23 Oct 2009 2:02 AM

On Wednesday, I was able to visit another art class and the man running it was one of those rare people that went out of his way to make the class room experience as jovial as he could.  Not only did he make the subject matter easy to understand but he also showed us techniques to get us started as quickly as possible.

Of course, due to being the nervouse type, I always find it easier to go along with the mood of the day and it was not long before I too was trying to crack one or two jokes.  Once the ball was rolling, the quietest of mature studnets found it easy to get involved and, before we knew it, it was time to end the lesson.

One student remarked on the larger number of students attending the class and, for a joke, I said it was always the case, when I went anywhere, that class numbers increase.  I will not tell you what the reply was.

I attended one art group, in another part of the area I live, and when the lady, who ran the group, commented on the ammount of people that were now going to her meetings, I told her it was because I was attending.  This lady called me a 'male shovenist pig.'

I just smiled.

The one thing that I have learned, while visiting all these art groups, for some of them only have demonstrations, is that each artist may do one thing differently to everybody else.

That is the thing about art, there is no substitue for being time served.  You have, as an artist, to find your own way of doing things and that cannot be achieved over night.

I am trying to visit as many demonstrations as I can, if only to get one extra piece of information, and, of course, read as much as I can without taking up too much time from my actual hands on work.

Until recently, for you might say I have had 'the wind knocked out of my sails' by an ungarded remark from a friend, I have been drawing or painting everyday but, since my altication, I have not been as active of late.

For some reason, my mood has been altered by my friend's remark.  I know I should not let people get to me, in this way, but the truth is I am working so hard, to try and perfect my craft, I now feel that it is all in vein. 

I feel I will eventually get over my dented pride and start up my art again but that may take longer than I had thought. 

Over the past few years, while I have been trying to make my art work better, there have been many times when I have said that I will pack it all in, out of frustration from not being able to achieve what I want to do, but, so far, I have heald steadfast and, when I look back at my earlier work, I am pleased that I have continued.

Of course, there are all kinds of artists and I suppose I have 'to find myself' yet but I do reap great satisfaction from trying to draw and paint flowers and anything to do with nature.

By for now,

John. 

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18 Oct 2009 9:40 PM

Yesterday, on Saturday afternoon when everybody was shopping, I went out for my first walk since feeling poorly a couple of weeks ago.  It is surprising how the old leg muscles get out of being used and because I knew that it would not be a good idea to go far, I walked down to the canal.  Some of you will know that I have been to this site several times. 

The site, now a disused canal, has areas where the canal is much higher than the fields that surround it.  Once on the canal, it is surprising how much of the countryside can be seen.  To my left, there were fields as far as the eye could see, and to my right, there were more fields, a roadway, some houses, yet more fields and a view that lead the eye, in the far distance, to woodland and to a high spot that, once you were able to get there, gave marvellous views over a valley. 

This particular valley, as the sun set, was a place frequented use by courting couples that could not find privacy, to talk and make plans for the future, in a house full of well wishing parents and family.  I was once one of the people who went to the site to watch the sun go down and find piece from the incessant enquiries as to when I was going to 'tie the knot.'

I digress, once on the canal toe path, where older people can still remember ‘bargees’ walking at the side of barges (that were once their  homes and places of work ,) I noticed there were lots of red berries on the hawthorns and thought that Fieldfares, from Scandinavian ‘ climbs,’ would soon be here to peck them off the trees.  Their familiar call would soon be there for me to listen to. 

I passed an area, on the canal, that was chocked with 'duck weed' and noted that a pair of Swans were mopping the food up in much the same way as we would vacuum a carpet.  Coots and Moorhens called out, as I passed by, but it was to be a return journey before I was able to get good views of the birds. 

Men were fishing the site but I knew, for there was now a cold feel in the air, they would not be on site for long. 

Once in an area, on the canal, where I was on my own, I took particular note to see if there were any water voles on site but, I am sorry to say, earth moving disturbance, from landscaping, had made the voles move on.  It is not as bad as it sounds for there have been vole sightings seen on a local nature reserve; I helped develop when I was a young man.  The reserve is only about a 20 minute walk from the canal I was now standing on and could be reached by the voles.

Some time ago, before moving on to do other things, I became involved with the re development of the canal and I am pleased to say, when it happens, that the whole of the canal stretch, for a good few miles, will, eventually, be re instated to its former glory. 

Today, there were several ‘dog walkers’ on site and one of the walkers was a local man that grew up in the same area as my wife.  This man went on to say that he could remember barges on the stretch of water we were walking on. 

At one point, on the canal, there is a bridge and I was about to cross the bridge when someone called out my name.  The man and woman walkers were dressed well for the quickly cooling down air.  These people, more friends of my wife and I hope they are friends of mine too; have been looking after puppies, for the blind dog society, for many years.  They do ‘sterling work’ and not only do they look after the puppies; they also collect money for the charity. 

Today, the ‘couple’ were walking a beautiful black Labrador.  They began training the dog, when it was a puppy, but the blind dog society rejected it saying that it was not suitable.  My friends decided to keep the dog and what a beautiful, kind, gentle and fussy animal it was. 

I did not touch the pet for there were signs of the dog having its fur coat shaved off, on its back, and there were signs of the animal having been put to the knife.  In fact, my friends had had the dog to see a ‘vet’ where it was discovered that the poor animal had a tumour on its back.  My friends were distraught, for they had become so attached to their pet, and decided that the only thing was to allow the dog to be operated on.

The operation took place not long ago and to say that the animal had been under the anaesthetic a short while ago, the animal looked fine but, at the moment, only short walks are advisable.

While we were talking and the loving animal responded to their voice patterns, I pointed out that Bullfinch were calling close by and my friends said they had been watching Long Tailed Tits.  I had been listening to Long Tailed Tits but could not see them.

After a time, the dog needed to go back into the warmth and comfort of my friends’ home and I walked on. 
The last time I was on the canal, at the far end of the section I was standing on, landscaping was taking place and, today, the land had all been levelled and on top of the landscaping, in anticipation of the new playing fields being seeded, it looked as though a thin layer of sand had been put down.

Light was now starting to fade so I decided to turn back and head for home and when a reached the area I had earlier met my friends, on the bridge over the canal, a well dressed young lady crossed the path and I stood back so she could walk on, in piece, with her very well behaved German Sheppard dog.  Normally, I would have smiled back at the  young lady, in acknowledgement of her realising that I had stood back to let her get through but, today, I did not think that it was appropriate and let her get well ahead of me before I walked back up and off the canal.

Throughout, the walk was dull and gloomy but the falling leave, all the wonderful bronzed and red leaves, the sights and sounds of the birds and animals and the people I met made my walk very pleasurable.

By for now,

John.   

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17 Oct 2009 5:45 AM

Earlier in the week, I attended an art class that was run by a man.  I say this because most of the art classes, I have attended, were taken by women.

I had learned, last week, that we were going to be using Gesso in this week's class.  Prepared, as usual, I took kitchen gloves and an apron.  I did not want to get the paint on my clothes or car steering wheel.

The first part of the lesson was done with pastels and I was then too involved to remember to put on the protective clothing. 

Eventually, out came the gesso.  We were given two pots, one with white and the other with black.  Two small scoops would be plenty for what I needed.

The lady next to me decided to be very helpful and dealt out my paper, after taking hers, and found me a decent brush too. In no time at all, we were doing our stuff and were able to get some really surprising artwork results. 

I have never used this art medium before and did not know what to expect and was very surprised to see how good my first attempt looked.

By painting on black and leaving it to dry, followed by a white circle, leaving that to dry, and then painting on, in differing widths, black lines that resembled tree trunks, I eventually built up a night woodland scene that looked very good indeed.  I am determined to have another go at this task.

You do not have to use Gesso, we used it because it dried quick.  If you have some old black and white gloss or mat finish paint, this will do just as well.  For a trial, you do not have to purchase any special paper either, anything will do. 

Later, when you have had a few goes at building up a night scene, you could go to the art shop and purchase a few blank cards and, when they are finished, they will grace the room of any friend's house especially at Christmas. You will, after only a short time, be amazed by your finished product.

Try a woodland scene and then a waterfall.  For the waterfal, use only one downward long stroke and leave it to dry.  When you are on top of the work, while it is drying, it will not look so good but, once you are arms length, it will look fantastic.

After we had finished painting, we chatted, amongst ourselves, and when I left the seat I was in, I had several blotches of paint on my trousers and my jumper.  One wag, when I pointed out the paint to them, said I now looked like a real artist but my guess is that my wife would not see the funny side of it, I felt a real fool when I could not get the paint off my clothing.

Speaking of artists, although that is now not the case, many of them, at one point in history, were treated like street urchins.

Today, art comes in many shapes and sizes and, as we sometimes see, it also takes the form of anything that might come to hand.  What one person sees as being cheap and vulgar, another may think it is the best thing to go to a gallery for many a year. 

One of my friends, now in her 80s, who studied at the Royal Academy, consentrates on drawing and carving. 
"If we wish to keep a good standard of drawning," she said, "we must draw everyday." 

Tonight, as is now usual with me, I will be painting when I have finished my blog and will probably continue until late in the evening; it all depends if there is a 'kill em and shoot em' film on T.V. for I love escapeism.

Just digressing for a moment, T.V. is not one of my favourite 'pass times' for my family did not see a flickering screen until I was in my teens. 

Before T.V., I can remember my mum's friends coming round, for a cuppa, and telling amazing community stories.  I listened, wide eyed, to some of their tails and I believed their stories helped shape my inquisitive mind and imagination and I miss all those kind of gatherings. 

Sometimes, when it was a special occasion, mum would serve up, in large plane brown bowls, a supper of peas and pies.  On such occasions, I was sent to bed but I did not always do as I was told and used to sneak downstairs, hiding under the stairs, to try and find out what the women were talking about.

Much of the conversation would be in a style of speaking we might, today, call common, but there were other speakers, who were articulate and their usage of word forms was eagerly copied by me and my older sister.

"Over there, in the avenues of your mind, one could easily loose all sence of reason and time."  I may have head said.

Others, who were trying to have what they termed as a good time, may have found such a command of English too much for them. 

To draw or paint, on a regular basis, it has to be something that you really enjoy doing, in much the same way as I used to try and emulate an 'elaberated code' of speaking,

I find, once I get started, I do not know where the time has gone.  Once, not so long ago, when I was trying to finish a portrait of a class friend, it was 2 A.M. before I knew where I was. 

For any of you, out there, that have, like our lovely Deva, wanted to do something and just did not get around to doing it because there were always a million and one jobs to be done first, I would say now is the time to have a go.  Who knows where your new found interest will take you.

Some of my Internet friends, on another site, took up poetry, late in life, and are now writing some of the most beautiful poems you are ever likely to read.

Another friend of mine, now in his late 80s, usually finishes a beautiful painting in a couple of hours.  We are all different and this is why art apeals to so many people.  I may take a week to do one flower or, on another subject, I may have completed in a couple of hours.

So far, there have been many times when I have said that I am not doing another brush stroke but this has been born out of sheer frustration when the finished article does not come out in the way I intend it to.

Today, after six years of trying, I think I have just learned a new technique that will serve me well when painting individual flower petals. 

The thing is, no matter what you want to do, you will never know how good you are until you have a go.  If you do find a new hobby, stck at it, you can only get better at it.

By for now,

John.         

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9 Oct 2009 1:13 AM

Thank you to all my good friends, on overfifties, for your well wishes. 

Last Sunday, when I felt the need to come back home when going to York, (A very historical citiy,) I began  to feel unwell.  Has it turned out, I started with a cold but, as yet, I have been unable to go out into the fresh air.

I am feeling a bit better today but, you know how it is, you feel all right one minute and the next your head is full and groggy again.  Every bone in my body is aching but my caugh seems to be getting better.

Last night was the first full night, in bed, where I could sleep without the usual head cold side effects preventing me from lieing down. 

While I have been unwel my wife found some comfort, from missing out on our Ruby wedding outing, from the wonderful flowers my sister sent from Australia, via Interflora and, along with the flowers I purchased, our home has displays of reds, yellows and white flowers that are in every room. 

At times like these, when I reflect on things, I looked back through our married life and, as people have said in the past, time seems to have flown by. 

I can remember the first time I met my, then girl friend, on our first date, her beautiful smile and her sparkeling eyes, now not as sparkling through a lenzed age of time, the way she looked, her infectious laughter and her ability to make me feel like a king.  She was, and still is, a wonderful person.

Having said that, I began to question what constituted being a wonderful person and I can only speak for myself.  What I consider to be wonderful may be a awful to another person. 

My sister-in-law may seem to be a wonderful person, to her third husband but, to me, I see her as a trouble maker of the highest order.

One day, when my sister-in-law mellows, I hope she no longer feels the need to cause trouble for her sister and brother-in-law. 

It is a good few years now, since my wife stood her corner with her sister, and the two ladies have not spoken to one another for all those years.  Isn't it sad?

Looking back, over time, I suppose it all started when my wife, Nancy, wanted to live her own life instead of being dictated to by her family.

You may remember me writing about my wife, when she was  girl, being sent away to an isolation ward with suspected TB and not, after 18 months of isolation, recognising her brother and sister when they were allowed to see her.   

Nancy, like many others, did not have a good childhood but, when her father was killed in the pit, in his 20s, my wife remembers the kind way her mum and grandparents rallied round to make the four childrens'/grandchildrens' life as good as they could in those times.

Pit villages, in the area we lived, were not nice places.  It is a different eara, I am sure many of you will remember when a bath was taken in the house and placed infront of the fire whith flames that created dancing shadows on darkened walls.

How pleased I am those times are behind us now but I do not consider that people have changed in their attitudes toward their fellow man.

Today, while I was commenting on a blog, off another site, where my Internet friend was looking at the virtues of using the truth, I was reminded how difficult it is to work out whether or not someone is telling lies to you. 

I suppose lie telling has gone on from the time people began to form languages. 

Today's lies have become more difficult to sort out and they also come in different forms as to when I was younger.

One of the things I now watch out for, when trying to identify if the person I am talking to is lieing, is the collective noun.

I will give the same example, although not a good one, that I gave to my Internet friend who happens to champion the 'under dog' in his capasity as a barrister.   

"Yes, I help the poor in the community!"

The word usage leads us on to believe the person that is speaking goes out into the community and helps the poor or at least gives money to a charity.

The truth could be that the speaker once dropped a few coins into the hat of a street begger. 

When Nancy's mum died, she told me her brothers and sister were taken, by a black car, out of the front door of their house, to go to an orphanage, and that she was being taken, through the back door, in an ambulance to the isolation  ward.  Memories, such as those, must have an effect on the mind for the rest of their lives but what made things worse, the local lady, driving the black car, did not tell the children where they were going and, from my point of view, this is just as bad as if she had lied to them.

Although, at one point in my life, I slept in bus shelters and walked the streets with an empty belly, I still had my parents but I too can remember being lied to.

One of the things I now look out for, in my aging wisdom, is the direct question.

An obvious one is when someone askes about something that may be private to you. 

Sometimes, depending on the mood I am in and who the person is, I have fun at the expence of the person asking a direct question I do not want to give my information to.

I remember one man, I used to work with, who was always prying into my private life. 

One day, when we were on our own, he said "I bet you are well cashed"  Meaning that he thought I had lots of money in the bank.

"I suppose, I said as I looked at him, with a 'pocker face, but with the hint of a rye smile curling on my bottom lip.  "you could say I was well cashed for I have a bank statement of four figures.

Unfortunatly, on this occassion, my use of collectives back fired on me for my inquisitive friend went round everybody in the factory and told them that I had a four figure sum in my bank account.

It was not long before my 'foremen' came to my place of work and took me to one side.
"What I want to know," he said in a gruff voice and dragging at my arm as if he was trying to move me into a corner so that my back was against a wall, "Is what a man, with a four figure sum in the bank, is doing working at a place like this?"

I smilled and this seemed to infuriate the foreman, (who did not speak to me for weeks after our chat and who stopped all my overtime working and gave me the worst kind of work in the factory) but I was not going to be intimidated by him.  I removed his hand from my arm and said.

"I am sure I do not know what you mean.  All I have in my bank account is £19.99."  Four figures.

The collective here stopped anymore inquisitive questions but I had to pay the price of not having a good time at work for a while.

I did get my own back though for the foreman came to me, in despiration, and asked me if I would work overtime at the week ends and I refused.  He went mental saying that I was turning down ex number of pounds and who could afford to do that these days.

The truth was, I had gone on to shift working patterns and the night shift was killing me.  I could not sleep in the day time and by the time Wednesdays came round, I had lost weight for I could not eat my main meal at 2 a.m. in the morning. 

A work mate, I use the word mate loosly, hated working the day shift so I swapped with him.  He thought I was mad for the night shift paid more than the day or afternoon shift.  The afternoon shift was scrapped and I went on to working days on a regular basis.

On the day shift, where I started work at 6 a.m. and pulled myself out of bed at 4.30 a.m., I finished work at 2 in the afternoon.  From work, if the weather was fine, I often went for a walk and did a bit of bird watching.  The early start meant, so that I was able to get my sleap, I was usually in bed for 9 p.m.

I almost forget, if there was overtime at the week end, the workforce had to go to work at their shift time.  Had I worked the week ends, I would have had to get out of bed at 4.30 a.m. on Saturday and Sunday morning. 

I know, you are thinking 'yes but where is this all leading to.'

All will be revealed!

As time went by, the foreman, knowing that I was not going to bend on the overtime request, decided he would start to talk to me again.  One day, he asked me if I would work two hours extra on my day shift.  I did the maths, told him that I would have to make arrangements with my wife first, and then worked the two hours,the following day, as overtime.  For my overtime rate, due to starting work at 6 a.m., I was paid extra for unsociable hours and, on top of that, I was able to earn extra bonus.

For the next few days, I was asked to work the extra two hours all week and this turned into a regular occurance.  The ten extra hours was a welcome sight in my wage package and it soon became a fixed thing to work every week.

Before entering into the extra 10 hour working week, I tallied up how much extra money I would get if I worked 4 hours at Saturday and another 4 hours at Sunday.  With my unsociable hourly rate, I was better off working the two extra hours a day.  On top of this, when the weather was good, I was still able to go out birdwatching and I also had the weekends free and could lie in bed, on Saturday and Sunday, like normal people.

All went well, for a time, until-one day-I accidently dropped my wage slip and a Saturday and Sunday worker picked it up and challenged me to ask why I was getting more money than he was for not working the weekends.  All this man could see is that if he worked more overtime than anybody else he would take home the largest pay packet. 

Yes, you have it, the foreman, my friend-I do not think-found out how much I was earning, and stopped all my overtime again.

I knew, due to holidays coming up, that he would come to me again and when he asked me to work the week ends I refused. 

On this occassion, he ranted and raved and jumped up and down on the spot,  I can see him now, pencil in his ear, wearing a brown smock, that always seemed to hang on him and make him look like a 'rag bag,' and with a look in his eye as if he was going to use physical violence if I did not obay. 

I could feel a smile coming on, as he ranted, and checked myself so that he did not see that the sight infront of me was as funny as watching a comedy stage play. 

He ranted on and on and only stopped when the hooter went for a mass mob had collected round about as they tried to push their way towards the canteen to drink a much earned brew of tea.   

After my brew, I went back to work as if nothing had happened and, as expected, the foreman came back to finish what he had started.  He had calmed down and came to me with a different tack. 
"If that wint e Setdas and Sundas wat will tha blo..y e.?" 

Translated means 'If you will not work Saturdays and Sundays what will you (Swear) work? 

"How about 2 hours a day all week?"

He growled, under his resinating smock, and walked off.

When it came to the end of my shift, at 2 '0' clock, he had not come back to me so I put on my coat and walked towards the clock where we put in a card that stamped the time start and time finish.

I was about to put my card in the clocking out mechanism when I heard this bellowing voice shout out from the other sid of a factory that was in a temporary quiet mode until the next shift came on.

"Ey thee."  He shouted, with one hand in the air and with a small piece of paper in his hand to make it look as though he was busy.
"Weers tha think thas gooin.  A thowt tha wa gunna work ovver fo mi."

Translated means "Hey you.  Where do you think you are going.  I thought you was going to work over for me!"

I put my hand up in the air and waved and began to take my coat off.  Still a long way off, he could see what I was doing and turned on his heels to walk back to where he came from.

I carried on making my overtime money, for a time, and realised that I was not spending enough time with my young son and when I left the factories, I began a new chapter in my life for I became a full time student and ended up working, as a technician at my local college.

If you like this kind of historical story writing, let me know and I will give you more later.

Sorry about the mistakes, on this piece, my head is still fuzzy.  Well, that is my excuse.

By for now,

John.

 

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3 Oct 2009 6:04 AM

My wife and I are coming up to our fortieth wedding anniversary this week end and my wife fancied a visit to York for a week end break.  (York is a very historical city.)

The booking, through a leading holiday company, was made a few months ago and, of course, the full fee has to be paid-up front-long before setting off.


We always like to self cater and we chose this particular apartment because it is fully central heated.

I know it may seem funny to some of my readers but my wife and I like to go away and cover every eventuality so we always take lots of stuff with us; usually a car boot full but that is our choice.

Last week end, I phoned to get to know what the arrangements would be when we arrived in York.  We were to collect the apartment key from a 'bed and breakfast' hotel and it would be a ten minute walk away from the apartment we had hired for the week end.

'Walk, what was that about!'  I asked.

The lady, on the other end of the phone, said we were to leave our vehicle at her hotel and walk to the apartment.  I began to get suspicious and felt that something was not right here. 

To cut a long story short, and the lady on the phone omitted to tell me until the very last minute, the area of York we were supposed to be staying in was a car free zone area.

How we were supposed to get our gear to the apartment is anybody's guess for the key holder was not going to help us trundle our kit through the streets to the apartment.

The more I delved,the worse the situation seemed to get.

After many phone calls and lots of anguish, my wife and I decided to cancel our holiday. 

As you might expect, I have written to the holiday company, to see if we can get some kind of remuneration but (Some of our money back,) yes you have guessed it, the holiday company have not tried to contact us.

We are not, at this moment in time, very happy with the situation, (no fault of our own,) but we have been left with no choices and are now looking at other alternatives to try and celebrate our anniversary.

A party, due to interfering and hurtful in-laws, is out of the question.

By for now,

John.

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