Monday

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

1402 words today, so, as is now customary, all brain function appears to have halted. I have a horrible feeling that I am giving all the love to the book and short-changing the blog. There are only so many dog photographs you can put up with. I offer keen apologies.

All I have left in my head are random thoughts:

Should I mind quite so much when an American senator says 'incredulous' on the BBC when he means 'incredible'?

And, on the subject of language, I really wish people would stop talking about 'ticking timebombs'. What the hell is a timebomb? Have you ever seen one? Do they actually tick? And if one more person gets on an 'emotional rollercoaster' I might do something foolish.

I discovered today, for various tangential reasons, that Eliza Manningham-Buller's mother trained SPY PIGEONS during the war. I'm sorry about the capital letters, but some things are just too damn cool for normal font. She was called Lady Mary something (you see what I mean about the brain not working) and she schooled the pigeons in Hampshire or somewhere, and sent them off into enemy territory, where, amazingly, they knew to stay stock still while a British agent put top secret information into their little spy satchels or whatever they used, and then the birds flew all the way back to the Home Counties with vital information about fiendish Nazi weaponry. Best story I've heard all month.

I am quite passionately in love with a reporter on BBC radio called Dennis Sewell. I have no information about him at all, but he has the most seductive voice I've heard since the old Queen died. I have a suspicion that grown women should not run around getting crushes on people because of their vocal chords. I suppose it's better than marrying for money.

And talking of crushes: one of my dogs has a mad pash on a black Labrador called Rufus. He is a macho, muscular, swaggery sort of fellow, and the moment she sees him she starts waggling her bottom and letting out strange yipping noises in a most undignified way. I am uncertain if you can explain to a dog the concept of hard to get.

Three words I shall never knowingly use: opined, toddler, and quaff.

 

That's quite enough randomness for one day. Thank you for your enduring patience, and the very kind comments you have left over the last few days. Sorry I have been a bit crap about replying. Time is getting away from me just now.

Did not take any photographs today, so here are a few old ones instead, in the continuing spirit of randomness:

I hope your week is off to a rattling good start.

Swimming canines

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

You know I don't usually blog on a Sunday, but there was a great deal of very sweet dog burn action again today, and I could not resist the impulse to share.

Both nieces came, with both their dogs, and we all played pooh sticks as if we were six years old.

Also, there were the first, tiny, green conkers, like a gentle premonition of autumn:

I hope you all had a lovely weekend.

A day of dogs and flowers

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Have a lovely weekend.

A day in pictures

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Today there was actual SUNSHINE.

Look, look:

The first, tiny cherries are out, too bitter yet to eat but thrilling to look at:

I ran into the older niece and we took the dogs swimming in the burn:

Then there had to be a lot of lying about in the sunshine to dry off:

In celebration of the weather, I made lemonade, except with the limes my mother sent instead of lemons:

(I recommend the juice of three limes, one tablespoon of Demerara sugar, one litre of water, and vast amounts of ice. The ice is important; the thing must be freezing cold. Then I throw in some sliced limes and a couple of leaves of mint. Mmm mmm.)

Then there was a bit of this, that and the other:

 

It was rather a lovely thing, altogether. I feel quite still and calm. I did not sleep that well last night, so quite soon I am going to stump up the stairs with my book and have an old lady early night. What a wild life I do lead.

Have a delightful Friday.

The extraordinary story of Shirley Sherrod

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

I mentioned Shirley Sherrod in my previous post. I was tired after a long day of work, and I could not do the story justice, and anyway, lots of other people are writing about it today, so I thought I would leave it.

It turns out I can't leave it. When the news first came onto my radar last night, I thought it was a story about the extreme right wing and its craziness, the journalistic irresponsibility of Fox News, and, I am very sad to say, a rather spineless reaction from the Obama administration. I thought that, in a wider sense, it was a story about race. All those things are interesting enough in themselves, and the political bloggers in particular are doing a very good job of dissecting them. (I can't quite get an accurate reading of the timeline of this story because it moved so fast, but my sense is that it was the bloggers who moved quickest to debunk the attempted smear, while the traditional media ambled along behind.  I might be wrong about this.)

Anyway, the reason I am writing this now is that I discover the story is not just about those things. It is not even mostly about those things. The story is about one extraordinary woman. Shirley Sherrod's father was shot to death by a white farmer when she was seventeen. When that ghastly tragedy happened, she made a promise to herself that she would not leave the South, but stay, and try to make a difference, not just for black people but for everybody.

Let us just pause for one moment and imagine that. Walk for one moment in that seventeen-year-old girl's shoes.

So, many years later, this remarkable individual gives a speech in which she tells about how she started that making a difference. She tells about helping families to save their farms when they were threatened with foreclosure. She tells about the first white family she was called upon to help. She was used to saving black families, because they were losing their land at a frightening rate, and when she first came into contact with a white couple in need it crossed her mind that she might not give them her very best efforts. Then, she told herself that this was an unworthy thought, saved their farm, and used that moment as a constant reminder that her work was, as she puts it, not about race, but about poor people.

The white couple, it may be noted, have gone on television to say they love her and owe her everything.

There is no excuse for prejudice of any kind, from any quarter, but if your father had been murdered by a white man, against whom an all-white jury refused to bring charges so that the killer was never brought to justice, there  might be a little latitude if you harboured suspicions about people with a skin colour lighter than your own. I'm just saying.

Shirley Sherrod did not allow herself that latitude. This admirable woman, who rose above personal tragedy and racial animus to devote her life to public service was, last night, sacked from her job at the Department of Agriculture, branded 'shameful' and 'intolerable' by the 'appalled' NAACP, and accused of racism by Fox News.

Today, of course, there have been scrambling, abject apologies. A great deal of regret has been expressed, most of all because a private woman has been cast into the merciless glare of the public spotlight. The man who put her there, Andrew Breitbart, has not apologised.

I am going to say something slightly odd. I am grateful to Andrew Breitbart. He did a shitty thing. He took remarks out of context to make a good woman look like a bigot. But if he had not, I should never have known the story of Shirley Sherrod, and I am really glad I do. She is my woman of the year, without a doubt. It's not just because of who she is, and what she has done in her life, it is also because of the grace she has shown over the last couple of days. Do you know what she said when asked whether she was angry about the injustice shown to her? She said: 'I can't hold a grudge'. That is sheer, unadulterated class. And that is her victory, in the end. Just by being herself, she makes everyone else involved in this shoddy story look small.

 

I don't often put up videos here. I think they look clunky and I am always afraid the links won't work. But this one, if you can make it play, is really worth watching. Rachel Maddow does a wonderful job of encapsulating the whole thing into thirteen minutes.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

In which I find a new way of having a perfectly lovely time

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Feeling human again, albeit a human after two too many cups of coffee. (Coffee is rather like martinis; one too many is fine, it's when you hit two over the limit that you are in trouble.) 1633 words today, not all of them bad ones. I do notice that my adverb habit is getting a little out of control. It's all very well going up against Mr Strunk and Mr White, but there is the edge, and then there is the abyss.

Sarah called and we shouted and laughed at each other for ten minutes. This is what passes for normality with us; much better than yesterday, anyway.

As you may be able to tell, my brain is addled. I was going to give you an entire disquisition about Shirley Sherrod and race in America and the whole crazed media machine, but I fear my cerebellum would find that a bridge too far. The always enchanting Michael Tomasky has written about it well here, if you are interested. (I think it is interesting, and sad, and baffling, and, in the end, instructive.)

Instead, I have some pictures for you, so as not to torment you with fragmentary sentences and incoherent thought. Along with the new camera, I have a newish bit of software called Picasa. You can download it free from the internets. It is sort of maddening, because it does not always do what I want it to do when I want it to do it. I become a bit of a little dictator when it comes to technology. But it is also wonderful because, as I discovered today, you can do all kinds of special effects. I have no end of searingly dull pictures on my computer (hopeless at deleting things), and I find that instead of looking at them in boredom, I can take them, and jazz them up, and suddenly they are - POP ART:

Well, not quite, but you see what I mean. This was a rather pointless shot of my tumbling honeysuckle, and now it is a homage to Andy Warhol.

Not all the effects are so extreme. One can do tweaking:

This tiny viola is a tinted version of this:

A little more saturation and some highlighting, and you get this:

An overlay of blue gives you this:

A bleaching out of light and colour produces this:

A little intensity and some shadows turn a blah salvia into this:

With some extra colour, a view of the garden on a cloudy day becomes this:

A rather inconsequential head of marjoram takes on an air of glamour and mystery:

An utterly failed shot of a tree suddenly looks like a painting:

The dogs look like they are in their very own movie (although I do admit they are so chic that they look like film stars even without airbrushing):

An ordinary chive takes on a whole new lease of life:

As you can see, it becomes rather addictive. It is giving me absurd amounts of pleasure. Only two days ago I was uncertain I could see the meaning of life (low grade viral load always does that to me); now I can be made happy by fiddling about with a picture of a chive flower. Sometimes it really is the little things.

Wednesday

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

What incredibly kind get well wishes you all send. It is like getting little virtual pots of chicken soup through the blogosphere. Thank you.

Did not sleep much last night and woke still feeling absolutely awful. Dozed and moaned about in bed for the morning, despite my resolution to get back to work. I was about to write the whole day off, when suddenly an entire new section of book fell into my head.

Sarah, who had been worried by my flat voice when she rang at ten, called back at lunchtime to find me up and jabbering.

'I'm going to do a whole thing about the psychology of beauty, with specific reference to thighs,' I said.

'Oh yes,' she said.

'And then a little diversion on the burqa,' I said. 'I've been thinking about it, because of the French.'

'Of course,' she said. 'The French.'

'And I might make a small tangent on the patriarchy,' I said.

'The patriarchy,' she said. 'Yes.'

(I have an entire new idea about how the patriarchy exists and does not exist, all at the same time.)

I went on for a while. After a bit, she said:

'Are you sure you are all right?'

'Yes,' I said. 'Remember how I hate being ill, I think it a sign of weakness, as if I have given up. And then I always go a little crazy in the head at this stage of a book.'

'Yes,' she said, once more with feeling. 'You do.'

It's not really craziness, although occasionally it feels like that. It's just that when a book comes, it comes like a freight train, and sometimes I get run over by it. I become monomaniac; I can't think about much else. I care so much about it that it makes my ears ache. More, more, more, shout the voices in my head. More words, more ideas, more little lemon twists. Better, better, better, yells my perfectionist self, which I try and fail to vanquish.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to sit down calmly, not really caring much one way or the other. Are there sanguine writers out there, who just think: that will do?

Luckily, my mother has sent me limes. She says I need the vitamin C. I am perfectly certain that this is the answer.

In the meantime, despite a lingering viral load, I have done 2190 words, much to my astonishment.

Here are some soothing things on which to gaze:

Miraculous little apples on my new apple tree.

The chanterelles my niece bought yesterday.

Old-fashioned lavender, in a pot.

My favourite mint. I keep thinking: I must make mint tea.

Update on the mystery seeds, still growing.

And the lovely pot table, still giving me vast pleasure.

Tuesday

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Thank you so much for incredibly kind get well wishes. Still feel mostly ropey, but the older niece and her gentleman suddenly arrived bearing THE FIRST CHANTERELLES, and if that does not make me feel better, nothing will.

My plan is: back to normal tomorrow. I can't be malingering; I have to write a book.

In the meantime, here is the newest rose in the garden:

And its fellow:

And some lavender, just because:

Really am feeling most peculiar. I think I may go and have a little lie down.

Off sick

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Ill in bed today. There is a low grade virus going round the compound. My mother had it last week. My ears hurt; I can't think a reasonable thought; my entire body feels as if a cross Welsh Mountain pony has cantered over it. It's that kind of illness that drives one mad, because it's not really that bad. I should really butch up and carry on, but then I feel too weak and have to surrender.

Really, I think to myself: it's not pleurisy. I had that once, and it made me cry. I actually thought I was going to die, it hurt so much. Sarah had quinsy last year, which really can be fatal. Although I must say, they did know how to name a disease in the old days. Quinsy and pleurisy fall so much more beautifully on the ear than swine flu.

I lie, tossing and turning, feeling slightly like a skiver. I wonder how cross I should feel about Mad Sarah McPalin of the Clan Bonkers saying that all peace-loving Muslims should 'refudiate' a mosque being built near the site of Ground Zero. When very strange people go on saying strange enough things, I almost lose the capacity for outrage. Although I really can't quite work out why the erection of a place of worship two whole blocks away from the place where the World Trade Centre stood should 'stab' Mrs Palin in the heart. In the end, I think: refudiate is rather a splendid new word.

Hugh Sykes is reporting from Afghanistan. He is the best, most humane, most interesting reporter in the entire BBC. He is public service broadcasting in one human. I love him.

I ponder what it is all about. I always get a bit of a mortality attack when I am ill. I think: life is so short and strange, and sometimes I struggle to invest it with meaning or sense. Usually, when my mind strays into this avenue of thought, I turn my head and see this:

And this:

They lounge around on the bed like duchesses when I am under the weather, dozing, stretching, occasionally gazing at me in karmic contemplation. I think: that'll do.

Saturday

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Few words today. Today is mostly all about gazing out of the window, quietly.

I do have a question, though. I am wondering whether to change the design of the blog. Those of you who use Blogger will know there are swanky new templates available. The thing is, I quite like this old design, in the same way I liked those boxy  cars they used to make before everything had to go through a wind tunnel. Once I change it, there is no going back. This old template is dead like the dodo. The main advantage of the new versions is that I can give you much bigger photographs, which I have wanted to do for some time, mostly so you can see the canines in their full glory. (I am only half joking.) I am not sure they have the quiet elegance of this outdated design, though.

So: do I stick to the classic original and stay an analogue creature in a digital world? Or do I embrace the winds of change?

I can't decide. What do you think?

In the meantime, I give you flowers:

And trees:

And meadows:

And dogs:

Have a lovely weekend.