Haitham, our Syrian guide, led us up to a small chapel capping the castle. Rather, it used to be a chapel and became a small mosque or prayer room after the crusaders were thrown out. Stairs led up to a platform where the Imam would have spoken, and a niche in one of the walls… Continue reading Syria and Jordan, Part 3
Syria and Jordan, the end
Before I move on to Petra and Wadi Rum, I want to tell you about some Jordanian children. I think we were inJerash, but I'm not sure. We climbed to a hilltop overlooking the ruins, when Walid called us together. A boy of about 10 stood with his armload of postcards. At a signal from… Continue reading Syria and Jordan, the end
Ordovician observationist
My son, Nathan, wrote this to his son, Nico, my first grandchild. . It tells you a lot about both of them. (Photo: Jurrasic Coas, Dorset, UK) Last Sunday, at a neighbor's easter egg hunt, I noticed my son Nico squatting in the planted bit of dirt between their house and a walkway to… Continue reading Ordovician observationist
Why I haven’t been writing in my blog —
I have been concentrating on oil painting lately, between life events, and am thoroughly immersed in learning to put on canvas, paper, or board what I see. Maybe some day I'll be an artist — see the photo album, Recent Paintings.
Painting al fresco
It is the time of year in England when you know where Wordsworth got his material. "Clouds of golden Daffodils" brighten the verges of the roads, sweep across meadows, and pop up in our gardens. I wonder who started planting them in the first place, if an army of ladies in tweed skirts and men… Continue reading Painting al fresco
Sara and Spring
The little bird who tapped on my window was leaving me a message. I began to notice isolated bird song cutting improbably through the fog, and now patches of Snowdrops are popping up in meadows and woods, sometimes with purple crocus alongside. I haven’t examined the bare branches of our Japanese maple or rosebushes yet,… Continue reading Sara and Spring
Pilates and a frosty morning
Helen, our local physiotherapist, teaches Pilates several mornings a week to the ladies of the parish. Not only do I make the 5 minute walk to the Village Hall, where the classes are, but also spend an hour gently stretching and pulling and using those deteriorating “core” muscles so I can stand up straight, and… Continue reading Pilates and a frosty morning
Art Class in Albury
Wednesday mornings I go to a painting class in the nearby village of Albury. Our teacher lives off Rectory Lane just down the road in Shere. I’m not feeling much like a painter, today. Well, yes, a painter, but rather of walls than of canvas. The thing is, this man is really teaching us to… Continue reading Art Class in Albury
Snowed In
We awoke yesterday to a snowfall which had been going all night. Roads were invisible beneath 6 to 8 inches of snow, sidewalks indistinguishable from them. I jumped out of bed –a very unusual occurrence for me – eager to discover our transformed world. We also wanted to get down to the corner store to… Continue reading Snowed In
Hoar Frost
Sorry to go on and on about the weather. It’s just so variable here in England, but just now, invariably cold. I’ve never lived anyplace with 0C temperatures or less for more than a weekend skiing. We have our two wood fires going, as well as the central heating, which I like, but Bernard likes… Continue reading Hoar Frost