PhotocatsEyes

It’s all orange...

Even the babies... Orange was the color today. At least on base... Halloween. Scary creepies all over, and trick and treat. I suspect the sugar high will be super high tonight. Kids go round on base, in a big group, ring the door bells, and chant trick or treat to whomever opens the door.
Most of the door openers just treat the kids, they go home with a bag filled with sweets. Over the coming days, the moms will keep an eye on the candy jars. I had to be on base before noon, as the post office was closing this afternoon. And a quick dash in and out to my friend Dina. With the most adorable toddler I have seen in ages, Luna. Smart like no one, and beautiful.

Long lashes, and big brown eyes. Her new brother will go the same way, for now, he is just eating and sleeping.
A cutie pie, already dressed up in orange too to celebrate the day.

Dina pours me a cup of tea, we have a little chat, I have a couple of meltdowns looking at photographs of the birth of the little one, gosh, wonderful pictures of the moment a baby comes into the world.
Amazing that with baby now 3 weeks, he looks already like his sister... who has now been promoted to big sister.

She can’t be bothered for now, she is eating rings, and does a good job fishing them out of a tiny jar. Lovely kids...
Too soon I drive on to base, checking on the mail.

The post office tells us to keep out, yeah, Halloween allright. Postal workers dressed up like vampires, commissary employees have small pointed wiches hats. I love it... We europeans are so stiff, a rare occassion before grown ups want to dress up. Just for fun...
And no, it’s not blood, it’s red paint, still a good set up. It makes me smile. Crazyness all over.

Out of school Program ladies are ready for Halloween too. They are some kind of scary cats, not to me, they look cute. The Strike Zone, our bowling alley on base has been spooked up. Kids are having fun, bowling in the weirdest light shinings. They have a blast.

Posters are looking down on us, scary faces. Nobody seems scared though, they are all laughing and jumping around like little duracell rabbits.
All the way to the top and still not out of juice.

The gym, last week an indoor market for the Women’s Faire, is now ready for the biggest Halloween party in the surroundings.
Families will come and play games, eat cookies, quality time.

Not only balloons, they also have plastic creepy crawlies... Try rats,

or giant spiders...

To end this short entry with a positive note, I present to you the lady who painted faces today. One of the girls working in the After School program on base, always busy entertaining kids. A pleasure to watch.

Some people are born to be around children. Their inner child never grows up. It shows in the eyes...
Happy Halloween everyone, now I have some more photographs to put keywords on, tedious job, but one has to suffer for art. So they tell me.
I have six or seven trips to America documented with photographs, they now go online and if I am lucky, I will sell some... Shameless plug. Grin...

You can have a look here...

Happy Halloween... keep it orange!

Little things around me, daily life they call it

My daily life is at times thinly spread, with days zooming by in a blurr. Months pass, weeks glide, years top on one another. Life goes fast when we are happy. A generally known fact. It only creeps from morning till evening when one is feeling miserable and undesired. And boy did I know periods like that. For now we should not jinx it, everything is running smooth, lets keep it that way. We never know when life will deliver another one of its quirks.
Little things in life can be big. Ask kids when they are looking at a tray with halloween cup cakes... Made by Ruth Morales, super mom from the four mini Moralesses, cup cake baker extra-ordinaire...

I do try to snap every day, to keep my mind fresh and sharp, and life shocking events are not always on the roster... Life can be good looking at freshly baked cupcakes.
In Halloween mood, orange, black and white sprinkles on top! Americans are fab bakers. They don’t need a reason to dive into the kitchen and mass produce some hundred cookies on sheets.
Mr Wonderful has very american roots, we did not go for cupcakes, instead we carved our pumpkin yesterday evening. There was no escape possible...

My drawing is of the highest art level, I could just manage two pyramid eyes, a square nose and a big grin. The carving itself was left to earlier mentioned husband, who fiddled with kitchen knives and dug in with bare hands to get the guts out. It grossed me out...

I was not volunteering to get the mushy stuff out, the pumpkin has to be hollow, so you can fit in a candle. Which looks like this after dark...

Spooky or what? We do live to far out to get trick or treaters, but it is nice to see the glowing eyes and mouth next to the front door. Besides pumpkin carving and cupcakes baking we also had the Base Fair. Vendors come over and get parked in the gym. For two days the gym is no gym but a bustling inside market place.

The best of British tea cups and pots, pick your pick.

The fair is a good occasion to stock up on early christmas presents. Some German wood carving firms brought an assortment. Americans love German Christmassy stuff.
Can’t tell you why. They drive over to Germany to do all the big Christmas markets. Busses filled with American shoppers.

When not running around on Women’s Fairs on Menwith, or carving pumpkins with Mr Wonderful, I do accidently shoot a cow here and there...
Found a bunch hurdled together last week around the hay feeding pen.

The same farm as I visited a couple of weeks ago, with the cows in the stables. If the weather permits, they are out, and as you can see, it is mud galore.

I wonder how many mom cows say “wipe your feet dear before you come in, I just mopped the floor...”. Of course, mom having the same muddy paws, who is going to correct who? They are cows though, not afraid of a bit of mud. Not like my cats, who wash themselves endlessly and never go for a serious cat nap unless they are totally clean...
Not so the cows in the Dales. If standing in the mud is what it takes to get to the food, that is what they will do.

I stand there for a while, with an eye on the famous bull... He does not look too social, and there is only a weak fence and a buck and doe wall between us.
Remember the wall on markenfield, who came down when a frolicking bull leaned against it?
I don’t want this bull on my tail. No sir... And he IS looking at me... Darn it! He is not ready to come for me is he????

I decide to not wait for his ultimate decision, jump back in the car, and hurdle down to Birstwith.
I also need to stop by the Morrissons for errands. My life is not all computers, blogging and photography. We do need bread on the table and trifle for desert.

On my way to Morrissons I discover a group of school kids. Probably the Ripon Choir school uniforms. I love it. The fact that all the kids wear the same thing.
There is something to say for uniforms, so nobody can pick on the other for not having nice clothes. It beats me though how british moms do it. When I remember my boys coming from school, they needed a total strip off. No way could they wear the same clothes two days in a row. Do the British moms have six uniforms? Those outfits are expensive, believe me...

It’s a mixed group, I saw them a bit earlier too, they sat down and were drawing the houses on the other side of the street. Or maybe it was the Victoria Clock Tower they were drawing... Can’t go up and ask as the teachers would scream murder. They are a bit anal of strangers approaching kids. It does not matter if you want to know what they were drawing... England, O England...

The tree behind the clock tower is slowly getting in fall dressing too. Nice...
When I finally get home, Mr Wonderful is not a happy man. Nothing to do with me, nope... Mice ate his jumper suit. I am thinking, well, the little animals want some woolly stuff for their nest, it is cold in the garage where they live... But can’t tell Mr Wonderful that... Can’t tell that I am on the furry side...
He will take action of course and I tell him not to elaborate on what action. As long as I don’t have to know...
Go furry ones, run, seek another shelter. Evil is going to descend on you... I have played too much FATE lately...

This is probably the most chaotic blog entry in history... I will try to keep it more focussed next time... Talk later, and keep away from the mud!
Can’t mop the floor every day...

Dog snouts and falling for fall...

And yes, I am talking apples here today. Dog snouts are apples, just like the catheads. But wait, lets do this blog entry in a little bit of an order.
First of all, let me show you all my real Belgian Chocolate wellies I found today. Could not resist, and needed them as my pink ones are a bit too small when I want to wear winter socks in them.

Solved, I found those, with temptation written all over them, and I can put pants in the wellies now. To be safe and Welly Splash pond proof.

The red ones have cherry and a little brandy, love those... (i am talking about the red chocs ON the wellies...)
I also cracked down today to go on Facebook, after I got several friends nagging me about it for a long time, and that took some exploring and looking...
But we were going to talk dog snouts, so off we go.

The trees are only starting to change color here in UK, we did not have night frost so far, for the truly red coloring, we need frost. Not that I miss the absence of it... don’t quote me on it. And it is the first time in the seven years that I have lived here that we actually enter the Harlow Carr Garden. We often visit Betty’s, which is adjacent to it, but until sunday, no garden had been on the program. Cornflake had been informed that an apple day was on, we were on the look out for apples.

Not before we had been druling in front of Betty’s window, with their marsipan pumpkins and cookies. Ghosts, cats, pumpkins, Halloween is coming closer.

And Europe is going for it more and more. It used to be a totally american thing, but slowly, old symbols are finding their way back over the ocean, back to where the origin of Haloween started: in Celtic England.

The baker at Betty’s did a fabulous job. No need to worry about stealing their idea, there is no way that any of us normal people could sculpture pumpkins and likes like their master baker can. They do understand the concept of making a window display attractive at Betty’s...

The tiny spider, the leaf, the pumpkin, it is made with an almost unbelievable accuracy. I can only vaguely imagine how many hours work go into a masterpiece like this.
Well done, Betty’s Baker...

After all the ooohhh-ing and aaahhh-ing we go straight for the gardens, and we are not the only ones. Lots of families, kids, the Apple Day seems to be a popular event.
Shame on me that I have to discover it so long after date... The entrance of the garden has some displays of its own, no doubt about what the main event of the day is...

It looks like a casual stable corner, with some fruit, yet it has taken hours to set it up. I know it. Red, greens and yellows are screaming out, we will find the same colors back outside, when the sun peeks from behind the thick clouds.

A game of light and shadow, a bit of a messy picture, but I mainly post it for the colors. Rich and warm. Inviting.

Up in the trees, the sun plays hide and seek, down on the bottom, the mushrooms love the shadow, and we find them in big numbers. Nature’s color palet is wonderful. We could not get it better. God must have done something good with his cans of paint, if we for a moment believe that he made it all.
No Dulux color chart or Crown mixing panels, nature can do without swatches.

The Welly Splash has leaves on its surface, here too colors, all adding to the feel and the magic of Indian Summer. It makes that I feel less sad for leaving summer behind. It makes the thought of winter coming less harsh, fall connects summer and winter. We also had the hour change here over the weekend, so today, it was dark really early, cosy evenings inside are popping to mind.

Some area’s are a lot brighter then others, they do have a good selection of plants and trees in the garden, and Brits are known to be keen gardeners. It shows.
There is color in the garden throughout the year. From early spring when the first daffodils rise, till the fall blooms and foliage set their own mark on the landscape.

Different combinations, greens with red, yellow and red, magenta in the bushes. A great atmosphere and good to catch a fresh nose on the weekend.
Better then spending the whole afternoon in front of the computer.
We find the first apple exhibition in the library of the garden. Lots of baskets, filled with fruit, the most exotic names first. And when I look outside, I see a bush with flowers behind the grid of the window. Takes my breath away.

I had no idea about the kind of different apple brands they have in North Yorkshire, can’t name them all, but my favorite must have been the dog snout.

A big green one, longish, not the normal round red and green apple. Nope, this one has style. If you flip it on his side, you can imagine the dog head in it, only the ears are missing. Funny...

Looking at the cox apples, I think about my grandmother, who used to love fall just for that. She loved cox apples, and longed for them the whole summer.
Crisp and sweet, not the soft mouchy stuff that ripe pears have, can’t compare apples with pears for sure...
Weird that grandmothers and aunts come back to us in the strangests of time. Walking around in a room with hundreds of baskets with apples. Big, small, round, long, stretched...

Vivid colors, subdued, mixed, matched... What gems. I need to almost sit on my hands to not pick one up and have a good bite in it...
Very difficult to not get carried away...

I don’t think they would appreciate it if suddenly one of their jewels would show a big bite gone... I could do it if I am quick... but no, grown ups can say no to their inner child.

I do fondle some of them, sniffing, feeling the skin, holding the little stem... I am having a conversation with one of the wardens, how do you call people watching apples on display? Apple wardens? Bramley Knockouts? Pipkin watchers?

One of them points out to me that before I snap the apples, I should learn the parts, as I have to ask them what they call the little tail coming out of an apple.
I tell him that I do know the parts of the apples, in dutch, but not in english as that is my second language. He slowly colors like the apple I am shooting. Good... Not everyone speaks fluid english...

But that is the only minor small thing, the whole day is a success so far. I am glad that we came, and that Cornflake invited me and Mr Wonderful for the event.
We are lucky. It starts pouring with rain, just as we sit down under a tent with a tea. Perfect timing I say...

We chat and have fun, and we did meet an australian-british photographer, sipping tea too. Always nice to meet new people,
and our camera’s open the conversation.

People who like photography and see another person with a camera always find a common ground to stand on, we have a lovely time, while the rain splashes down all around us.
Only a few of us fit under the tent, the rest runs for shelter in the main buildings. The man tells us about his passion, making sound tracks to mix them with multi media.
Check out his blog here and listen to the sound clip he made while in the gardens.

A great way to spend a lazy sunday, walking around in a fall garden, meeting other photography minded people, having tea or hot chocolate. Life is good!

And we stay dry, we found the perfect shelter. Soon the sun peeks out again, we head off for the tasting tent while it is raining less.

The newly met photographer, Colin, snaps Cornflake et moi while we are talking.... apples of course... The lady wants to know what we will do with the photographs we take. Blog about it of course, and maybe, if I am lucky, I can post some on Alamy, and even more maybe, a magazine will want some of the pics and pay me.
That would be a nice added value. If that does not happen, well, we still had fun walking around and discovering new things and new people...

I say good bye to my just discovered dog snout apple... I need to venture out to Marks and Spencers or Sainsbury and see if I could find some. I have never before tasted a dog snout, it is time for another jump in the unknown...
I will let you know how the snout tasted! It’s a promise...

Talk later!

Wellies and the welly splash!!!

Wet all together. That was what it was like yesterday. HRS Harlow Carr, the garden on the outskirts of Harrogate, had its annual apple day, and it rained.
Wellies were viewable in big numbers. So I decided to snap them. After six years in England, I know that one has to say Wellies and not Willies as I did in my beginners period. I got funny looks for that one... I gather every reader of this blog knows what a willy is... Think boys! Think “who can pee the furtheststststst...”.

I started off with my own of course, pink and strong. Farmers at auction markets see me come from far, and they somehow know that I am not a local...
I must say though that the welly design has taken a high flight here in UK. One can find them in all shapes and all prints. Wellies have become fun!
On I went, clamping down every kid wearing the plastic gems, and a grown up here and there. Depending on originality factor...

My first booted girl was a toddler aged around two. Terrible two indeed as she did not want me to snap her feet. I had to use a lot of kiddie magic to finally make her stand for one second, next to her dad instead of behind him. Those who persist win, and I got my shot in the end.

We had some interesting themes... Teeth for instance... I saw a pram coming at me, sticking out two teethed booties, the owner had been splashing around, but was now tired and needed a ride. That is exactly what prams are for. Or should I say buggy? The little carriers with four wheels, comfort for the mum, as you can strap in your kid instead of running after it...

I encountered a pinky cherry theme, and why did they not think of that before? Some kids booties now have little handles on the side.
Kids can pull them up easier. Thank heaven for small favors... I liked the cherry ones, it made me almost forget the rain. You would start to ask for rain just to see wellies appear... Not a light statement here in Brittain, where we were rained out this past summer.

The more classical “Jackie Kennedy” styled boots, pinkish again, popular with little girls, but a more subdued print. Classy it is, class is in small things.
A booted neck line or a subtile print on the feet cover...
In the end it does not matter, they all get wet, and that is what they have been made for...

Stripes... We had to find at least one striped pair. Matching dad’s normal and old fashioned green ones. The combination worked.
Girlie happy and content, and the stripes made her feet look elfish... Thin and feable.

A total new approach, feminine feel with the flowers, but a bold color combination. Kermit used to say that it is not easy to be green, we have to believe him as he was an experience master. He lived green, dated pink, green was top dog in his life. Green was also highly important in this little girl’s life...
She happily skipped around on the wet paths, from tent to tent...
I will bring some shots from the event we were there for tomorrow, the Apple event.. Spread out all over the garden they had small tents up, with exhibits and tasting of apples. An interesting day!

Today I focus on the wellies. I asked all the parents if I could snap wellies, and none said no. Which was nice. You don’t want to get arrested for welly luring...
The climate is somewhat tricky these days around children in England. Brits are more paranoia then any other human kind I know when it comes to kids and Health and Safety. Two things not to mess with... I wonder if we will ever get a day that wellies are declared a threat for health and safety, and puddle bashing splashing will be a big NO-NO.

For now, welly splashing is encouraged in Harlow Carr Gardens, they have a dedicated Welly Splash. With all the rain though, the normal 12 inches have risen somewhat, and I was the only kid trying it out. Carefully, did not want to get wet...

Not like this little girl...

And the collection of snapped wellies grew, and grew, and grew...

We should make it obligatory: parents, take your kids out puddle splashing on the rainiest sunday of the month. Let them have fun, instead of prudely telling them to get away from the water.

I don’t think parents make that mistake anymore these days... Telling the kids to NOT jump in the puddles.
We should push them to do it... Might work against water phobia, and good for the inner child.
It might be therapeutic for grown ups too, some puddle jumping, forget the real world. Go in, jump, jump more, laugh and be a kid with kids.
Sadly enough, yesterday, I was the only puddle splasher, no kids around, not in that part of the garden... What I should have done is waited till a family got by to snap them, but then I did not want Mr Wonderful and Cornflake to wait with me, so we moved on.

The army was present also, and it looked as if this one had put on his wellies by himself, they seemed a bit off... But it was sunday, and anything goes on the Day of the Lord.

The boys step away from minty colors, they go for the sturdy stuff. Army camouflage prints and firemen colors. Make no mistake, this is serious business.
After all, all boys have a fase in life where they want to grow up to be a firefighter. Precious childhood dreams, that sometimes come true.

The butterflies to finish off this welly entry... I hope you enjoyed the splashing... Watch the little video and smile! It is Monday, we need a smile to start off the week...

The call of the wild...

Had a bit of computer software problems yesterday, think I got them fixed up to a certain point, so I am back amongst the living.
In January of 2009, we will head out for the States again, Arizona and New Mexico will be on the program. After our wet and sun-less summer here in UK, I am starving for some clear blue skies, and some wild stuff to see...

This time, I will go prepared. I can still kick myself that in 2003, we were close to some of the most beautiful mission churches in New Mexico, that we did not visit, as I had no idea they were there. Have been regretting this for the last four years.
With us going back to New Mexico on a regular base, I have read up about it, and I know now...
Once you know you can never go back to not knowing. I know some of the pearls that are out there, now my heart aches because I want to go and see them so bad.

When I say pearls, I mean it. Gems, bading in history, and of a beauty not seen a lot. Native indians knew how to turn mud and water into works of art. I always get crabby when I hear people say that America does not have history. It is a partial view. They mean that America has no white history, if I may call it that way.
There is indeed history, a rich one, filled with sorrow, grief and how to survive hardship.
The Native tribes living in de desert were the first real pioneers, building their life in a hostile environment, for them it was home. Untill those white ones came who trashed the values, and broke it...

I still have no clue why New Mexico tugs at my heart like it does. No sense making reasons, I fell in love with the place, on first sight and it was a totally overwhelming kind of coming home. Making a circle round. Hard to know why my heart flutters when I see New Mexico things on tele, or read about it in books. Could it be the light?
Is it because I know that so many great names in photography loved it to? What is the secret? Why is it that photography and this huge state in the South West calls and lures?

It is America allright, one can see it along the road, Motels galore, big signs, americans want to sell, and they tell you so. They love it when you stop and spend some money in whatever place they keep open to make a living. Advertising is God in the States. Wherever you travel, there will be signs telling you that something interesting can be found, and the address to get it. The signs are visible from miles away, can’t miss them.

As I browse through old New Mexico pics, I stumble upon Rick. I did not know it was Rick the first time I saw the shocking poster, but I did found out later. The blessings of the internet. Rick chewed tobacco, as many boys do in certain area’s of the States, and it gave him tongue cancer. Surgery took away half his jaw and part of his tongue, yet this man travels around now to try to keep kids from starting to chew tobacco.
Whenever I look at that photograph, after I have not seen it for a while, it always gives me goose bumps. Rick is young, he had his whole life in front of him, out of something bad came a very good thing: he shows what can happen, does it in a good visible way, and I hope it did help... I hope that his photograph made a difference.
I found him next to a small garage, close to Raton. On our way to Taos, in the North of New Mexico.

The land itself is a struggle, the weather is extreme, hot summers, icy cold winters. Why do people want to live there? You either love it or hate it.
No inbetween. It rocks your boat in a good or a bad way, you sail or sink. I would like to sail.

The state is a high plateau, mountains rise up even higher from it, you are in high country when in New Mexico. High desert. Dry air, crispy air, air that can make you breathless in seconds. The landscape must be part of the package why I love it there so much.

The mountains are around, ferm, sturdy, old tops, with lots of stories, having seen many people walk towards and live around the shaped peaks.
We have always visited New Mexico in winter, when snow was covering high altitudes.

Frost means that even fast flowing rivers ice up. The sun can be out and shining, you think warm, but being duffled in with a couple of extra sweaters is highly advisable.
What sticked with me on our first encounter with New Mexico was the pueblo. Taos Pueblo, like many others, date back centuries. The people lived in those adobe cities before the first Spaniard set foot on ground.

I suspect that some people might look at pueblo’s and just see the houses made out of mud bricks. But there is more to it.
It’s about lines, patterns, embracing the environment instead of just killing it.

I love how they managed to build more story housing, with all “green” elements. There is so much talk going now about green, and being inline with nature, the Pueblo people have done this without thinking twice, and they have done it for centuries. They still do it. No fake words for them. Their deeds are harmony with their words.

The colors they use hit home, the bright and perky cyan, teal, splashing dots of color in the otherwise brown-greyish walls.
Less is More... Fathers told their sons, mothers told their daughters, in the end we end up today with pieces of a past that is far more integrated in modern life then some of us might think.

Small windows to keep the sun out in summer, keep the warmth in in winter, sturdy wooden beams to support the structures, so it does not come collapsing down. Masters in design and architecture.

The blue of the sky coming back in the blue of painted doors and windows. The rounded hornos brake the otherwise straight lines.
Rounded ovens, where bread is baked in. The old way. With wood and good moods. A much simpeler life then we have in our modern world. Back to basics.
It is comforting to know that there are people who can make it work without a lot of technicalities.

People who know that if there is earth and water, you can build a living. You can provide shelter and safety. It doesn’t matter if fuel prices are sky rocketing.
Ancient knowledge that has been passed on from generation to generation is still valid, and is offering us ways to get past techno worlds. Although, I must admit that I would miss my computer and camera. Nothing basic about those two, they need energy, and without energy, nothing is left to do. A bit scary at times if you come to think of it. How dependant we have become on working power lines and energy needing tools and gadgets.

One would forget that the sun can be used to advantage to dry laundry, or dry food. Without lots of added modern world chemical parts. The ristas with the peppers have been drying out in the sun for as long as man can remember, and it is still done, it works.
Hmmm, as Brits say: if it works, don’t touch it. Keep the old ways.

I need to snap out of Pueblo mode, and come back for a couple of months to my small life in my small town in England, a total different life then a possible life in the Land of Enchantment as New Mexico is called.
Only a couple of months before I will be back in my favorite place on earth...
And this time I will go prepared. Lists of things I need to see. Travels as learning school. Fun and good for my soul...

Talk later!

A dog with a mission!!!

Its the little things that make life pleasable. Like swimming dogs. A tiny one. With a big mission. We were slowly making our way down the Norfolk coast, Norfolk England, not Norfolk America.
A flat land, very much resembling Belgium and Holland. Land regained on the sea, or should I say Sea lost by human interference?

Jut like in Holland, they have windmills up, only the graveyard shows us it is England. Belgium nor Holland have such old grave stones plonked down in the landscape. But I digress, I was talking dogs with a mission.
Dogs take fetching very seriously. Most dogs do, it is embedded in their genes. You throw something away, and any dog in your surroundings will try to get it back for you. Sometimes even when real danger is in the picture...

We were looking for the cliffs in Hunstanton, special cliffs. A quick browse in our travel guide book told us that they had red orange coastal cliffs, we were looking for them. At times it helps to have a guide book of the area you will travel through. Saves disappointment later.

They were pretty easy to find, the cliffs, a steep drop from the land to the sea. A bit like Dover and surroundings, except for the color.
It was a pretty gloomy grey day when we arrived at Hunstanton, the colors were subdued, I bet that on a splendid blue sky day it must be spectacular. It’s here that we found our courageous swimming dog, on a mission sir.
His owner threw a bottle in the water, plastic, it floats, and he does use the bottle over and over, responsible owner, who knows that the ocean does not need any more plastic bottles in it.
And the mission dog went after it.

A tiny thing, the minute he went out a meter he lost ground already and had to resort to swim. But he DID it...
Using his tail as a rudder, nothing was going to stop this dog from bringing the bottle back!

Time after time, what he lacked in size got compensated by the will to fetch. In and out, in and out...

A little terrier, people do tend to put little plastic bows in their hair above the eyes, this one did not need any bow. He considers himself an army dog, do the job, do it fast, do it furiously, and don’t forget to pose! Fierce Man, fierce...
Benny Ninja would be proud of him.

One smooth flowing movement, he bites the bottle and does not let go, he is not about to mess up his mission. The darn thing is almost his size. Life can be tough.

Come to poppa, drop the bottle in front of Mister Boss, it will get thrown again, and the tiny thing will go back in, defy the surf, to get it back another time. Mister Boss and dog have been on the beach for nearly two hours. No wonder the pooch is slim and on weight target. Maybe I need to start fetching bottles... as my weight target is drastically off.
It’s a dog’s life, walking along the beach and meeting more dogs fetching their favorite toys.
The next one we meet is a pup, and his toy of joy is a balloon filled with water.

Makes me wonder how on earth he can take it in his mouth and not bite right through it. Seven months old and already fetching like a pro... It makes me smile.
The dogs walk on, so do we. A short strip of beach, not the nice sandy beaches we know in Belgium. There is some sand, but as the sea brushes up and against the cliffs, deposits get dropped, small shells and stones make up the main contents of a handful of Dunstanton Beach.

Not a place where kids can run around bare foot. They need crocks at least to tiptoe the shore line. A truly diversified collection of shells, long, small, big, round. Pebbles rounded by the water force.
It becomes clear where the reddish pebbles are generated from...

The cliffs are indeed orange and yellow, layered. Very brittle stuff. It makes sense to see warning signs all over, I don’t see myself sitting at the foot of that cliff, as it is obvious that it is a living coast. The sea takes. Big chunks have been chipped off. The thin layer on top of small grasses is not enough to keep things in place.

Wonders of mother earth, cliche but still in place. A fabulous orange going to red on top, grading softly with yellow.

Strange patterns, brute forces have sculpted and formatted layer on layer. Chalk rocks, the red coming from the iron within the chalk. Large amounts of fossils can be found, a place to go back to on a sunny day. I am in awe for the color palette we see here.
Some of the fossils found can be seen on this page.

We slowly walk a bit further towards Hunstanton town center, along the cliffs. It is a grey Indian Summer day, and jackets come in handy, but still a nice walk as there is hardly any wind.

It is the 8th of September, Mr Wonderful has his birthday. The beach is a nice spot to spend a birthday. I had his present nicely tucked away in my suitcase, gave it to him in the morning, a nano, he was chuffed with it. To my big relief. I often have a hard time to figure out what he would like as gifts. He is very much into airplanes and ingeneering things, a totally unknown world to me, and I did goof up some of the presents I got him as I could not get into his mindset enough to be on the right track. But the Nano was a success. Hip Hoy!
Happy birthday Mr Wonderful...

The beach comes towards a point, sea and cliffs meet each other. More people are taking a beach walk.

We see a Duck in the distance, the amphibian boat/car used in WWII along coast sides, now touristy floating/driving devices, taking people out along Englands water masses. We sat in one in Liverpool, but I would not go in a duck on the sea.
We stumble upon rocks that get covered by sea water as tides come in and go back out, they are covered with live weeds, slippery stuff.

Not too strange to see a dare devil with a mini camera standing on them to take some shots. What is it that makes people not see the clear and imminent danger? The waves are breaking on those rocks, agreed, it is a calm day, but there rocks are still wet and extremely slippery... One wrong move and you are out... Do we need signs everywhere? Are people not capable of seeing the danger without a sign telling them?

we reached our turn around point and walk back to the car. England’s coastal line is beautiful, never the same, ever changing, so many different styles and textures. Some hard core environmentalists in this area are all for letting the sea taking back the land, I find it a bit sad to know that if nothing is done, those cliffs will be gone in a certain amount of time. England is getting smaller, in thinking paths and in absolute land mass.

A mile down from the cliffs we find some dunes with the known dune grasses. Strong, thick grass, the habitat of birds and coast rabbits. The ones with goggles diving frog paws, putting on their little swim suit before going out of the burrow.

A light house without a working light stands for sale. No thanks, I would not want to run up and down six flags of stairs day in and out. Give me a bungalow...

We are on our way to Great Yarmouth, and stop at a small back road where we discover a most charming church.

It appears to be Burnham Norton St. Margarets. Amen. A quick walk around, we admire the way they build in Norfolk.
Use the natural resources of little stone pebbles found on beaches and in quarries, buildings are made up in some kind of vague adobe... The pebbles and small rocks set into a clay background, a very different sight from normal brick buildings.

Remarkable, how people adapt architectural styles to the environment. They have lots of loose rocks and pebbles, why not use them as building materials. Good thinking...

Ages of Norfolk weather and climate made stone carvings vanish, we still see vague figures in the stone heads alongside the entrance door. Lichen and algae living on them, giving it a pastel color wash.

The same things happens on the toombstones that have been lying here for centuries. History covered up by algae...
A peaceful little spot, a good place to rest forever I would think.
Mr Wonderful wants me to take a picture of his new car, asked and done, he is after all the birthday piglet of the day, to send to his mom.

We need some lunch, on to Great Yarmouth...
Tuesday today, tonight I am giving a photo presentation for the Masham Photography Club... need to get things ready.
Laptop, small speakers, the water will be there, I can jump right in! Talk later...

Fate or faith???

What’s in a word? Or two words? Nothing much really. I don’t truly believe in Fate and I do not believe in Faith as such.
The latter only brings misery to the world, the first one can be paralyzing, but you have an option to walk out or in...
Fate has always had a bit of a undertone for me of letting it all happen, and not do anything. I do not believe in not being able to do anything... Rules have been made to be broken.
I had a hard time light years ago when my social worker told me I could not study psychology as I had no income.
I had an equal hard time when he told me I could not have a telephone, as single moms on welfare did not need phones.
On the first statement I proved that I could go to school, working for the school and earning credits to follow the classes.
As for the phone, he never brought it up when I asked him what he did when he needed his wife. He called her.
Well, a single mom can need someone too and a phone can make that happen. You are my social worker, you do not decide what and who I want to talk to, and if I want to do it by phone or in another way.
Thank you Mr Social worker. Keep your preaching attitude for social cases without an attitude.

Both faith/fate words are not fully steering my life, I am. At least, I think I am.
Why am I rambling on about it? Well, I discovered FATE this week.

First of all, let me tell you all that I am not a computer game person. I work with my computer, I do photography with it, I email with it, I browse the internet with it. That is until a friend of mine in the mac user group here in Yorkshire told me to have a go at it.
I downloaded it, and have not looked back since...
You might have noticed that blogging became somewhat irregular, as in days no blog...
Blame it all on FATE.

Fate: Undiscovered Realms

Mr Wonderful saw me do it, and wanted his own character. So off we went. Now we sit happily as two mushrooms in the office, each in front of our screen, with our little guy running around killing things. With our pets. The lead character has a pet, you can choose between a dog or a cat. Mine is a cat, but is currently a timberwolf. As you can change your pet into a format that suits you for different levels.

Unicorns, dragons, fire dragons, ice dragons, beetles, spells, magic, swords... it is all there, hidden in a deep underground cave under a small town.
I wonder what attracts people to role gaming. I do find crates and crates with gold, I change boots and hats and weapons, I loose and gain gold coins, I find old artefacts with magical powers. Maybe games like this are pure escapism. Getting away from the real world and become a ruler of my own self created kingdom.

I send out thunder and lightning, manage my life potions... Man, we are hooked. Laundry is piling up, dishes are piling up, blogs are not written... We must be crazy... Mushrooms indeed. Like the ones in the drive towards Bellwood Hall. Where the Wardles live.

I was on my way to Bellwood Hall yesterday as I all of a sudden saw smoke coming up behind the trees, and since I got no answer on the phone, I drove up to see if the coach house was on fire. It was not, it was a manmade heap of brushes, burning and giving off this alarming cloud of grey smoke.

I noticed it when I left my computer for a second to get a hot cup of coffee... so I could go back underground looking for the almighty sword of long lasting prosperity... See, one leaves the dungeon and ends up discovering disaster in the real world. When I saw it was a controlled fire, I turned back and headed for base.

Passing sheep in a meadow, all very pregnant...

Passing yearlings in another meadow, black headed ones, adorable wool balls. Teenagers, not fully grown, weened from the moms, they try to find a purpose in life.

Passing another meadow with... yep, sheep!
When I go down off Clint Bank, where the big Lister Farm is, they just dropped off a herd of Mashams in the small pen.
I can see that they are just dropped off as they are all standing on two square meters, with question marks in their eyes.
Waiting till one of them will take the lead and tell them what to do.

“Come on folks, girls united. A new meadow, a new life... Fate brought us here...“ Agggrrr, not the sheep too...

I start talking to them, they are trying to decide if they will listen or not, one is already trying out the new grass of their new home, nibble, nibble, they will be OK. They always adapt. A new leader will rise and take the flock around in the small pasture.

I think in fact they just did. As I start talking to them, one decides that I am only giving bullshit, hmmm, that was my politician stand up comedy act for today, they do as we all should do. Turn our backs on politics and go for common sense...
Hmmm, sheep do bring on deep thoughts in my simple brain...

Can’t help it, I love them. Nothing new, you all know that I love furry things. And if they have black and white faces, with clear yellow eyes, I am lost. I would like to bring them all home, give them a daily woolite bath, so they smell good and can have a new take on a new day...

I do not get their agreement on this, they decide that the further they go away from me, the safer they are. Silly things...

I drive on, and on the way home after errands on base, stop by at Dina’s house to see little man Ian. Cozy and snuggled up in a multi colored blanket...

It all makes sense, living in England, surrounded by sheep, and finding a baby snuggled up in wool provided by those four footers.
Life is good when wrapped up in red, yellow, orange, green and blue...

Off now to level 102...

Autumn splendor days...

Autumn is leaving its mark. The trees are starting to color, but in a bit a messy way. They don’t have their full color, as in the real splendor with reds and browns. We are in the yellowish fase.... if I can call it that way.

The weeks will pass and the yellow will shift to red, or reddish. That is when my heart jumps up as I drive my car along England’s roads. I am at peace with the change of season, winter is still ways out, summer has given space for Indian Summer, with possible blue skies, red threes and the last sun rays warming us. Time to soak up all we can. For the British winter is a long one, grey, foggy. Extremely short days and loooong evenings.

For now, I look at the yellow trees, hoping to see red soon. I am taking the back road to base, and when I drop my car on the side to snap some, a group of neighbors is watching me, I wave and show them the camera. They smile. I guess they know why I am shooting.

The bus is coming from the other side, I wonder how it gets under the trees, as the lane is covered with big trees overspanning the road to Dacre. I’d better get back in the car, before we get a jam. Not likely to happen on this small back road, but who wants to take the risk.

The day before, Mr wonderful and me take a stroll into the deer park at Studley Royal. Mating season for the deer, we hear the calling of the males. They come out of hiding, and we see big groups under and between the trees.

Different groups, and I am aware of the males. When the mating season is on, they are protective, and could charge.
I make sure that I am close to tree or stump to hide behind. I don’t want a pair of deer antlers in my butt. The males are a bit off the side of the mommy group, and some yearlings still staying close to the females.

They don’t look to ravishing, due to all the rain in the last months, it becomes hard to find a dry spot, their fur is sticky and mud creeps up along the paws. The deer need an extreme make over. Grooming please!

These deer are used to people, and as long as you approach them very silently and slow, they will watch it for a while, before they start moving to safer meadows. There is always one on the look out, and when one runs, they all will. Herd animals, numbers are safety.

More people enjoy the lovely weather, families have a walk in the deer park, we have all been starved from sun this summer, Fountains is heaving with the bit of sun that is shining. No time to loose, drop it all and go out.
We walk on to the pond, time for some geese and swans.

Markenfield Hall is not the only place with cygnets. We have another family in Studley Royal. Four bigger baby swans, swimming in formation, still under the wings of mom and dad. They are a couple of months older then the Markenfield ones, and it is clear that they grow fast. Turning into princes and princesses, who dares say ugly?

Funny how they keep formation, they float in a long row, the geese and gulls sharing the pond stay at a reasonable distance. No messing with swan parents. They do take care of their babies, and will fight for them. It looks like swans know the value of family life. The parents bond for life, and they raise the wild bunch with force united. A true parental unit. Maybe we should sit down next to the pond more and watch them take care of the kiddies. We people could learn...

They do break formation for one thing: FOOD...
The Studley Royal tea room is next to the pond, and do the birds know it. Families come over on sunday to feed the ducks. They get the swans free on top.

Beautiful babies. A bit odd that the fairy tale goes about one ugly duckling who did not fit in... It turned out to be changing in a beautiful swan, and become proud and fierce. They have smart black blinking eyes, and the world is reflected on their shiny beak. The water drops pearl on their feathers, they are waterproof for sure. There is a life above water and one under the surface, when they are fishing for food.

I can’t get enough of them, I could sit here all day. Just watch them and admiring their looks. Elegant is the first word they learn. Keep your cool, under all circumstances. The Hyacint Buckets amongst birds. Presence is everything. Always wear make up, never leave the house without it.

No matter what angle you see them from, they are beautiful. Six months old now, and pretty pretty girls. They know how to pose, Studley Royals Next Top Model, cycle 1. Work it girls, work it... Strutt the stuff.

One is taking posing a bit too far. Now and then you can spot them in a very un-swan-like way, with one paw on the back, floating relaxed. Life can be good on a sunny sunday afternoon.

A Canadian goose looks a bit scruffy if you ask me. No match for the cygnets...
We head for ice cream at the tea room, and I find a group of friends enjoying cream tea: scones with jam and cream, and tea. In a lovely setting.

One of them tells me that they are celebrating friendship. Here here! I wonder if they are back door friends...

We leave Studley Royal, and see Ripon Cathedral in the valley. Landscape artists took it all in consideration. The cathedral is in one straight line with the entrance of Studley Royal, with the church of Studley at the other end.
We had a lovely relaxed sunday. Ready for a new week... Our batteries have been topped off. Nothing as good as Nature to do a bit of battery charging.
Another weekend ahead of me, if the weather is good we might end up at the coast. To soak up some more fall sun...

Daily Life snippets...

I do have a daily life here. In England. A perfect little life with nothing much going on, yet I try to find a miracle in every day.
I do count my blessings. One has to, if you got a second chance on life, it changes you and Carpe Diem becomes the motto.
My blessings are plenty... Like a table and chairs bought in the auction... Having them painted to get my living room more cosy.
Not a place with “My stuff and your stuff”, as it was before I really got into some kind of design mood.
Aaron had his furniture, and I had mine, I am still somewhat peeved about the things I left in Belgium... But that is life. It was expensive enough to get my few pieces over the pond, so I had to make a choice.

I finally ended up with a Shaker green instead of my original blue... It was going to be a bit much to see that bright blue in our subdued room, the green is more relaxed. The gentleman Steve painted it with swift brushes, and it came out OK.

I was probably the only customer peeping in daily to take a look at the changes. Not to hurry them up (well...) but to see the work in progress. And I do love that store. It is so nice to just browse around, have a look at small things, touch the wood, and feel the warmth of what the furniture maker put in it. I love to touch furniture.

The chairs came in broken white, eggshell, and my friend Sandra is right now making cushions to tie the chairs to the table.
Cushions with Shaker green in them. My livingroom looks like me again now...

I still need to get the side tables out of there, but it is an american thing. One has to have side tables. The moose and the deer were a Christmas present from Wouter a couple of years ago, if we ever go live in a mountain cabin, they will fit right in.

Decluttering helped, I tossed a lot in the skip that was parked in our drive way when they were rebuilding the cottage next door, and we still have thousand things. In the attic, I still have 20 boxes that came from Belgium, and I have no clue what is in them anymore.
It will be Christmas all over when I rediscover the contents once in America.

For now, the cats are happy again, no more empty spaces, and all got into place again. Our cats are very unhappy when things change in the house. They like it neat and orderly. Sorry kitties, you should have picked another home.

Before the table got back, my male kittie Zuki slept in the middle of the living room. All that lives needs air is his motto, and he rolls over on his back to sleep. Funny cat! I have never seen any other cat sleep like he does. Rolling over and play dead.

On tuesday, Debbie came over and my table got officially broken in, we had a mini crop. The table looked as a factory, but a nice factory. It felt good, some creative vibes between us, the table top a mess, but we had fun. I love it when friends come over, it makes you feel so accepted if they spend time in my living room.
I miss my backdoor friends from Belgium. You know, the kind that does not ring the bell but gives a knock on the kitchen door and walks in... I loved that kind of friends, I had enough of them in those Belgian days.
I miss that now. The americans don’t seem to do it, at least not in England, as a lot of our hubbies are shift workers, you never know when they will be asleep. I need more back door friends...

And there was a line in the chaos. In between ribbons, paper, glue, tape gun, scissors, we ended up with 15 cards ready to be used as little photo frames. I love the friendship that comes with scrapbooking. Fiddling with paper, cutting, tearing, where have the scissors gone? They were here two minutes ago...

We made 15 different ones, very girly, not my usual making. We had a production line going on. Debbie cut the paper, looked for ribbon in my ribbon stash, I did the glueing and the tying. The fluffy ribbons gave the cards a nice touch.
And we had coffee in between of course, no crop without tea or coffee.
After we cleared up the mess on the table, kittiecats went back to normal mode, sleeping on the couch, they do that too, if not in “All that lives needs air mode”. They know how to make life comfortable...
Life is good when a friend comes over to crop, and I do have a big table to spread out on..

Manchester Town Hall: a gem

Truly. I first saw it on television, David Dimbleby, spreading his big ego over the North of England and showing us nice things. If you can surpass his ego, it is actually nice...
And the visit to Manchester’s Town Hall made me jaw drop to the floor. Thanks to television and internet for the things we learn. Right now for instance, I am watching Itzak Perlman, virtuoso Violinist. One window is my blog, the other is a tv program. With the wonders of technique, we get it all on our lap. No excuse anymore to be stupid and not know anything.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00dwfyt/Itzhak_Perlman_Virtuoso_Violinist/

is the URL to watch, although I am not sure it will work outside of England.

I don’t understand people who are bored. On any single day, on any single moment, you can open the internet and look and listen.
Learning from your seat. How easy can it be?
So after watching David Ego Dimbleby walking around in Town Hall, I knew I had to do it too.

Madeline et moi found it easily enough. Manchester is not that big, if you only count the very centre of town.
The market square was busy, sounds of hammers and people shouting. The athletes who performed well in Bejing were being hailed by the city. A huge concert, finished, only the cleaning up and breaking off was left.

Guys working, one is rather funny, as he has thin legs stuck in huge boots. I suspect his shoes are six sizes too big, if you compare with the legs, I think I need a life, if I am thinking stuff like that on a normal weekday.
It’s in the details.
If you can’t get the whole in the picture, go for the details. They tell a separate story.

You can say that Town Hall is built beautifully, with fine and distinguished elegance, but a detail picture indeed tells more then a thousand words.

The first thing I want to snap is Herr James Prescott Joule. Who invented a way to measure the relation between heat, electricity and mechanical work.
Beats me, I did not pay attention in physics class, but should you want to know more, go here.
I was clearly not born to stun the world with a high functioning mathematical brain. A group of kids was listening to a boring lecture about Herr Joule, they had more attention for what I was doing with my camera, and as it goes with kids, you never know what their next move will be, so as I snapped, one waved his finger in front of my lens. Fun is easy when kids are around.

I reshoot Joule, without kids, but it is a hard day, this time the painter shows up behind. The building is very much alive.
Love it...

And statues would be utterly boring if we would not mimic them from time to time. Madeline practised her people shots.
Amazing how alive statues come with some live people around.

No mimicking of this chap, John of Gaunt, 1st Duke of Lancaster. Tie with Belgium here, he was a member of the House of Plantagenet, third surviving son of King Edward III and Philippa of Hainault. (Henegouwen). He was born in Ghent. Before he kicked his bucket, he was extrememely busy, if I am counting correctly, 14 children with wives and mistresses made sure that the blood line of the British kings was secured, the House of Plantagenet haunted us in history lessons. Living in England and visiting old places sure brings history to life!

What Madeline and me did not know was that Town Hall was closed for visitors on the day we arrived. But a short explaining that we had called up front, and a passing guy working as security guard made sure that we got our own little private tour.
Running... Running... The guard obviously knew a lot about the history of the place, and dragged us onto stairs, off stairs, side wards, up wards and downwards till we were exhausted. We only did 3 floors of the nine...

The great hall was being set up for the same Bejing athletes being celebrated, but under the supervision from our personal body guard, we could peek in anyway, remember my grandmother telling us that “the boldest weasels sip the biggest eggs”. If we had accepted that Town Hall was closed on that day, we would not have gotten the grand tour, even if it was running at a steady tempo...

The town hall was completed in 1887, and is a neo-gothic masterpiece. I liked it, inside and out.
Some of the rooms are not always open for visitors, but this person had taken it up his shoulders to give us a Japanese Style tour a la carte. Run, run...
Next room, next floor, run, run...

Besides famous murals, we also find some portraits who look more like photographs then paintings. Both Madeline and me marvel over the art in this late 19th building.

A piece that was extremely interesting was a piece of cloth, with the bees as theme. Manchester has the bee as as symbol to bring the idea home of industrialisation and progress. What better then a busy bee?

The Arms shield of the city says concilio et Labore, translated to wisdom and effort. A good match, it worked for Manchester. The town was the cradle of the Industrial Revolution.

Another eye catching feature are the gas lights. Now on electricity, but back in the days, a novelty. Gas was transported to the upper floors of the building via a pipe hidden underneath the railings of the two spiral staircases.
The spirals go on for 9 floors, and it made me dizzy to look down in them. An ingenious feature of engineering skill.
The radiators have been placed in the basement, at the bottom of the spiral staircase, and as heat always looks for higher regions, the warmth is guided upwards to all the floors.

We try to combine snapping and running, trying to follow our guide, although much older then me and Madeline, he does a fairly good job in jumping up and down, and tackling the stairs. I have to grasp for breath, he doesn’t...
On we go, another floor up...

The pipe for the gas is invisible, but it is there, I did look underneath the railing. To see if David Dimbleby his ego had not told us small white lies.
A big difference between the top floors and bottom floors lies also in the decoration. As we go higher, the hallways become much more subtile, almost like convents. Those are up to today the offices for the different council offices.

Compare the two pics above, and you can clearly see the different grades of work done. The mosaic floor on the first levels have been laid by four men, and it took them nine years. Another proof of people finding joy in their job, and how their craft skill lived through ages. No damage was done to Manchester in WWII, they were pretty lucky to have escaped a damaged town hall.
It will be clear, what goes up...

must come down...

Run, run... we are still running, one thing, down is easier then up. And this is a memorable occasion...
For once I don’t have to run with a guard dog on my tail to monitor the fact that I am sneeking in pics, nope...
this time the guard dog shows us as many rooms as we can bare to run to, and we can snap to our hearts desire.

I try once more to get a good photograph of the stair case, but as I have to wriggle in between the marble colums, and as I am wider then I think I am, it is fiddling. I also don’t want to flash, as that one kills the atmosphere. I want to use natural light, a bit of a conditio sine non in this place... the stairs only get partially lit by the windows.

Lots of windows with glass in lead, always a treat... different shapes, a play of light and color.

A memorable visit, now i need to get Mr Wonderful down to Manchester, besides the town hall, the city has wonderful canal zones, Manchester relied on canals for its world trade.
I will be back in Manchester, soon, and will keep you all updated on the views we encounter...
Take care and I will be back soon!