[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 13 December 2024].
a solitary red bauble
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 11 December 2024].
white apples and berries
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 9 December 2024].
holly go lightly
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 7 December 2024].
in sure and certain hope
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 1 December 2024].
I'm not seeking a resurrection to eternal life, but I'd appreciate the sure and certain hope of a break from major stresses and upheavals, thankyouverymuch.
I offer my sincerest apologies for my radio silence during November.
Ironically, I foresaw November as a month mostly at home where I could catch up on editing, share more work with you and get ahead of editing for my end-of-year wrap-up blog.
Oh, the naivety!
I did spend most of the month at home. However, I was still seeking a new flatmate, even as late as my last viewing on Saturday, 23 November.
I'm sure you know flatmate-seeking - like house or job-hunting - is a full-time job.
Combined with my full-time day job, part-time pet-sitting (although the overnight stays have a full-time feel), and attempts to keep up with my art, I've essentially been doing four full-time jobs, with my art being the most neglected.
It's not through choice. Believe me.
My art - alongside time spent with my (mostly) four-legged clients - keeps me on an even keel. Mentally, emotionally, and sometimes physically.
As some of you may know through our friendship on Facebook or outside the social spheres, I gave notice on my home of 8.5 years on 27 November.
It was a difficult decision for my heart but a no-brainer for my finances. Once I confirmed a plan B for storing my belongings and temporarily housing my being, accepting the decision was somewhat easier.
It doesn't mean I'm happy about it, or I won't miss the place I've called home for the longest of any homes I've had.
But I'm trying to look at the positives and embrace whatever the future holds for me where 'home' is concerned.
I want to find a new home in the same or a nearby postcode. But from mid-December, I'll be somewhat itinerant. (You know, more so than usual). I'll predominantly be based in south London around my scheduled sittings.
House-hunting, like flatmate-hunting, is a full-time job. I'm hopeful that putting that on hold for a while to get things back on track will free me up to focus again on my art, at least over the festive season and New Year period.
In the meantime, this is a photograph I took in St George's churchyard in September on the Isle of Portland in Dorset.
I have many photographs from that trip to share with you. Hopefully soon.
red bows
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 December 2024].
I'm slightly behind schedule but somewhat less stressed.
Only somewhat, but I'm hopeful there will be good news to share more widely in the next few days.
Fingers crossed!
sheltering santa
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 4 December 2024].
the reindeer section
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 4 December 2024].
My life is currently so chaotic, messy and stressful that I almost forgot it's time for season's grievings.
My current mood is something akin to this reindeer Christmas decoration on a child's grave in Pinner New Cemetery that I photographed just under a year ago.
I'm sharing this for patrons only a few hours instead of two days early to allow me to catch up.
I'll post the second image for this year later today, which will be closer to a day early.
The third will be posted tomorrow, two days early, and then I'll be back on schedule.
While I'm here and referencing the Scottish supergroup with my title for today's instalment, I highly recommend giving them a listen (if you haven't previously), specifically their second album, Son of Evil Reindeer.
he died of a broken arm
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 1 October 2024].
While reviewing photos to edit and share with you from my wander through the Bishop's Stortford Old Cemetery while sitting Betsy and Dudley a month ago, a new writing project idea struck.
Inspired by a combination of some of the inscriptions in the cemetery, personal memories and a conversation with a friend this evening about death. Specifically, euthanasia.
The words gently edging towards my fingertips aren't all about death, let alone euthanasia.
The ideas gently swirling aren't perhaps as melancholy as what I've written above may suggest (and how can you write about death without writing about life?)
But I'm probably feeling a bit too raw and tired (emotionally and physically) to pour those thoughts out in the wee hours of this particular morning.
So, instead, here's a photo I took of a grave I found paired with an irreverent title to lighten the mood.
Unrelated (maybe): have you heard the new single from The Cure, Alone?
I've listened to it a lot since it came out, but I only just properly listened while watching the lyric video (as I went to find the link for you) and took in the words and the visuals they've chosen, and I teared up for so many reasons.
And then the comments.
hither green crematorium
mamma
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 1 July 2024].
to a beloved | qui riposa
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 18 June 2024].
angelic youth
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 9 June 2024].
jesus and jules
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 14 May 2024].
past his bedtime
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 22 April 2024].
One of the first graves I came across in the Glasgow Necropolis was that of poet William Miller, who "appears to have popularised a pre-existing nursery rhyme, [Wee Willie Winkie,] adding additional verses to make up a five stanza poem" and publishing the same in 1841.
I didn't know there was a monument to him there, and to be honest, I couldn't have named him, though I grew up learning at least the poem's first stanza. The monument stood out because of the detailed profile of him.
He died destitute, and his remains are interred in an unmarked grave in Tollcross Cemetery.
Though I've read enough Irvine Welsh novels to understand a reasonable amount, I don't know enough Scots to understand Miller's original without the paraphrased version in English alongside it.
Despite that, I love reading it, and I share the complete poem below, courtesy of Wikipedia:
Wee Willie Winkie rins through the toon,
Up stairs an' doon stairs in his nicht-gown,
Tirlin' at the window, crying at the lock,
"Are the weans in their bed, for it's now ten o'clock?"
"Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye comin' ben?
The cat's singin grey thrums to the sleepin hen,
The dog's speldert on the floor and disna gie a cheep,
But here's a waukrife laddie, that wunna fa' asleep."
Onything but sleep, you rogue, glow'ring like the moon,
Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon,
Rumblin', tumblin' roon about, crawin' like a cock,
Skirlin like a kenna-what, waukenin' sleepin' fock.
"Hey Willie Winkie, the wean's in a creel,
Wamblin' aff a bodie's knee like a verra eel,
Ruggin' at the cat's lug and raveling a' her thrums-
Hey Willie Winkie – see there he comes."
Wearit is the mither that has a stoorie wean,
A wee, stumpie, stousie, that canna rin his lane,
That has a battle aye wi' sleep afore he'll close an e'e-
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me.
great orme cemetery
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 15 April 2024].
With all the to-ing and fro-ing between my trips to Llandudno, Delamere and Glasgow (and pet-sittings in between), I got ahead of myself by posting a photograph of St Peter's Church in Delamere last Sunday when I should have rounded out the week with a #SepulchralSunday entry for Llandudno first.
No harm done, though.
Here's one of my photographs of the Great Orme Cemetery Chapel. The cemetery sits just outside the churchyard walls of St Tudno's Church, down the hill from the summit.
death in technicolour
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 8 April 2024].
A couple of flowering Camellia japonica trees brighten up the churchyard of St Peter's Church in Delamere.
Life and death side by side.
she hath done what she could
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 March 2024].<
Often, when I'm perusing my catalogue of unedited photos to share, one will pop out at me, and I just know it's right to share at this moment in time.
It may not always be the most eye-catching or aesthetically pleasing photograph.
But it captures where my mind or heart is right now.
Or it depicts a place, an object, a plant, etc., that - when I research it further - is relevant to something in my life at that moment and clicks.
This photograph I took in Cornubia Lutheran Cemetery, also known as Carbrook Lutheran Cemetery, did that for me today.
coaxing life from death
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 26 February 2024].
a year later... or thereabouts.
So, it's been a year since Mum passed. Well, kind of.
I mean, she died at 06:10 on 1 March 2023 AEDT, but for me, that means her time of death was actually 19:10 GMT on 28 February 2023.
So, for me, that should mean the anniversary of her passing was on 28 February 2024.
Except that this year is a leap year, so 06:10 AEDT on 1 March 2024 was 19:10 GMT on 29 February 2024.
Confused yet?
If I base the anniversary on the date she passed away in Australia (as that's where she was), then I'm posting this late. But it's still only 1 March 2024 here in London, so I guess I get longer to mark the anniversary.
Has anyone noticed I possess a certain sentimentality and a penchant for marking such important dates at precisely the right moment?
Though I didn't have a chance to post about it at either of the potentially recognised moments, it's been on my mind for some time, particularly during the evening on 28 February when it felt like I should acknowledge the passing of a year since her death.
Dad and I acknowledged the anniversary within the hour of her passing on 1 March 2024, his time, in our family WhatsApp chat.
Yesterday afternoon, a little before and a little after my day's sitting with Francois ended, and before I left for my first sitting of the year with my regulars, I edited these two photos to share with this post acknowledging the anniversary.
Although I don't think she had any particular preference for daffodils (I don't remember them appearing often within bouquets she bought or received), her death will now be inextricably linked to them in my mind because of her passing on St David's Day and, in particular, because of her Welsh ancestry.
So, I was already thinking ahead to today when I photographed these two specimens in Frank's backyard the last weekend I sat him in mid-February. Knowing there would be photographs of daffodils as part of my tribute to her this year, as I have access to very few photos of her, and most I've already shared. While thinking ahead to the date and time conundrum as the impact of this leap year had already occurred to me by then.
One thing I didn't get to do while I was visiting Dad was to pore over their photo albums. Two weeks isn't a long time when you're working part-time, sorting through your deceased mother's personal effects and catching up with family you haven't seen in person in about three years.
I didn't know how I would feel one year on. If I'm honest, I still don't.
I mean, there's definitely been a sea of emotions surging around me for the past week or so.
I initially hoped to write my thoughts on the "exact" anniversary (for me). But practical matters had to be dealt with. So, instead, I sort of softly welled up thinking about it without having the time or capacity to put the feelings into words. But knowing I would when I could.
I know it's cliched to say it feels like less than a year, but in the same breath, to say it feels more than a year. But it does.
It's been less than a year since we said goodbye as a family and scattered her ashes.
It's been more than a year since she and I last spoke. Or rather, I spoke to her, as she didn't have many words left by then.
So, the passing of time since her passing has been warped and bent. Though that's not uncommon. I know others feel similarly about the passing of their loved ones, even without the added confusion of leap years interfering with their marking of time.
I wrote a lot about her last year. And I don't doubt I will write more in time. I took photos while visiting my family in Australia that triggered memories, anecdotes, and so forth that I hope to capture in words. Some I'll capture for myself. Others I'll share.
In the meantime, as Spring drags its feet returning to England, the daffodils rush in and bloom on the verges and traffic islands, in suburban gardens, central London parks, cemeteries, the local supermarket, the vase in the entry to our building placed there by my Welsh neighbour who lives downstairs. And in my mind.
For Mum. In her memory.