Saturday, August 09, 2014

July collage

1) The day we'd taken my sister back to the airport, that evening a hot air balloon, which in French delights in being called 'une montgolfière' passed over the house. These were a fairly common sight in the UK; our wedding coincided with the Bristol balloon festival, and the sky was full of the colourful, fanciful things all day.  Hereabouts one never sees them, this is the first I remember; our former neighbour told us that there's a man who owns one, the same man as is to be seen on summer evenings flying a tiny microlight craft, but their use is forbidden as they frighten the cattle. This one began to descend rapidly once over our hill top, and I was very tempted to jump in the car and chase and watch it come down, as I've done on summer evenings in the past: once in my childhood with my dad, when we followed one through Ashridge forest to an area of parkland, where dozens of other people had done the same thing and small children were racing around in their pyjamas, and another occasion when Tom's daughter, whom we were visiting at the time, her mother-in-law and I all drove off in sudden pursuit to the bewilderment of our assorted men- and child-folk. But the moment wasn't right this time, and I didn't do it.

2) Mirabelle plums in the hedges, the branches heavy laden.

3) Pink poppies.

4) Peas ripening, the second sowing better than the first.

5) Red onions drying in the sun.

6) Gatekeeper butterfly in the hedgerow.

7) The last artichoke, left to flower.  These never last very well. On the Island of Bréhat, they somehow preserve them and sell them to the tourists.

8) Courgettes, flower buds and fruit.  We're eating them now.

9) Whitecurrants, later than the red.

10) Tom making chutney with the mirabelles, and very good it is too.  I just have to stay his hand from opening and eating it too soon.

11) Molly's Rainbow Bridge gloves, as it turned out, though not consciously so (I know it's a mawkish and maudlin thing but I don't care).  My niece Bee in Australia feels the cold, even there.  She fell off her bike and smashed herself up a bit because she was trying to pull her jumper sleeves over her hands. I promised her handwarmers, and found the thick rainbow wool I'd bought a while back without plans. During Mol's last couple of days, during my shifts of lap-time with her, I knitted them up; it was comforting to have something bright and quick and easy in my hands to work on.  Bee understands, she always sees rainbows when beloved people die. I have since, it seems, acquired other antipodean nieces and nephews, some of them entirely honorary and unknown to me, who want pretty mittens made for them.

12) Molly's last day, with Tom on the sofa. Hesitated to include this, perhaps I'm overdoing it, but it seems important.  She was calm and comfortable.


The boat trip today was wonderful, will get onto the photos very soon.


The Crow said...

I especially like that you began and ended the collages with Molly. Very fitting, I think.

Catalyst said...

A lovely collage. And I love the picture of Molly's last day. Still feel so sorry about her.

Ellena said...

You can not overdo it with Molly -talk and Molly-show.

Lyse said...

Oh Lucy, je ne peux plus traduire en français . J'ai juste compris que ta soeur est repartie. Pas trop seuls maintenant ?
Très joli collage.
A bientôt

Jean said...

Lovely photos.

I went to the Virginia Woolf exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery today, where one of my favourite portraits was Gisele Freund's particularly lovely 1939 photo of Virginia and Leonard with their elderly spaniel, which made me think of you and Tom with Molly, of course:

Lucy said...

Crow - thank you dear friend. Always lovely to hear from you.

Bruce - thank you, that is appreciated, we do too, of course.

Ellena - that's lovely. She's still very much with us, and always will be I think. Sometimes that makes us sad, but we're also glad of it.

Lyse - c'est dommage que ton truc de traduction soit en panne! Et aussi j'ai trouvé ton commentaire dans 'spam', qui est embêtant... Ma sœur est repartie il y a quelques semaines, mais plus récemment on a reçu ma belle-famille - la fille, le gendre et les petits-enfants de Tom. Ils sont aussi partis maintenant donc nous sommes seuls encore, mais pas trop! Je reviens à Quessquitricote mercredi, alors, à septembre!

Lucy said...

Jean, sorry, missed you there. Thank you for that link (though it kept disappearing, I had to google it, never mind), that picture is so lovely. I've always meant to follow up her book about Elizabeth Barrett-Browning's spaniel. In fact looking for links I found an interesting one called 'Shaggy Muses' about various women writers' relationships with their dogs, and a quote from VW:

'You’ll call this sentimental—perhaps—but then a dog somehow represents the private side of life, the play side'

which echoes not only our feelings but those expressed by others about Mol and dogs in general. I'm still so touched people are so understanding and we don't have to apologise.

Lucas said...

A beautiful collage, both in image and association. The notes bring the pictures to life and the juxtaposition of the pictures keeps the eye involved for a nice long time. The colour green and the warmer browns and pinks make a great visual feast.
The subject of People and Dogs is not sentimental because dogs themselves are not sentimental.

the polish chick said...

there is no need to apologize for being sentimental, lucy - share exactly what you need to share, and when - we will be here.

zephyr said...

Love seeing these. Especially Molly and the Rainbow Bridge gloves. Not a bit mawkish or maudlin. She was and will remain a big part of your lives.

Rouchswalwe said...

Butterflies and rainbows! Fruit and flowers! And sweet Molly together with you both feeling the energy of your love before her journey. Thank you for this collage, dearest Lucy!

WM said...

Lovely to honour Molly here and to retain her presence in your life.