My new obsession

Somehow, I'm not sure how, I discovered the world of antique botanical prints yesterday, whilst at work.

Thinking back, I am not sure what it was that triggered this, but all of a sudden I found myself searching fervently for suppliers of said prints.

All of a sudden I really want a few to go on the newly decorated walls of our house. Except they don't come cheap. Well not the pretty ones anyway. Since I am already somewhat in the red this month, I don't imagine my husband will be impressed that the money I will be potentially borrowing from him to 'tide me over' materialises into rather ephemeral purchases. Although, he is a frequent recipient of ebay ephemera himself.

One way of getting round this, I think, might be to order a book, a modern day book, which has a large number of these prints reproduced within it. Scalpel out the stuff I like, (douse it in tea, let my son loose on it and then hang it over the gas hob to give it that olde worlde look) and then frame it.

But then this opens up a whole new pandora's box of decision making - which book to go for, and does it have the prints I like etc. and of course the books I like so far happen to be pretty pricey anyway. Take a look at this and this

And then of course, there's the issue of overkill. I think that one or two, maximum three prints of this genre, neatly framed in a few different parts of the house will add some real charm and interest, however, I'll be shelling out for a book of potentially hundreds of them, so what happens to the rest? They can't all go on the walls, as that would not work with the 'creative idea' of our house (not that there is one really...), nor would it leave any room for my husband's delightful 'fantasy' style print of the Rolling Stones. So, they'll end up as coffee table reading, with a few pages showing signs of being hacked at rather clumsily with a pair of child's nail scissors.

And to top it off, my online search of antique print dealers has segued into maps as well. I'm now after some antique maps of places I've visited in the past.....husband and I will be fighting for wall space before we know it. Our own little turf war.

Garden City Mummy ~ Post 1

Motherhood is full of painChinese foot binding shoes

Edward Scissorhands

This is an observation I had today on my way to collect my son from childcare.

How did I arrive at this observation you may ask. Childbirth? Yes, that hurt. Cracked nipples? certainly in the early days...but no, this observation was born (pardon the pun) of a rather more mundane episode, with no blood, gore, or stitches.

Well, as sometimes happens, a combination of events (usually involving the piccadilly line) led to my being in a big rush to get to my boy on time, and it just so happened that I was wearing new shoes. New summer shoes. Which can only mean one thing. Pain. Of course if I were to walk at a normal speed, then the pain would be minimal. It would be nothing more than the familiar pain of breaking in new shoes. However, when one is a mum, one does not want to be late for one's little darling, and so, of course, I had to run. Running in new, tight, kitten heels, with swollen end of the day feet hurts. A lot. Ergo, motherhood is painful.

When I sunk like an ageing trawler into the bath this evening, I have to say that the stinging pain caused by the numerous blisters and scrapes adorning both feet, was only a few notches below the stinging I felt upon bathing immediately after childbirth where I came face to face with edward scissor hands the midwife. They (my feet) still hurt now. Oh well, I think it'll be back to the knackered old trainers tomorrow.

Running a tight garden ship

Well I am pleased to say that thanks in large part to my husband's efforts, our garden can now be compared to the aforementioned 'tight ship'.

The lawn was mowed, the edges trimmed, weeding undertaken, and seedlings planted.

As if by design it rained today, in order to give the garden a nice soaking after the relative dryness of the weekend.

I am now watching the Chelsea Flower show on TV. I would love to get down there on my day off with my son in tow, but, alas, like too many things these days, babies and small kids are not invited.

A red sailing ship off the east coast of the
Ile aux cerfs, Mauritius, Jan 2003

Now don't get me wrong - I don't fall into the camp of parents that think their kids should have guestlist to a whole range of otherwise 'adult' occasions. I for one, would never force my son's presence on a couple who, say, decided they wanted their wedding to be an adult only affair, and as an ex business traveller, I can understand a little the frustration an exhausted business person feels when a mum with a babe in arms plonks herself next to his flatbed in business on the JFK -LHR red eye...I digress, but you get the picture....so,back to Chelsea.. short of potential accessibility issues with a buggy, I cannot for the life of me understand why I couldn't go there with my son. I mean it's outdoors, it doesn't rely on quiet, or long periods of standing still listening to people speak or perform....my buggy is brown, so it would camouflage in nicely, and my son is a lovely cute little child, who tends to provoke adoration in even the sourest of adults. Hmmmm. I think it's all a bit snobby. I suppose they think a buggy pushed by a mum carrying a bit of post preg weight might 'lower the tone' somewhat. Oh well. We'll be giving it a miss then.

Photos

Today's entry is rather more pictorial than text based...well it's intended to be, but as it turns out, there's a little vignette I want to share with you first.

So we've had the anti social dog owner, now what about the accusing parent of out of control toddler.
I've noticed this with increasing annoyance since becoming a parent myself.

Let me explain.

I'm talking about parents whose kids are now at an age where they're toddling around without reigns or any other means of containment. Off said toddler goes, zig zagging across a crowded thoroughfare of a town centre near you, and ooohh watch out, they're coming right at your buggy, so you deftly move your buggy out of their path, only to be greeted with a mix of accusing and barely concealed middle class annoyance emanating from parent of said toddler. For it always is those middle class parents who occupy this role.

We experienced this today. It annoyed the shit out of me. An admittedly harmless, cute toddler almost ran into my son in his buggy - my husband steered quickly out of his way, only to be glared at, deploringly by the toddler's be-chinoed, be-deckshoed father.

I mean, if you're so worried about little Tarka or Misty bumping into a rogue (read non bugaboo) buggy on their race to the Early Learning Centre, then use some reigns, put them back in the bugaboo, or better still hold their hand....but don't glare at my family. Gggrrrrhh.
Anyway, hope you enjoy the photos
.
An inhabitant of an oft neglected part of the garden - beetroot. Hmmm can imagine this in a nice beetroot and feta salad.


The glorious Maigold climbing rose - it smells as good as it looks, and to the right, one example of what I call our 'borrowed' flowers - these are the stragglers from our neighbour's garden, which poke through into our side of the garden. Lucky us. There's about 100 more where this one came from - all of different colours.


And lastly, my 'wild' corner, with Papaver Orientale, Hydrangea Annabelle,Verbena, and another 'borrowed' clematis. Watering can, gardener's own. Wheelie bin, property of the council.

A dog's tale

The town where we live is known as a garden city. This means, amongst other things, that public spaces (of which there are many) are carefully maintained, and really quite beautifully landscaped. Even in the town centre you don't go far without coming across a bed of irises, roses or ornamental grass, planted in such a way as to provide real aesthetic pleasure.

The care that is taken of the town's public spaces, I think, has a knock on effect on the way its inhabitants themselves take care of them....there is very little littering, and you don't see much graffitti, and this will sound snobby, but it's not meant to be: overall, people really seem to care about their houses, and their gardens too. It's infectious.

Well so is the poo that I saw a dog doing in one of the aforementioned lovingly maintained beds of roses and late flowering tulips. Yes. It's true. I was walking to work very early the other morning and I usually pass a couple who walk a large dog. Well on this particular morning I saw the canine and its owner on a side street, and to my horror, I could swear that the owner was almost persuading, nay, cajoling the dog to do none other than squat on the flower bed - not the pavement - and issue forth a revolting winalot flavoured stool.....Oh, she'll pick it up and bin it, I thought, as I watched aghast (because I kid you not, this is what I see most of the octogenarian dog owners do in the town: bending down on their synthetic knees, scraping it up into a plastic bag. Bless em.)

But no. This thirty something woman, just let the dog finish its business, and walked on.

Does anyone else find this a really anti social piece of behaviour? Should I have said something? I felt like it, but didn't, as am still in that London mentality of cause offence get stabbed. But I wish I had. How disgusting. And to do it specifically in the flower bed. Hmmmm. Not sure how owner and dog got through the garden city vetting process!

aphids, the crocus catalogue and other excitement

Phew...what a week....
It's been a busy one, and finally I can relax.
Funnily enough, evening relaxation in this house in the evenings tends to mean my husband and I each occupying a sofa, laptop on knees, surfing the net, and writing our respective blog entries.
Of course we do talk to each other, but then aren't the solidest, most concrete relationships those where you can 'be' together in a room, and not feel forced make smalltalk or discuss whose turn it is to put the rubbish out tomorrow.

I guess this evening past time is the equivalent of letter writing in the drawing room in the Edwardian, or even Victorian age! Yes, I like that comparison. Makes me feel like less of a social misfit already.

Anyway, onto the subject in hand.
Well, whilst we have practically developed SADS because the weather has been so dull, the garden has seemingly exalted at the oceans of rain thrown at it over the last ten days.
We were out there tonight, it smelt wonderful, a mix of rain water and plants, and looks greener, lusher, more healthy than ever.

My Maigold climbing rose has opened its first flower: the scent is as exquisite as I'd hoped, and my tangle of Verbena, Hydrangea and Papaver Orientale look bursting with life and muddle together very artfully.

However, we noticed, unfortunately, that our other rose, the St. Swithuns is coated with Aphids. Hmmm, this leaves us with a dilemma....we try our best to keep our garden organic, in terms of not using chemical pest control. So do we go against this, and get some pesticide? Or, do we look for, and obtain, an organic means of controlling this pest. I'm not sure what to do. But I have started to get very protective of my plants and will be especially gutted if this rose carks it, as it has a special symbolic meaning for me.

Somewhat assuaging this frustrating dilemma is the arrival of the small, comprehensive, and above all, tempting Crocus.com catalogue. Hmmm, I've got plant envy again and feel the need to indulge in some new stuff....

My eye is on: Tricyrtus hirta, Culver's root, pincushion flower, some pelargoniums and a pineapple lily...I could go on, but wont bore you....

We're planning a garden focused weekend, weather permitting, so for all of my faithful readership, I'll post some photos of the garden city garden in its full green, glory.

Blog Etiquette

Completely off topic this one, but I've been prolifically exploring the blogosphere recently, and sometimes what I find, particularly in comment boxes, disturbs me.

People put their lives, innermost feelings, grief, love, worries, fears, photos of their kids, in a public forum. They write about decisions they've made, things they're not happy about, life changing events.... and all of a sudden some sour, embittered person with an agenda hijacks their comment box with a stream of vitriol, and often, encourages other likeminded vitriolmongers to visit, do the same, and post the link on their blog. Soon, a personal crisis or tragedy becomes public property, a piece of meat to be pawed over, a debating subject. And as such, those commenting seem to forget the human, real, feelings behind the original posting. They talk to the original poster in a way they never would if they were face to face in public.

This upsets me.

Some would argue that bloggers relinquish the right to expect politesse and mediated comments by putting their personal wares out for the world, but why can't we exercise the same manners, compassion, self editing in the blogosphere that we do in the real world? What is it about blogging, apart from the possibility to comment anonymously, which makes this happen?

I'm not going to refer you to any of the most troubling examples of this - as that would be doing the particular vitriol mongers a favour - but suffice to say this blog, for the sake of my mental welfare, and the privacy of my child and husband, will skirt around sensitive or controversial issues. A shame, in a way, as I love a good discussion, but only one where normal social etiquette and human values of compassion, tolerance and empathy are the driving forces.

Good. I've wanted to get that one out of my system for a few days.