Kei`s Poem for Obachan

The pipe gleamed with the heat passing through
And once I rested my hand upon its bough
And felt the slow harsh burning of my skin,
Then I was warned not to touch it again
Amongst other things – she kept everything.
The sound of rustling beads hanging in the wooden frame
Would tell of someone entering the kitchen,
And through the numerous sliding doors one could find the
Deep square bath where ships would drown,
The pink plastic bowl used to rinse one’s hair when our bodies
Rested contorted upon the rubber floor,
Outside we could hear the wind whistle and ripple the paper screens
Whilst within their glass boxes white dolls gazed out in their open eyed sleep,
In the morning steady rhythms beat from a wooden knuckle and
Rose to touch the ceiling of the house and descend again onto a reed floor,
The stepping stones ran always to the house
Whether crushed by thick drapes of icy snow or unmasked before the summer glare
That lit up all the blood of the mountains trickling into open fields of velvet earth,
And when we needed to our feet would take us down the road
To a row of shops outside of which I’d stare at the dispensing machines
Marvelling at their hidden plastic treasure,
Then we would return and guide our bodies through the beaded waterfall
And sit round the table late at night and listen to the murmur of the village.

Catherine Kei Lawford 2008

Click the heading for a short videohttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVhj9znTGrg of the chimes played every evening across the village

Litchfield

Litchfield, North Hampshire.

Litchfield, where I was born. on an early spring morning. I was christened in the village church of St James the Less where the vicar, the Rev Hamilton Lloyd, holds a well-attended traditional service twice a month.

Amergin

I AM the wind which breathes upon the sea,
I am the wave of the ocean,
I am the murmur of the billows,
I am the ox of the seven combats,
I am the vulture upon the rocks,
I am a beam of the sun,
I am the fairest of plants,
I am a wild boar in valour,
I am a salmon in the water,
I am a lake in the plain,
I am a word of science,
I am the point of the lance in battle,
I am the God who creates in the head the fire.
Who is it who throws light into the meeting on the mountain?
Who announces the ages of the moon?
Who teaches the place where couches the sun?

Anon

Favourite Music

An astonishing performance by Horowitz of Chopin's Prelude in D Flat Major 'Raindrop'

Amelia Lawford 16th February 2008

Marijke, Charlotte, Milly and Edward
Second granddaughter arrived on 16th Febuary in Melbourne. Lovely sister to Charlotte and sniff-delight to Wilbur...

Wiltshire Skies

Wiltshire is the most atmospheric county in England (Scotland is another matter). These views are of the West Kennett Long Barrow, with Silbury Hill just out of sight to the right and Avebury nearby

Click on the photos for larger views and the heading for some shots of these places from a recent visit

Ramesh Balsekar

The wild geese do not intend to cast their reflection; the water has no mind to receive their image - Chuang Zu

'Events happen; deeds are done; but there is no individual doer thereof' - The Buddha

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Favourite paintings - Ayako by Theo Ramos

Ayako by Theo Ramos (1992)

Why I Prefer Pubs to Restaurants

The Thomas Lord, West Meon

Now that the smoke has gone, pubs - whether in towns or villages or tucked into a beautiful landscape - are again the centre of life in England; warm and cosy in winter and wonderfully welcoming on a summer's evening. The food in many of them has improved immeasurably. They take their produce from the surrounding countryside and support local farmers, butchers and fisherman. Many have interesting - mostly New World - wine lists and serve ruggedly independent beers. They are usually old and full of charm, don't turn up their noses at muddy boots, welcome dogs and are full of interesting characters - including the locals who increasingly eschew the cities, finding that most 'townies' no longer know anything of country life. Being cheaper than restaurants and full of atmosphere, they are a far better choice for lunch or dinner - and if the mood takes you, you can log onto their free wi-fi and stay all day.

Vogue's Book of Houses, Gardens, People

A unique book, written by Valentine Lawford and photographed by his long-time friend Horst, with whom he lived on Long Island after leaving the diplomatic service in 1950. The book was published in 1968 and is long out of print. I had a copy from my parents which was unaccountably lost. This copy was obtained from a bookesller in New York, at considerable cost. Click on the heading for some illustrations from the book, with one page of Valentine's writing.