There may be a recording later when it arrives in my inbox.
Category Archives: Penryn
While we are talking about words – is anyone else enjoying Quordle? I’m loving it!
It’s Thanksgiving in the USA and in solidarity with family and friends in America, we cook up a storm of a Thanksgiving dinner using some family recipes. We’ve cooked a small turkey crown with and cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, using our beans and recipe from the book “Giving Thanks’ bought in Plimouth some years ago, mashed potatoes, kalettes with shallots and bacon, stuffing and gravy to be followed by Pecan Tart for pud.
I bought some recently caught Cornish Lemon Sole at the fishmonger’s today. coated it in seasoned flour and fried it quickly in butter – delicious! I served it with Cornish potatoes, spinach and peas and was reminded of a cartoon I saw recently.
You will all be aware that the COP26 meeting is happening in the UK, in Glasgow. Yesterday our choir sang, Voice for Change, music written by our choir leader, Claire Ingleheart and words by Jaime Lock, for a series of protest songs, Songs of Rebellion, a few years ago. It’s a fabulous piece and we recorded it last night for you. Do listen to the words. The line, “We can’t tell our children that we have not tried” gets me every time.
The gallery, Fannie and Fox, where I used to sell my glass closed over the pandemic but we are having a pop-up exhibition this week at The Fish Factory in Penryn. We set up my corner this afternoon ready for the opening night tomorrow.
Driving home afterwards there was a very interesting cloud that I managed to capture.
By the time we had finished singing in Penryn this morning, the tide had gone right out so I was very glad that a fellow singer encouraged me to ‘Seize the moment!’ when I spotted this lovely colourful reflection.
As we were leaving our fabulous singing session, we were chatting at the junction when a window box went by, stopping long enough at the traffic lights for me to catch a picture. It was delightful to see the little dog in the window once I had uploaded the photo.
The lovely Mr S and I went back to Penryn this afternoon to take the cushions out of the boat for its winter storage. While in the boatyard, I met a ship’s cat, Pearl, just 15 weeks old, who has just learned how to go up and down the ladder.
A bonus for you! Today is National Poetry Day. The theme is choice and on the National Poetry Day website I found a poem by one of my favourite poets whose work I have shared here before. A short extract was read on the radio this morning and I was delighted to find it ‘with kind permission of the poet’ allowing it to be shared. The last few lines particularly resonated with me. Do click on the link – there are many more poems for you there.
I may raise my child in this man’s house
or that man’s love,
warm her on this one’s smile, wean
her to that one’s wit,
praise or blame at a chosen moment,
in a considered way, say
yes or no, true, false, tomorrow
not today. . .
Finally, who will she be
when the choices are made,
when the choosers are dead,
and of the men I love, the teeth are left
chattering with me underground?
just the sum of me
and this or that
Who can she be but, helplessly,
Some day your head won’t find my lap
so easily. Trust is a habit you’ll soon break.
Once, stroking a kitten’s head
through a haze of fur, I was afraid
of my own hand big and strong and quivering
with the urge to crush.
Here, in the neck’s strong curve, the cradling arm,
love leers close to violence.
Your head too fragile, child,
under a mist of hair.
Home is this space in my lap, till the body reforms,
tissues stretch, flesh turns firm.
Your kitten-bones will harden,
grow away from me, till you and I are sure
we are both safe.
I spent years hiding from your face,
the weight of your arms, warmth
of your breath. Through feverish nights,
dreaming of you, the watchdogs of virtue
and obedience crouched on my chest. ‘Shake
them off,’ I told myself, and did. Wallowed
in small perversities, celebrated as they came
of age, matured to sins.
I call this freedom now,
watch the word cavort luxuriously, strut
my independence across whole continents
of sheets. But turning from the grasp
of arms, the rasp of breath,
to look through darkened windows at the night,
Mother, I find you staring back at me.
When did my body agree
to wear your face?
© Imtiaz Dharker, from Postcards from god (Bloodaxe Books, 1997)
With kind permission of the poet
Tonight we have had Leftovers Pie – chicken bits from the roast earlier this week with two chopped up vegan sausages all in a sauce made by whizzing up leftover cauliflower cheese and all covered with a puff pastry lid that had been frozen since I last made pies. We served the pie with Runner Beans harvested this afternoon at the allotment. We treated ourselves last night to a special dinner at our local hotel, The Penventon, and tonight’s frugality made up for that!
The Kalettes are flowering and make a pretty vase-full. They taste good too if caught before the flowers open so that they are like Purple Sprouting Broccoli.
I love this poem. It sums up my blog for me – ordinary things being just perfect.