When words fail to express how much I miss you, and fail to lend me the strength to hold my own onto that ship... While your being gone has cast our lives into disarray like a tempest unforeseen, bashing us castaways against the harshness of our depleted surroundings, wreak havoc our lives, split open our hearts... Despite your not being afar for I can feel you
around, softly brushing past, hesitant tip-toe, lingering into
regretful embrace, gliding up and down the Stairway to Heaven in nocturnal errance... If only you whisked me along.
How I care to imagine living a day without you and still carry it through, whether my life will be whole again despite the hole that you left... How what mattered yesterday has come to pass and lies at our feet in its irrelevant, insignificant splendour... And whether I seek to explain to the rest of you here - or not,
I shall never cease to love you. When words lack a word and words fail your hurt, elude or go astray, laced into the atemporality of the present hurt... You have to forget the words and forgive them too. And let flowers do the talking for you.
Welcome to LBM and Mirabelle's brand new series, InstaGlam, which explores brands that celebrate the beauty of life on Instagram! We start off on a strong and vibrant note with Italy's dynamic fashion duo, Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana.
There is something warm and generous about the Dolce & Gabbana brand, a little like a seasoned Italian mama: warm, spicy, friendly, coquettish, hands-on, streetwise and nurturing all at once. And no better way to appreciate it than via Instagram, where both D&G and Stefano Gabbana go beyond the call of fashion duty to share inspiration.
It is a sunny, vibrant, joyful, technicolor celebration of life, where the D&G man, woman and child lust for life. It is a far cry from certain couture houses out there that have a clinical, rigid, no-frills, monochrome approach to fashion and lifestyle, season after season. D&G is actually more than a fashion brand, it is a lifestyle umbrella.
Elements of nature, religion (Alta Moda Collection), tradition, artistry, and couture wizardry combine their threads to compose a tapestry of covetable craftsmanship with faerie-like, romantic, folklore and bohemian accents. Much detailing and ornementation are at play and those wearable works of art manage to pique our curiosity and send a message to those fast and furious fashion creators who have sent the high street bland and drab.
In our troubled times of transience and fickleness, and under the globalised aseptised world that elites are pushing us towards, D&G spells Italian heirloom, old money, oodles of originality, opulence and a waff of quirky flamboyance, not to mention an ode to cultural enrichment through the rediscovery of culture. In other words, they bridge past and future, like their flagship retail store on Via Montenapoleone in Milan.
Moreover D&G does not rest on their laurels. Their marketing and brand management is savvy, edgy and responsive. When a couple of months ago D&G faced a backlash due to their supporting US First Lady Melania Trump who proudly and consistently wears their outfits, Stefano Gabbana, a fervent admirer of Melania's style and persona, responded to his detractors boldly. He pre-empted any call for boycott on their part by actually launching a... #BoycottD&G campaign through social media as well as a matching tee-shirt range! No adverse publicity, just a smart move; what appeared risqué at first immediately brought limelight, coverage, and ultimately served the brand in a positive fashion! Well done!
D&G is fashion that sings and flutters and seduces like the Italian language itself. This is fashion lifestyle by a life-loving duo, and you can feel, breathe and eat it all you like! Bellissima pasticceria della moda!
Who still puts pen to paper nowadays? To those of you nodding a 'Not me', glancing away, or rolling those eyes like I'm out of touch, let it be known: the technological panacea may not apply to our personal communications after all. Time to dust off your stationery pads and replace those dried-out pens. I'm going to show you why this should be done.
Our handwritten prowesses and the availability of stationery of all styles and denominations (fancy, formal, sober, classical, feminine - you name it), have been seriously put to the test by technological advances that have made it easier and quicker to communicate in our personal affairs the messages, announcements, invitations, RSVPs, thank you notes, letters and the likes. You can even send electronic postcards. Choose a template, tweak it or customise it if you wish to express some form of individuality and creativity, type up a few words and click 'send'.
Here's the catch. Notice how I put 'some form' in italic in the paragraph above. You have no reason to feel smug because no matter the fanciness and advanced level of the graphics, typeface - and/ or interface - the communication will remain purely electronic and robotic. Carrying sentiments in a personnal communication of the sort is doomed to be diluted, lost in the proverbial translation.
As much as you try to make it personal and personable, the very essence of the personal touch is missing because the personal finds its perfection in the time, effort and dedication that were put into the making of the letter. This might involve the quirks of the handwritten prose (or poetry for that matter) that makes it uniquely you, the movement of the sentence being carried out by the way you form your characters, and the pauses that make the sentences come alive, breathe. The handwritten carries a letter. The electronic does not. The handwritten makes a letter individual and unique. It is an act of creativity all to itself. The handwritten letter is a one-to-one communication that reflects the commitment of the writer to the recipient. However no matter how much you tweak and customise an electronic file, you will not be able to recreate that individuality, that uniqueness.
Now think about paper, card, envelope, stamp, stick-on embellishments. A letter is physical: it is not just about word content, it involves the type of material it is written on and this too summons feelings: the choice and quality of the paper, its finish, its size and colour, the way it was folded, how the pen glided upon it - or maybe scratched it. How the ink got absorbed into the paper, the blots, the smears, the marks, the fades, the imperfections... Now look at the paper, touch and feel it. What's its condition? Is it soft, delicate, flimsy, thin, thick, embossed, filigreed, crinkled, aged? Does it feel ordinary? Expensive? What is the handwriting like? Neat, perky, flourished, eccentric, messy, illegible, tired? How about the spelling? There is no doubt that a letter carries a lot of meaning. It has more to say than words themselves. It is clear that a letter comes alive when it is handwritten.
I remember vividly to this day how during my very first job in a small translation office in England, I used to sneakily type up a letter to my grandma on my fancy Mac computer whenever I had some 'free time' at work. I would then mail the letter to her that very same evening. However what I was doing by means of efficiency, expediency and practicality while genuinely aiming for a letter to my grandma, she would sadly feel that efficiency, expediency and practicality of mine when she opened my letter, and that kind of killed the spirit and purpose of my letters to her. My good intentions were a mixed bag, maybe because as a keen and yet traditional letter-writer, she held the belief that unless handwritten, a letter shall never claim to be that personal and committed.
I agree that a personal letter takes time to write and you have to be in the mood to do it. Yet if you consider it a time-consuming piece of work (a chore even), and look at ways to devise it with efficiency, expediency and practicality in mind, maybe you should reconsider sending that letter at all - or opt for a less ambitious communication: a postcard.
No matter what, I believe in rekindling the habit of letter/ card writing. I started the year by sending out a few pretty cards to some family members who I had lost touch with, and to Marie L., a 98-year-old lady friend of my grandma's who I have been visiting lately, wishing them a Happy New Year, enquiring about them and updating them on some personal news. That is a way to show you genuinely care and it will give them - and you - a boost!
Sir David Attenborough is a living legend. He harks back from the world of nature conservation and stands at the forefront of the collective psyche, in his home country and overseas! He is one of those rare and endearing national treasures whom we wish would be bestowed the gift of immortality by a nature faerie!
Sir David Attenborough is 90 years young! (pict source)
His passion for the natural world is infectious and we can only bow to his skill and savoir-faire in delving right into the depth of his knowledge base to bring out the right dosage of scientific knowledge which he then effortlessly distills out like with a pipette, translated in plain English to a broad and loyal TV audience, in long wondrous sentences that all to themselves have educated at least a couple of generations of kids outside of school. Sir David has made a resounding success out of his fascinating science-laced story-telling set against high-quality visuals and that makes him, in my mind, the best nature documentary broadcaster ever!
I have never come across one single piece of criticism towards the gentleman and that proves something. He is respected in his circles and beyond. He is an institution of fascinating science dissemination all to himself and a pillar of society who thrives by introducing us to nature with a childlike twinkle of awe in the eye.
A plethora of members of the wild order have been named after him, as a sign of recognition and honour for his invaluable contribution to wildlife. This includes a dragonfly from Madagascar, and also a wingless beetle, a tiny spider, an ancient pygmy locust, a ghost shrimp, plesiosaurs (prehistoric creatures), a pitcher plant, a daisy, and
the Sirdavidia genus! And as further homage to his worthwhile contribution to the United Kingdom, he was knighted by Her Majesty the Queen in 1985. The high number of awards and honorary degrees he has 'collected' along the years matches the uniqueness of the man.
What makes Sir David so popular has to do with his unique way in sharing his knowledge, and in his friendly persona, his humility, courtesy, go-getter attitude and strong work ethics, surrounded by a stellar team of audio-visual colleagues from the BBC and elsewhere who excel in the art of film documentary of a high calibre à laNational Geographic - although it could be that National Geographic got inspired by Team David in the first place...
This is no fly-on-the-wall haphazard camera phone moment. You are talking the Deluxe package of well-researched, well-documented, budgeted high-end productions that take weeks of preparation and filming in often remote areas of the world, in difficult weather conditions. Yet the passion of every member of the crew for the natural world permeates every second of an Attenborough documentary. It is one Heaven of an experience! The end result is a reward to their hard work: superb cinematographic views, captivating story-telling through Sir David's unmissable voice-overs, seamless montage, mastering of light and shade to their best effect, the crisp close-ups captured in their minutiae, the patient time lapses. All fuse together into a finished article of compelling delight to watch and behold!
Let us note in passing a few of Sir David's royal credentials. First off, he shares the same birthday year as the Queen (1926), which makes him a
cool 90 years young! Like 'Lisbeth', he is not about to retire! Thus don't let his age faze you for Sir David is not your average senior citizen! He's a
picture of health and still clocks more miles in a year than the average person half his age would in their lifetime. Globe-trotting the world for wildlife's sake is second nature to him.
Meanwhile Sir David's anti-celebrity status makes him instantly loveable as an ordinary man who just happens to have an extraordinary life and who's old enough to be your grandad. Except this one is still hustling, having fun for a living! His positive attitude and adventurous inclination have inspired anyone with a case of wanderlust to chase the dream rather than stay stuck in the safety of some hapless job. Not everyone will make the journey though because not everyone is cut from the Attenborough cloth. And if David wasn't enough, think about his brothers' contribution to society, actor, film director and producer Richard and motor industry executive John.
Sir David has wide knowledge and wisdom; he cultivates simplicity and honesty like we would garden herbs - daintily. He is no 'look-at-me' show-off. There is no ambiguity as to where he stands: nature is the star of his show, not him. It does help that he has the physical elegance to carry this through and his poised voice is instantly recognisable: he has the clear-cut elocution, the well-balanced pitch and warm tone of a classically-trained actor.
The famed naturalist has had a profound impact on nature lovers like myself. He has turned the combined celebration of biology, ecology, conservation and filmography into an art form with a strong pertinent message. He cultivates a sense of humour but there is no pathos in his speech when, say, a lion kills a wildebeest because he understands nature: life out there revolves around the battle of the fittest.
An enjoyable character and an incurable optimist, he casts nonetheless a critical eye on the way man has been treating the planet. He brings to our attention that since he's started working, the Earth population has trebled in size, resulting in exponentional land encroachment and loss of natural habitat. As human demography is exploding, wildlife will suffer even more severe losses.
This is a man who goes beyond the format of traditional wildlife documentaries like only a well-travelled, curious, original adventurer of his calibre would. Education and creativity go hand in hand. He pushes the boundaries of curiosity and nature fascination always. For instance, The Amber Time Machine (2004), part of the Attenborough in Paradise and Other Personal Voyages series, explores the identity of creatures trapped in amber.
Two giants! Sir David Attenborough 'rubbing shoulders' with an elephant seal bull. (pict source)
In cleverly bringing together pertinent scientific knowledge, the latest technological prowess, captivating story-telling combined with those spicy anecdotes of the natural world, not to mention an upbeat and warm personality, Sir David has made a success out of nature reporting and created by the same token a captive audience that spans wide and far. From the Royal echelons down to the inner cities, the nature presenter is a social leveller, handing out to us a tasty serving of nature at its best for us to enjoy, understand, learn from, love and respect. Long live Sir David! May your rare talent keep inspiring generations of nature lovers and may the wonder for the wild order, alongside wildlife itself, never go extinct!
One way to deal with our troubled times, our modern day predicament whatever this might be, is to hark back to the past in order to seek solace, answers or simply to solidify the grounding of our core beliefs - faith for instance - that sit within the cultural territory of our heritage. And the revisited, nurtured grounding might just give us that extra footing so we can face the present more comfortably, with more assurance. Look at it like a watered, tendered, tilled garden. Or a book whose written content is interlaced with pertinent illustrations.
The purpose of this article is not for me to go all religious on you or for you to feel put off by the seemingly heavy topic of religion. The approach to and treatment of topics like religion (or philosophy for that matter) shouldn't need to be heavy either. I believe that the key to get children and adults interested in a book like the Bible, the way to make it appealing to them is visually: colourful, purposeful, unleashed creativity!I believe in the healing power of graphic design and how its magic and soothing, positive aura help tackle the (potentially) life-changing publications like the Bible, and outreach to a new audience or get them rediscovered. If I were to head the Ministry of Education, graphic designers, illustrators and other creatives would hold a pivotal role!
As a collection of sacred texts in Judaism and Christianity, compiled under the Old Testament and the New Testament, the Bible guides Jews and Christians in their spiritual journey. Christian believers should be somewhat connected to, acquainted to or familiar with the Bible, depending upon the depth of our relationship with faith and how much of a practicing believer we are.
The Bible, whose complimentary copy deposited by The Gideons in hotel rooms might be the closest some of us will ever get to in physical terms, and the closest opportunity to the path to spiritual enlightenment, yet a book which we might sadly only open if deprived of lighter reading matter, mobile devices or other forms of hotel 'entertainment'. Now if the Bible, or an introduction to it - which might suffice - were a pictorial feast like The Biggest Story: How the Snake Crusher Brings Us Back to the Garden, written by Kevin DeYoung and illustrated by Don Clark, in a carefully-summed up, loving way that resonates with faith neophytes, chance is we would take more than a last-chance-saloon interest in the Bible!
Illustrations have the power to reconnect us with serious topics, and reawaken us, rekindle the flame within. For some, it might just be enough. Others might delve deeper, reach out for a de-facto copy of the Bible and start reading the Scriptures and maybe befriend the local church. As an aside, just think what a little illustrative licence would do to Tolstoy's War & Peace?
Cultural heritage is certainly what children need so they get their sense of identity and belonging and grasp some form of understanding about the greater things in Life, the greater scheme of things that span the seen and the unseen, without adults tampering with it, getting all metaphysical and complicating it like only we know how.
By the way, I didn't grow up within an overzealous Christian family but my mum made sure we would attend church at least once a month. I was christened as a baby and when I was about 9 years old followed
catechism, a weekly hour-long religious education syllabus provided by
the local priest or his aide as a way to prepare us kids for catholic communion.
To be honest, I can't remember a thing from my religious classes. Most of all though, what left a lasting impression on me and provided me with the tools that in turn helped develop my curiosity in God and the Universe, my spirituality, my critique, my imagination also, and the on-going willingness to find out more were those illustrated books that I had got from my parents and other relatives throughout my childhood. They were almost as visually-pleasing as The Biggest Story and they sure left an impact.
Richly-illustrated, graphics-driven, full-page decorative, symbology-strong children's books like The Biggest Story are bound to appeal to the young and the less so. They are the most enticing introduction to the Bible, a book that needs no introduction and yet that is daunting for a non-practicing Christian to open, or for a curious non-believer or the member of a different faith. Learning and personal development should be fun and visual appeal will facilitate it.
The Biggest Story: How the Snake Crusher Brings us Back to the Garden, by Kevin DeYoung and illustrated by Don Clark, was published by Crossway, Wheaton, Illinois in 2015, 132 pages. Kevin is the senior pastor at University Reformed Church (PCA) in East
Lansing, Michigan. He serves as a council member at the Gospel Coalition, as Chancellor’s Professor of Systematic and Historical Theology at
Reformed Theological Seminary and is a PhD candidate at the University
of Leicester. Don is an artist and the cofounder ofInvisible Creature, a widely respected
and award-winning design studio based in Seattle, WA. The book is available to purchase from Invisible Creature and Amazon. Don't miss out on the free 25-page PDF preview!
"The Biggest Story is a delight to the eyes, ears and hearts of its readers. With rich illustrations and even richer text, the biggest and best story is presented in all of its vivid colors - every dark shade and every bright tone. Parent and child alike will feel the ache of the fallenness of human nature and the comfort of an always-faithful God. From our family to yours, we wholeheartedly commend this book!" - Matt and Lauren Chandler
A couple of days ago Tickle and I went down to our local beach. It was nice to resume that sweet habit that we had been neglecting over Autumn and the Winter months. We walked down the main road and then obliqued through the back lanes, past a cluster of houses, and then embraced the lowland and the marshes, checking the wildlife as we strolled along, an eye to the right where just above the lush pasture line, the blue of the sky meets up in conversation with the blue of the sea and both shimmer and mesmerize.
We took that little curved lane that gently and whimsically leads us to the beach, past myrtle bushes and other hedgerow delights. And then the path opened up to the shoreline, cluttered with heaps of dried up Posidonia oceanica, otherwise known as Neptune Grass or Mediterranean Tapeweed, a seagrass endemic to the Mediterranean sea whose clusters form dense meadows across sandy seabeds (at depths of typically 1–35m, i.e. 3.3–114.9ft). The grass sheds its ribbon-like foliage either naturally or during storms, that ends up shored up onto beaches into compact cushion-like stratae, resulting into heaps of brown grass deposits that we call 'banquettes'. Those might look disgraceful once piled up there on the sand but think what they look like under the sea when they are still attached to their clump, dancing to the current like a mermaid's mane hiding in its strands a rich sea life and oxygenating the water at the same time!
Tickle & Posidonia oceanica
I sat on the beach and Tickle laid down by my feet. And there we were, soaking up the views and the sunshine. My little companion is taking life in a mellower stride these days but it never takes long for the boisterous JRT natural instincts to spring up to the surface! Notwithstanding age is catching up with him somewhat. Although I will never know for sure his exact age, having rescued him as a young dog from the pound back in August 2006, I can only assume that he may be 10 and a half years old, maybe 11.
With this in mind, I took him to the vet's two months ago in order for him to undergo a full health check. In his case, he fell under the Senior Dog Health Check. He was weighed (just under 10kg, approx. 20lbs, which is ideal for a JRT), had a general inspection of his body, and a blood test. The vet was satisfied with the fact that Tickle had been on a veg-rich diet all of his life, which is now becoming more significant as he's reaching his golden years. Then off for a little dental clean: his teeth had a scale and polish under light IV sedation in order to remove built-up tartar which - if left unremoved - will bring a variety of ailments. The result was impressive as Tickle came out with Hollywood gleaming white teeth!
A scratchy nose?
Then the mutt had an echography to check his internal organs and, thank God, he passed with flying colours! All in all, he was given the all-clear except for one (currently minor) health concern: early-stages cataract. This has been creeping up on his eyes for the last 4 months, I believe. The condition affects most dogs as they age and leads to blindness if left untreated. I had noticed a very faint very localised clouding towards the centre of his lenses but this isn't noticeable unless you are actually looking for it, and there it was confirmed to me by the vet. She prescribed an Omega 3-rich fish oil treatment combined to an amino acid food supplement that both claim to slow down the onset of cataract and will keep my little friend comfortable. Eventually his eyesight will get affected to the point that eye surgery may have to be considered, as the only viable treatment to reverse cataract. It is a common practice nowadays with excellent results - if undertaken by a competent vet surgeon. Mine doesn't carry out eye operations but she would be happy to refer Tickle, should we wish to go ahead with the operation.
If you are a pet owner, I would recommend regular pet health checks, especially as regards life stages. In any case, once your pet gets to a certain age, I would insist you have them undergo a thorough health check and then keep up with bi-annual visits at the very least, or as per the vet's recommendations. In our case, we'll be back at the vet's in 4 months from now for a follow-up. In the meantime, we'll keep on enjoying the little pleasures of life, and our walks down the beach are definitely one of them!
It is claimed that the oldest memory trigger is smell. One particular example of that experience in my life is everytime I walk by a blossoming elder bush (Sambucus nigra), in Spring. It reignites a nostalgic journey down memory lane. Not only does the sight of this old-fashioned hedgerow favourite and its tiny off-white flower clusters (corymbs) get my full attention but so does the delicate honeydew-like aroma that pervades! Watching with the eyes gets superseded by watching with the nose!
I get closer and bury my nose in the lacy inflorescence and the sweet balmy jasmine-like aroma envelops me into a comforting embrace and transports me back to my childhood days, when my friends and I used to venture on the edge of our small housing estate, eastbound of a sunken path that used to wind down past a bosquet and remnants of pasture and orchard, a surviving testimony of the countryside that was being fragmented into suburbia as my hometown of Saint-Quentin was expanding.
Back then, you could still notice those vestiges of mature, bucolic cottage gardens that were standing still in their semi-neglected state, rife for development in what had become an encompassing suburbia, yet still within walking distance from the countryside. And my most vivid memory is that hedge of closely-knit elder bushes that thrived on an elevation, our perfect adventure ground, vantage outpost and hiding place as kids. We loved it when the bushes were blossoming, less so after the flowers had wilted, and their swollen bases had turned into those clothes-staining dark berries!
Later, life took each of us kids down its wondrous and less wondrous ways, and off a tangent from those dreams and ambitions we had woven under the comforting canopy of those elder bushes. With higher education, relationships, marriage, family commitments, work, milestone achievements, celebrations, and some disillusions, losses and dramas along the way.
I moved 300 miles away from home to University. Then I moved to England. When I did come back to Saint-Quentin a handful of times a year, it was with joy and a pinch in my heart, always to witness things that used to be and were no more, people who used to be and were now gone. One day, I drove down the road and the land where the elder bushes once stood had been flattened. And in their place stood a rendered breeze-block wall that hedged a newly-built property. And that flattened landmark at that very moment defined in my mind the joylessness - and flatness - of suburbia.
Many years later, I found myself reacquainted with elderflower, this time in Britain, my country of adoption. I got to taste their fabulous elderflower cordial, the drink that I have been fondly associating with Albion ever since. Smell might be the oldest memory trigger but sight and taste are a close second!
If I had to describe where I live in three words, it would have to be: (1) Medieval. (2) Corsican. (3) Hamlet. It sounds like a statement although I don't mean it that way, as the obligatory envious clichés are invariably bound to jump off the page: vacational island, coastal living, Mediterranean climate, panoramic landscapes bathed in the wonder of blue yonder, nature on the doorstep, and ancient off-the-beaten-track dry-stone buildings.
Those three words forebode a sense of adventure, I agree. Yet adventure is to be found at the start of your state of mind. Adventure may be found in 'Salford studio flat' or 'industrial Dusseldorf complex' all the same. It's that old chestnut again: life is what you make it. You may want to play it safe and never investigate your surroundings and that is your decision.
Yet should you be seeking adventure in the mundanity of your surroundings, you are spoilt for choice. Any restrictions will be set by how far (or near!) you wish to expand your imagination and curiosity. In fact, the best way to turn anything into an adventure is to take nothing for granted because that Renaissance building that had stood the test of time till now might be gone tomorrow, because that noble cedar tree might be chopped down, because the sweet old lady down the road might sell off her bungalow and pack her bags before you've RSVPed her gracious invite for Pekoe tea and Bourbon biscuits. Because as it is, natural entropy is being accelerated by the planned obsolescence of our modern model, which puts us mere mortals at a disadvantage.
The transience of life expressed through our mortality needs to force us to be aware of every instant that is lived within the environment at large. To cultivate curiosity, be curious by nature about nature, and an explorer of life rather than a passive consumer fed by the media is what I recommend to young and old - especially the young ones - as the 'future-holders' of our world.
What is the relation of all that precedes with the Pink Poppy Day title, I hear you say? I haven't been on a diversion course; there would be no Pink Poppy Day post without this natural curiosity of mine and sense of adventure woven out of the mundanity of life. Now here is my story.
A couple of days ago, I went for a stroll up the hamlet and found that a beautiful wild poppy bush blossoming on an elevation by the side of the path had been pulled off the ground by a local landlord, and tossed down the path like a dirt bag. Sadly I encounter this attitude a lot around here, this total disrespect for nature's own floral gifts. Understand nature and the nature of wild plants: they come impromptu and spontaneous, like uninvited guests of sorts. But they don't come to burden you; rather they come to enliven your day, and their inflorescence - little bits of charm and beauty they scatter around their foliage - is free of charge. A big bonus if you want flower delight without shelling a dime! Yet instead of being left alone, the wild plants get pulled out or cut back or doused in herbicide, and this infuriates me!
I went on a poppy rescue mission there and then. I brought back home the pulled-out poppy bush, cut back its foliage and managed to fit the root system into an XXL jar with a little water in the bottom. In the next few days, I shall plant it in my parents' garden and we'll monitor its progress. Meanwhile I salvaged the blooms - which were looking sorry for themselves - and improvised them into a tabletop posy in an improvised vase, an empty glass jar! From that moment on, I witnessed the blooms gather strength and perk up.
I saved the poppies from their downtrodden state and they made my day in return with their charming blossoms that I couldn't cease to admire. Yet their place should have been out there in the wild rather than in a vase but I had to compose with the vagaries of the human mind, that interferes with nature because it wants to control it.
On the third day, my lovely poppies had scattered their petals by the time I was down for breakfast. I carefully picked those, and laid them flat inside a paper bag that I placed under a heavy contraption for a spot of drying before I use them in a paper collage at some point in the future.
This is how my Pink Poppy Day came about: a reversal of fortune for the wild flowers and an eleventh hour rescue from the ditch. The moral of the story is that nature belongs to itself and we are welcome to enjoy it, not tamper with it to the point of destruction. Yet you can bring positivity to a situation by turning the little drama around, and embracing it as an adventure in the everyday.
P.S:Jason Silva's Existential Bummer 'philosophical espresso shot' about entropy is bound to perk up your day and stimulate your thought! Three minutes of bliss!
Wild asparagus season is in full swing in Corsica right now, and a demonstration of how giving and generous nature is to man, in all of our taking for granted of it. I had spotted a few asparagus stems around the village, tentatively tempting me to indulge in a little culinary adventure.
Fresh asparagus always gets me excited for two reasons. It heralds Spring (two weeks from now!), and is an indulgent delicacy (verging on luxury) that gracefully eases us out of the stodgy Winter veg dishes. Unlike its cultivated counterpart, wild asparagus is thin and lean! Long stems (whose tips are for picking) that delicately sway to the breeze in a semi-shaded, well-drained environment. I find them scattered at the feet of old olive trees.
Yesterday morning, with little Tickle in tow, and 'armed' with a paring knife, small gratin dish and camera, I went pottering about my immediate surroundings, on the hunt for wild asparagus. Oh, I did get distracted on the way there and back by those other tangible signs of Spring, purple daisy-like ground flowers that go by the name of Anemone stellata.
Then I spotted what looked like Morels. However not being a mycologist and not being able to ascertain whether those morels were safe and edible - or toxic - I resisted the temptation of picking them! Folks, the 'Better safe than sorry' idiom befits wild mushroom foraging to a cap, especially if you are no specialist!
Creamy Pasta Served with Wild Asparagus
Back home, I threw together a quick and easy lunch out of leftover plain pasta, simply plunged in boiling water and a dash of olive oil for a couple of minutes, then tossed in double cream, to which were added a small tin of sliced button mushrooms (my safe option to those unacquainted wild varieties out there!), the juice of half a lemon from Nice (+ a sprinkle of grated peel), salt, pepper and chopped chives. In a separate pan, I blanched the asparagus tips for five minutes, drained them and scattered them over the plated pasta. It was an ordinary meal with a little extra thrown into it, thanks to the fragrant, natural and organic asparagus that had been picked from the wild!
Urban belles are no urban legends. You may call them urban faeries for they are agents of beautification. They are right up my street - and yours - and commonly found, should we take the time to adjust our eyesight and look at the unseen! An act of nature catching the controlled human mind off guard, seeping into the nooks and crannies of brick and mortar, disused land and unloved spaces, spreading a little loveliness and love wherever they are 'allowed' to, which most often occurs in uncouth spaces. Those are places of unloveliness and lovelessness, with limited human interference or temporary respite therefrom: industrial compounds, wastelands, building sites, train tracks, dockyards, disused/ off-the-tourist-trail public areas, and 'neglected' planters and parterres.
"Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing." - Camille Pissarro
Against herbicidal odds and other wildlife-unfriendly signs of human intervention, wild flowers manage to come into their own, aided by the pollinating magic of bees, butterflies and consorts. Their seeds are carried through by a whimsical breeze or a bird or rodent. Seeds ensconce into a crack, with a little soil underfoot to take root, and a little sprinkling of rain and smattering of sunshine for stimulation. Seeds will crack open and a stalk peep out of a crack or other repository. The plant will gather strength and grow, bud, blossom and propagate, offering its all to whoever pays attention to its splashes of natural beauty and sweeps of untamed mane.
How odd then - I might hear you say - that if lovelessness and unloveliness are associated with untidiness and uncaring, love and loveliness are associated with tidiness and care, and everything in its place, according to the reorganisation of nature under the urban model. There nature is harnessed, like it is on a leash. The only accepted representatives of greenery within the urban environment are domesticated and engineered elements of flora, generations away from their gene pool and those distant cousins brought to us by Mother Nature.
Nature on a leash: tamed and clipped and pruned and corsetted and restrained and contained, and aggregated, with colours and shapes tampered with, and temperaments subdued. Let us note in passing the pumped-up begonias, oversized marigolds, bicolor petunias, same-height tulips, redesigned jonquils and unscented carnations. And let's compare their visual appeal to that of the wild flowers, in all of their spontaneity of being: spirited, unstructured, convoluted, unexpected, unpredictable and other lovely inconsistencies. I'll have wild and unleashed every day!
The wildflower photography by Magali Roucaut takes us on a fresh-eyed photographic discovery of Paris, with a luscious journey to boot, where wildflowers take centrestage over buildings and monuments. Her website Paris Fleurs Sauvages is testimony to the surprising biodiversity found within the French capital and its immediate suburbs, and all those wild flowers will surely be the most valuable contributors to the renowned Parisian honey being produced from beehives placed in the most unusual places, like on the rooftops of the Opéra Garnier! The wild flowers were pictured by Magali between 2007 and 2013, and a selection of them are currently displayed as part of the Paris Fleurs Sauvages exhibition, Chai du Parc de Bercy, Paris, until 4th October 2015. (Original source: Paris ZigZag).
When you feel sizzled to a jalapeño on fire, and the colours on your photography have discoloured to a shimmy on the horizon line... When your day is air-conditioned, with a view over next door's dusty empty pool, and the desert heat beats down your windows like vacuumed into the cooling pipes... When Georgia O'Keeffe's desert flowers are as freshly-picked as Heaven on your mind, and Bananarama's Cruel Summer drifts from the radio to you like a whiff of sticky cotton candy from the fun-fair down the road... Somehow my friend, you are heading Santa Fe way.
Source: All photography La Baguette Magique, except (4). From top down: (1) Mr. Tickle prancing on the bed, all "dandified" in his recently-acquired pareo! (2) A handful of dried bougainvillea bracts reveal their inflorescence... and their decorative power. (3) If Piña Colada were to be a candle, it probably would resemble this one, from French retailer Monoprix. (4) 'Rose', oil on board painting by Georgia O'Keeffe (1957). (5) Small ceramic 'Sunshine' bowl by Chehoma. (6) Wild euphorbia, northern Corsica. (7) Ladies, feel fresh and fabulous with 'Jasmin' eau de toilette by French perfume house Fragonard. (8) The Sago Palm (Cycas revoluta) in my parents' garden is growing new leaves. They start off soft as baby skin, before going spiky! (9) Set for the beach - and the desert heat - in my stunning 'Capri' Tunic in Coral Woodblock by Stella & Dot! Still packaged up but not for long! (10) "My name is Tickle, not Tiki! Let's just forget about that pareo!" OK, Tick-Tick! Now come on, let's go to the beach!
