten. And so much more. He was, and still to a certain extent, was always making things. Mum too - soft things, material things, art things, a shoe box and cotton wool was Bethlehem, exotic puddings on a Sunday with names like pavlova and Baked Alaska where miracle of miracles the ice-cream in the oven didn't melt. Anyway all this to say it is I think an act of love and now I write - I am in love with writing and want to make things with words and somehow I think it is a transformation of what was made all about me as I grew up. As my sister makes clothes, the other makes pictures.
I was present at a conference where an elderly woman stood up and said to the large assembled group 'it is so important to revive the old crafts - to make things with your hands,' then she fell down and died.
happy valentines

bridal

it's the pure white stuff come down like a bride at ST Bride's time. My birthday. fifty. Half a century and a tug of emotions, the dream coming closer, so much more centred in myself - it has taken time, and of course it is and always will be a journey. I used to think in my twenties when you knew it all, that at some point - maybe around 28 - you'd be sorted and on course. Step-daughter who is twelve reckons she has 'found herself'' and maybe she has - jsut because any kind of self finding on my part took ages doesn't mean everyone churns through the same angst. So I had a party in Edinburgh - family, friends, poetry, song and wonderful little cup cakes in all the colours of the rainbow. Then fancy hotel in Inverness with himself then finally back north and now all is white - except the sea. She doesn't seem too perturbed by the weather of the land.

Enjoy the wedding. Happy peaceful time of St Bride.