matildkeay.blogspot.com
Tales from the dacha
http://matildkeay.blogspot.com/2011/09/i-have-not-been-here-for-while-but-my.html
Tales from the dacha. Dacha: A Russian home in the countryside that someone lives in at weekends or during holidays. Tuesday, 20 September 2011. A paradox, a delicious contradiction. But on the other hand, a dismissive mother far more interested in her younger children. A woman overly passionate about all things culinary, forgetful and eccentric, ripening cheeses in her pantry and filling the house with a smell of things going off. And does her contradictory nature make her more or less dear to me? Long ...
matildkeay.blogspot.com
Tales from the dacha: May 2011
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Tales from the dacha. Dacha: A Russian home in the countryside that someone lives in at weekends or during holidays. Wednesday, 18 May 2011. Last weekend I went to the dacha again. There is no electricity or running water but I have a wood burning stove and an ancient gas cooker! Perhaps it is but then again, I have never planted purple tomatoes before. Parenthetically, how would I know if a purple tomato was cold anyway? My style of gardening is inspirational than agricultural. I like the very act o...
matildkeay.blogspot.com
Tales from the dacha: November 2011
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Tales from the dacha. Dacha: A Russian home in the countryside that someone lives in at weekends or during holidays. Monday, 7 November 2011. All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath. F Scott Fitzgerald. What really helped me was water. Salty, soft, warm water. Water with light streaming through it. Blue water, green water. Surrounding and supporting me effortlessly. Links to this post. Labels: F Scott Fitzgerald. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). View my complete profile. JG Ballard...
matildkeay.blogspot.com
Tales from the dacha: July 2011
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Tales from the dacha. Dacha: A Russian home in the countryside that someone lives in at weekends or during holidays. Tuesday, 12 July 2011. The road runs by the side of a stream too big to be called a stream in spring time, when the snows from the mountains run in fat ribbons downhill. At the height of summer large stones are clearly visible and the stream is just a stream and easy to ford. An old woman. A stranger facing him. He can't discern her features but can make out that she is a small, ro...Yes, ...
matildkeay.blogspot.com
Tales from the dacha: June 2011
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Tales from the dacha. Dacha: A Russian home in the countryside that someone lives in at weekends or during holidays. Friday, 24 June 2011. Last night I went to the forest. It was midsummer's eve and magic was afoot. Why did I go, you might ask? It was because I read http:/ anhrefn.blogspot.com/. Post which brought back so many memories. Midsummer Eve of my childhood. Down river I could see movement. Young men were wading in fully clothed, picking up the garlands floating by. The next few days wil...The s...
matildkeay.blogspot.com
Tales from the dacha: Midsummer Day
http://matildkeay.blogspot.com/2011/06/midsummer-day.html
Tales from the dacha. Dacha: A Russian home in the countryside that someone lives in at weekends or during holidays. Friday, 24 June 2011. Last night I went to the forest. It was midsummer's eve and magic was afoot. Why did I go, you might ask? It was because I read http:/ anhrefn.blogspot.com/. Post which brought back so many memories. Midsummer Eve of my childhood. Down river I could see movement. Young men were wading in fully clothed, picking up the garlands floating by. The next few days wil...The s...
gingerandclove.blogspot.com
gingerandclove: December 2009
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Friday, December 25, 2009. Monday, December 21, 2009. All we need is fourteen lines, well, thirteen now,. And after this one just a dozen. To launch a little ship on love's storm-tossed seas,. Then only ten more left like rows of beans. How easily it goes unless you get Elizabethan. And insist the iambic bongos must be played. And rhymes positioned at the ends of lines,. One for every station of the cross. But hang on here wile we make the turn. Into the final six where all will be resolved,. Like making...
gingerandclove.blogspot.com
gingerandclove: February 2011
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Monday, February 28, 2011. Now comes the long blue cold. And what shall I say but that some. Bird in the tree of my heart is singing. That same heart that only yesterday. Was a room shut tight, without dreams. Isn’t it wonderful—the cold wind and. Spring in the heart inexplicable. Darling girl. Picklock. Saturday, February 26, 2011. Friday, February 25, 2011. A Color of the Sky. Windy today and I feel less than brilliant,. Driving over the hills from work. There are the dark parts on the road. What I tho...
gingerandclove.blogspot.com
gingerandclove: September 2009
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Saturday, September 19, 2009. Everything is holding its breath inside me. Everything is waiting to explode like Christmas. Friday, September 18, 2009. Elephant Parade - Thirteen Things. Found at bee mp3 search engine. Thursday, September 17, 2009. Love can change a person the way a parent can change a baby - awkwardly, and often with a great deal of mess.". Lemony snicket, horseradish: bitter truths you can’t avoid. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Na ilha de bruma. Poem of the month. View my complete profile.
gingerandclove.blogspot.com
gingerandclove: October 2009
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Friday, October 30, 2009. The water that came out of the shower was treated with a chemical that responded to a combination of things, like. Your heartbeat, and your body temperature, and your brain waves, so that your skin changed color according. If you were extremely excited your skin would turn green, and if you were angry you'd turn red, obviously, and if you felt like shiitake you'd turn brown, and if you were blue. Everyone could know what everyone else felt, and we could be more careful. Es no te...