Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Love Bug!

From the plum tree
Herbie. I've finally got the car I've always wanted :-)

From the plum tree

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Burnt Offerings at the Altar

The first six months of this year were idyllic and enjoyable apart from a couple of little hiccups here and there which are but natural in a life’s progression. Just as I was getting used to the good life came June and Saturn moved forward and trined with Uranus  and made a hextant with Jupiter and all the planets conspired together to drag me by the hair through the Tunnel of Horrors at this year’s amusement park. Just twenty days into June and I've had Cat crises! Freak fright! Police pounce! Towering terror….! What next I ask, what next!

Last weekend a couple of friends (QGM and KFP) decided to show me the sights and took me to Malleshwaram, a place I had always associated with quaint Masala Dosa joints and temples. Instead I got to see the gigantic World Trade Centre, a man made lake and thousands of little cubby holes where people are supposed to live. Nature inspires awe but man made monoliths create intimidation. I felt small and insignificant. Then I made the mistake of visiting Mantri Mall soon after and got flattened completely by zillions of consumer goods hurtling towards me at top speed. My eyeballs fell out of their sockets when I saw thousands of shiny women descending escalators each of them laden with hundreds of shopping bags (have you ever watched ants progressing in a row carrying crystals of sugar?). I threw myself into an auto, charged home and collapsed into bed exhausted. The doorbell rang at six b**** thirty am the next morning. I felt my way through to the window to see the gardener come to make up work for a missed day. I mumbled something and grogged back to bed. On the way I saw myself in the mirror, I looked like the picture top left. Badly frightened out of all remaining sleep I went to the kitchen and drank three cups of strong coffee …then I just drew plants and bottles for the rest of the day. Somewhat soothing that. That’s why I have this blog, to cram it with drawings of bottled plants. 

Why am I even posting this post? Who are you people even reading this ...this...stuff? My inbuilt blog sitemeter tells me that I have people from Ukraine reading this blog. Ukraine and Finland and  Alaska. 
Who are you? Say hello to me.

Sunday, June 12, 2011


 ~ by Paisley Rekdal

I have been taught never to brag but now
I cannot help it: I keep
a beautiful garden, all abundance,
indiscriminate, pulling itself
from the stubborn earth. Does it offend you
to watch me working in it,
touching my hands to the greening tips or
tearing the yellow stalks back, so wild
the living and the dead both
snap off in my hands?
The neighbor with his stuttering
fingers, the neighbor with his broken
love: each comes up my drive
to receive his pitying,
accustomed consolations, watches me
work in silence a while, rises in anger,
walks back. Does it offend them to watch me
not mourning with them but working
fitfully, fruitlessly, working
the way the bees work, which is to say
by instinct alone, which looks
like pleasure? I can stand for hours among
the sweet narcissus, silent as a point of bone.
I can wait longer than sadness. I can wait longer
than your grief. 
It is such a small thing to be proud of this garden...

- for complete poem click here >


Friday, June 10, 2011

Fairing avec Charcoal

So I learned it is a law of nature in my life that everytime my head blows up to twice its size there is always an occurrence to bring it back to normal size once more.
In French class I learnt that the French ‘faire’ everything. Faire = do. So the French, they ‘faire la cuisine’, they ‘faire du velo’,  they faire un drame, they ‘faire de la natation’ in their ‘piscines’, they ‘faire’ every blessed thing. One day we were asked by our teacher what we ‘faire’ at work so that the rest of us could guess each other’s professions. In a class full of software engineers everyone said they faired with their blessed computers so there wasn’t any guessing to do; except in my case, having chosen this dratted profession as my life’s calling, I always stick out like a cabbage in a hardware store. I rather smugly said that I faire avec charcoal. Whereupon the French teacher screeched 
“You work with charcoal? You are a chef!!!!

Non madame, je suis illustrateuse…

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Routine a great calmer for bewildered pets and their over anxious servers.