Colour – SOCIAL BRIDGE ~ Jean Tubridy connecting with you from Ireland

Enhanced Colour

I am still on my hat-knitting fad and have been very surprised by the way in which my awareness of colour has become very much enhanced by the whole thing.

If I am knitting with lilac yarn, I seem to see lilac colours all around me in nature, not so much in non-natural settings.

My latest creation is multicoloured, as you can see:

While working on it, I kept seeing similar types of combinations out on my travels. This is one example:

And, I can’t resist yet another fairy door:

Yes, call me a mad hatter, if you want!

Colouring Days

There’s an awful lot of things I don’t understand and I’m not sure that I need to understand them, especially as I’m a puppy dog and no one expects me to be contemplating stuff.

What has me awesticken today is the way my wood kept changing depending on the time of day and where we were in relation to it.

This was this morning:

Then, this evening, we were there when it was getting a bit dark and some of the leaves were all crumpled up and ready to fall. I love walking on paths of leaves but I feel sad looking at the ones that are sort of clinging on for dear life:

Jean disappeared onto a cliff when the sun was setting to take some photos of her old friend the Metal Man:

I wondered if I’d ever see her again cos the cliff is awful steep and she gets a bit careless at sunset time. To take my mind off that worry and fretsomeness, I gazed and gazed at the way our little wood was all decorated by the sunset. You’d never think it had any crumpled leaves, would you?

picsart_11-02-07-04-24 — Our Novembery Wood

I wonder will that leaf have fallen by tomorrow. If it does fall, I hope it has a nice, soft landing. That’s something everyone needs, I think.

Talk soon,

Puppy Stan

What Colour is Pain?

I banjaxed my back on Friday and am way out of my comfort zone, to say the very least. There was a time when my back was bad, bad, bad for years on end and I became quite an expert on every conceivable kind of therapy from the very orthodox to the wildly alternative.

In the middle of that period my mother quipped that the pain was such a constant companion that I’d miss it when it was gone. Of course, she knew that once it had gone that I would very quickly forget those nerve jangling efforts of trying to turn in bed and the wobbly walks measured in half paces with breath held braced for the next muscle spasm.

Of course, what I miss in the throes of this latest ‘episode’ is having Father arriving up to the house with ‘meals on wheels,’ carefully wrapped in Mother’s love and emphasis on eye appeal.

‘Eye appeal’ generally meant a sprig of fresh parsely or maybe an edible nasturtium.

One of the most important things that I learned back then about pain was the importance of leaning into it rather than fighting against it and one way that I tried to make friends with it was through colour.

I think I must have had a premonition about the back caving in on Thursday last when I was out in Mount Congreve because I got to wondering about ‘blues’ and low mood.

Anyway, here’s the colour of my soft-tissued pain as I’m perceiving it now:

Colours

Pink

I revel in colour and allowed myself to think about black when I was walking along this path in Mount Congreve the other day.

I have an intense fear of the pitch blackness since I was about five. It happened in an episode of boldness when my brother and I were messing around in the bank office where our father was manager. We had been warned that we were never, ever to go into the office but, of course, that made it all the more tempting. It was a Sunday and Dad had been doing a bit of extra work. He had slipped upstairs for a few minutes so we sneaked in and were playing hide and seek in all the little nooks and crannies that were part of bank offices back then.

The safe where books, not money, were kept was slightly open and I thought it would be a great idea to hide in there. Big bro spotted me going in and thought it would be even better fun to turn the wheel that locked the big steel door of the the safe. I heard the click and found myself in the blackest place you could ever imagine. There wasn’t any light whatsoever and I started to pound on the door and scream at big bro to let me out. The door was so thick I couldn’t even hear him outside.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Dad came to the rescue. Normally he would have been absolutely furious with us for being in the office but when he saw the state I was in he took me in his arms and knew in his heart that I had learned a lesson that I wasn’t likely to ever forget.

Over the years, I’ve given black a lot of thought. It’s a colour I quite like to wear; I love black and white photographs; I adore the blackness of Puppy Stan but I still can’t bear complete blackness and have realised that it is something that is seldom found, a bit like complete silence.

Believe it or not, I even got the heebie-jeebies one day when I tried using a black page for this blog. I had thought it would be exciting to write on black but just froze. One of these days I’m going to give it another try because I want to see where it would bring me.

How are you about black or is there some other colour that messes your head up?

Gate of Life

Gate

I’ve been passing this gate almost everyday for years now and I’ve come to love it more and more as it has gradually peeled back its coats.

I can just imagine some people wanting to spruce it up for spring but I delight in seeing its rainbow of colours all melting into each other and revealing the colourful hands of history.

I’m like this with people too. I want to see the reality that lies behind the make-up; the eyes behind the dark glasses; the joys, fears, loves, losses, passions, hopes … that are so often glossed over with a maskish smile.

The other thing about this gate that always makes me slow down is its design. It’s certainly not a gate to keep small children in or out. It’s more like a toy aimed at stretching a child’s imagination. I find myself looking around for all sorts of shapes that can be posted in through those angled boxes.

Or how about sitting on the gate on Summer evenings reading a warm paperback while horses whinny in the fields nearby. I’ve no doubt that children have sat on this gate over the years and waved at carloads of sun lovers who have spent their day at the beach that’s just down the road.

Yes, it’s a gate with a past and lots and lots of stories to tell ~ just like every single older person in this crazy world of ours.

Light of My Life

On days like today, I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

It’s all about ‘time well spent,’ and I couldn’t have asked for more than to be at the ocean with son, Harry, and Puppy Stan at sundown.

Nature was out in all her glory:

and the the colours were ever-changing.

The bond between man and dog never fails to warm my heart:

As I let my gaze wander

Touch of Ireland — Light of Ireland ~ Green, White and Gold

I hear a voice calling

as the tints change yet again …

2016-01-27 20.36.45 — Burning Embers of the Day

The Dread Storm is Passed …

… and nature is beaming in the January light.

May all your storms be short-lived.

Presence of Perennial Colour for/from Elderly Parents

camelia-re

Back in September 1991, when we were just married, I never imagined that the pink Camellia that my father helped me to chose and plant in our back garden would be such a source of delight on some of the darkest days of the year.

The Camellia’s first bloom caught my eye the other morning through a haze of thick, muggy mist and it was like a bright smile brought forward from other times.

I love the idea of perennials bringing joy year after year. A tiny shrub that you give to, or receive from, your elderly mother or father may serve to build a lasting and colourful connection that has huge meaning ~ even years after the parent has passed.

Sharing in the planting of the shrub and making that moment memorable and fun definitely adds to the everlasting impact.

I’d love to hear about particular shrubs that you associate with your elderly parents/or grown-up children.

Sea Side Winter-time Week in Co. Waterford

The changing of the clocks to Winter-time fills me with absolute dread every year as all I can see lying ahead is dull, dank, dark, dismality. This year was no exception and I basically bid a fond farewell to all colour last Saturday afternoon with the clocks set to fall back at 2am on Sunday morning.

The week that has unfolded has shocked me with the colour that has danced on the beaches in and around me here in Tramore.

It all started at sunrise on Sunday morning when I went down to the beach in a state of total confusion about what time it really was:

Each day has brought moments of pure sensual bliss,

clarity,

shimmering

lipsticked skies

and absolute hope:

I hope your week has given you good reason to look forward and to see every colour, including black, as having a beauty all of its own.

Colouring Tramore

Whenever I see a rainbow over Tramore Bay, I just drop everything and whizz down to the seafront. I glimpsed a big, bright one out of the corner of my eye as I was in the throes of getting supper ready yesterday and took off to chase my dreams.

What more could anyone want than the sheer beauty of rainbowed sea and sand, especially here in Tramore?

Contrasts, in all walks life, can be stunning and the sight that met me as I turned when the rainbow had finally faded was one that will linger in my mind for a long time. There was Tramore in silhouette, as if highlighting the magic of black and white.