April 9, 2012

• So, I’ve been taking a picture a day

  Well. Almost. I decided to join in fatmumslim’s March and April photo-a-day challenges, and the results can be seen here (March) and here (April). It’s tricky. I keep managing to miss days, and have to go back, and catch up. I’m still to do yesterday’s picture (inside my wallet) as well as today’s (younger you). And, since @greekphysique pointed out that a picture post without pictures is boring:

  

  Howsoever, I’m liking the slight discipline. I’m liking that this is making me think about how I’m looking at the world around me. And, since N is doing the same thing (yes, there are more photos for April, but no, he’s not yet uploaded them – I’ve just seen them on his iPhone), I’m happily seeing the world the way he does too. This too I am enjoying immensely.  Having a prompt for the day incites thought, and imagination, and this really does make things easier in one way, and harder in another “How do I represent ‘tiny’?” “Take a picture of F’s toes….” and so I did.

  F is Tom’s daughter (now, I would link to his blog, but it’s several years out of date at this point, so I shall merely make encouraging noises about an update), and she is utterly lovely. A very satisfactory lunchtime was spent cuddling her, and feeding her and pulling faces, and squeaking back and forth over tea and salad and bubble and squeak. She’s about 6 months old now, and incredibly pretty, with intense blue eyes, and the longest darkest eyelashes to frame them. 

  Since then I’ve been home to my parents for Easter. The Service on Sunday was an absolute epic, around an hour and a half for 80 people to take communion. The vicar likes theatre – there’s a brazier lit out the front from which the Paschal Candle is lit each year, a cross made from last year’s Christmas Tree to which we attach daffodils (I invariably manage to knock someone else’s daffodil out while putting my daffodil in), and at the end we all trouped out to the churchyard a second time for the dedication of some headstones for the memorial garden where ashes are interred. There was also something involving holy water and hyssop (those in the centre aisle looked as though they ratehr wished they were wearing sou’westers while the water was being splashed about), and a sermon that got a bit lost on the way. Two small boys in the next pew over were very entertaining. Aged about 2 and 3, the younger was inclined to comment “He said rich food! Daddy, he said rich food! Daddy, why did he say rich food? Daddy, talk to me! Talk to me Daddy! Why won’t you talk to me?” At which point, despite the best efforts of the vicar to pull funny faces and make the small boy smile, his bottom lip started to wobble and he had to be carried out in tears, which wasn’t really a problem, but the vicar did hope that no-one else would require such treatment. The elder boy could wink. I caught his eye, and winked, and was rewarded with a very excellent wink back.  At that age, I had a tendency to accost my Mum, and blink at her several times, very quickly, saying “Am I winking Mummy?”

  And now, I really need to pack ready for the Duke MBA Rugby Tour next week. We’ve just spent 15 minutes searching for the correct sized bag (Duke 2010 vintage, as it’s more waterproof), as I am unable to fit both my kit and the first aid kit into the bag. It was hiding in one of Jo’s suitcases, which is entirely weird.

  First, though, I think some tea. And catching up on my photos.

  xxxx

  • 8:29 am
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