Will the sun bring guests?

I hope the sun is here to stay after the dreadful run of wet days we've had. My snail has departed. Yeee Haaa! Lisbeth ate her lunch outside under the fig. The sun shone. The cat came to visit.

I have, therefore, given myself the gift of hope: hope that we will have a good run of visitors. Or do I mean a run of good visitors?

Last year we had great visitors. There was Bob, Mr Dancer and Mr Writer. (Or was Bob the year before?) Each brought ideas about the meaning of life, the Universe and all sorts of weird and wonderful things. The time just flew by. Mind you, after conversations with a snail, just about anything will seem like rocket science.

I'm so excited at the prospect of guests.

Lizzie Bennet Lives!

As if it weren't bad enough that I have to endure the attentions of a snail, the good lady of the house appears to be having some sort of Jane Austin seizure. She borrowed a DVD of the BBC version of Pride & Prejudice and has been all over the place mumbling stuff about 'all that suppressed passion' ever since. I can't get a sensible word out of her.

Then, yesterday, I found that she had downloaded a screen saver of Mr Darcy! AND reduced the time for it kicking in!

The place has gone mad...............................

The Snail

Now far be it for me to complain about the company I keep out here on the terrace, but when my only companion is a snail, well, you have to just wonder.

Lisbeth is busy either working in the flat or, more often, cutting and slashing in the garden. The reason there is so much to do in the garden is because, as my previous post indicated, it rains and rains and rains. Hence everything grows and grows and grows.

To me, it isn't that much of a problem. I stand about under the veranda where rain and sun are both pretty much OK with me. I was taken aback, however, when the excess damp tempted a snail to journey up my leg and then reside for several days on my back.

Don't get me wrong. Snails are very nice in their place. They don't move overly fast so don't disturb whatever reverie I may be enjoying. However, they are sadly lacking in the conversation department. And believe me, I've tried. This one preferred to track up and down my back - pretty aimlessly - as far as I can tell. Then it just left.

Life eh! Snails: they come and they go. What's the point?

The monsoon said..............

Oh how I rain, the monsoon said
I rain because I can
I rain as though a cloud had bled
Upon the head of man

The 'soon' is mine (or 'mon') in French
I'm here and here to stay
I'd go, but it would be a wrench
When I can stay and play

I know you wait upon the sun
Who, somewhere else is bound
But he is making his home run
and soon, he'll me confound

Carpet Tiles and Life

Lisbeth has been working all day laying carpet tiles. Apparently, you start in the middle and work outwards towards the walls. When you reach the edges, the tiles don't fit, so you have to cut them. This isn't as easy as you might think because you always fit a straight edge to a straight edge so you have to measure the bit you take off from the opposite side - if you see what I mean. According to Lisbeth, although it takes ages to do, it's very satisfying to cut odd shapes of carpet that then fit well into the odd-shaped spaces on the floor.

Now one could draw a parallel between carpet tiles and life. (You could!)

You are in control of your tiles of life and how you lay them. Starting in the middle, could be like putting the most important bits in first: family, work, friends, etc, moving on to fill the gaps with bits and bobs of other things that go to make up the whole floor of life. Somewhat like the 'bucket story': big things in first because you can't get them in after you've filled up with small stuff. And, by implication, the small things that are less important.

Once a room is complete, the theory is that if one or two get marked or damaged, you can replace them with others. Can we replace damaged life tiles? I'm sure you can. You just have to accept a more sort of patchwork effect, because new tiles will not necessarily blend in well with the older, more mature ones. But patchwork life is good, when you're older. That's how we get to be more interesting and have lots to talk about.

Tapping or Tupping?

Yesterday I mentioned this 'tapping' thing that Lisbeth is doing. I wasn't sure, at first, if I'd misheard? It sounded like tupping which, as far as I am aware, is about copulating (with a ewe). (I've put this last bit in brackets, because it is written like that in the dictionary definition.) Does that mean it isn't obligatory - the ewe bit?

In looking up 'tupping' I came across a 'tupping crayon'. This is a kind of big marker pen that is strapped on to the ram (in a sort of harness) for him to use when he is running around with a field full of ewes. Then, when he mates with a ewe, he marks her at the same time, so that the farmer can see where he's been. I suppose the harness saves him time as he won't have to keep stopping, asking the name of the ewe, noting it in a little black book, etc! Thank goodness you humans aren't inflicted with this same harness mechanism!

Anyway, Lisbeth says that tapping is a way of releasing negative emotions. She seems pretty good to me so I'm not sure why she thinks she needs to do it but - hey - you know the female human gender and stuff like that.

Did you know that you can't use the term female (femelle) in French to refer to a women? It is a term reserved for animals only. And while we're back to animals, I noted that the dictionary of veterinary terms added the sentence "Joining is the same thing" to their definition of 'tupping'.

Well Lisbeth has spent much of the day tupping bits of paper together with glue to make a birthday card for a friend. Ah.........bless.............

Bleating not drowning

So here I am: still alive and bleating in France. I'm sure you're all worrying about me. If you 're not, why not?

Actually, I'm fine, thank you for asking. I've just been too busy to write. And yes, a sheep can be too busy to write. There's so much going on here what with work on the flat, visitors, work on the garden, neighbour problems, social activities, making new friends.............It takes me all my time to keep up! I have started a book although, unfortunately, that's all I've managed to do: start it. It's a book of my poems.

Then there's the good lady of the house. It's hard to keep up with her as well. She's now into tapping (EFT) and The Law of Attraction. You'd think she'd be slowing down on this stuff, but not a chance. She's motoring away with her life in France and her own inner journey. Why is it that you humans are concerned with all this 'inner' stuff. I'm a sheep and that's it. Inner/outer - it's all the same: sheep and sheep.

Hello

Hi

Yet again, I've been doing more thinking than writing. It must be the winter weather coming to an end that has enthused my typing hoofs for some more posts.

Let's cut to the chase: I am thinking of revamping my blog. Why? God knows. Into what? Well that's still incubating and may never come to anything. However, as I'm not doing anything else, at the moment, I might as well write about what I might do, as not write at all. All I will say is that I am thinking of spreading a little joy around the web. ..........and what's wrong with that? We certainly need more joy in our lives.

Lisbeth is behind me on this one so, you never know, I might just feel so inspired that I do something about it. If I don't, it doesn't matter, either. It's all a big adventure.

Well, well, well.................

Oh dear, I'm sounding somewhat Irish.
Isn't life a gas?
Isn't life something of a romp that appears to have no driver?
What are we, if we're not holding the reigns of our own lives?
Will I understand everything before I die?
Is there anything to understand?
Is life just one big question?

I think, therefore I am? (Descartes)
I sheep, therefore I am a sheep. (Monsieur Mouton)

Sheep sing songs of paper

Sing a song of paper
Sheep are all around
Watching by the hillside
Standing on the ground

Knowing they are useful
Pooing here and there
Knowing that their poo will
be transformed, somewhere

Turn it into paper
Make it look real nice
Buy some now or later
at a decent price

Happiness is..............

Lisbeth thinks that happiness is hearing Big Ben (courtesy of an Internet radio), the clock of the village church (a mere fifty yards from the front door) together with her tatty old French grandfather clock, all chime the hour at the same time.

Big Ben is deep and oh so reassuringly English. The church clock is a little higher in tone but still has a sense of stability, French history and of time passing. The grandfather clock came from an old farmhouse in the country about twenty minutes from here. It has a crisp, higher, pretty quality and, like the church clock, chimes twice every hour. Anyway, Lisbeth says the chiming of the hours gives her a lot of pleasure.

A 2008 Hello

I'm still here, despite my silence.

I cannot believe it's so long since I put hoof to computer.

I don't know what to say, really. Part of me isn't sure if I want to continue with the blog. Another part thinks I could continue but write occasionally like my friend 'Occasional Stirrings'. If I did that, then my posts would probably a little more considered and better formed. I don't know, really.

Lisbeth isn't giving me much talking practice at the moment. She was ill over the holiday period and is still a bit down, having achieved very little on her 'To do before I go back to the UK' list. I'm keeping a low profile. She's also contemplating what to do with her life! Oh dear........this will almost certainly involve big stuff. That means that some serious changes are afoot, when she gets her energy back. And she'll be making a 'Things I want to do with my life' list or a 'How do I want to be living?' list. Ooo Err! I'm tired out and she hasn't started, yet.

As I've made the effort to write, I might be inspired to see if I can find any photos from Xmas Don't hold your breath, though, you know what her photos are like.

Monday's Sheep

Monday's sheep is full of woe
Thinking how his life will go
Calling out to all who'll hear
"Am I far, or am I near"

Monday comes and then it leaves
With its 'woe'ness on its sleeve
Can the next day be more fun?
Lets look up to see the sun

What if I can't see it there?
What if I start to despair?
Will I have to stop and say
"Welcome, Monday, everyday"

Is Monsieur Mouton OK?

I'm sure my regular readers will be asking themselves if I'm OK or not, bearing in mind that my writing has been somewhat sporadic of late? Then there's the question: What is OK? Does it mean that I am living, that I am happy, that I am unhappy but not desperate? OK is such a vague term, don't you think?

I am able to reassure you that I am OK in that I am not unhappy; nor am I actually happy. I am just here, standing. I stand, so I'm here. I know it's Christmas and I know that I am here in France for Christmas. If that means that I am OK, then I'm OK.

Apart from that, life goes on (and the like) as they say, in my neck of the woods, so to speak.........if I could speak, that is.....................

From Dada to Baabaa

You will remember that I had a series of posts protesting that sheep are more intelligent than you all probably think? Well, I would like to present to you a colleague of mine who is making a bit of a name for herself in the art world. Welcome to the new movement of Baabaaism.