On Children... Kids and Caterpillars...

I saw this butterfly on the way to work and thought it seemed quite an appropriate reflection of things at the moment; Life with Teenagers...
 All the things that butterfly had been subjected to in order to metamorphose into this delicate creature... Thorough the driving force of Nature, it had duly passed through the various different stages of life... From ungracious caterpillar, occupying its days in a seemingly aimless manner, devoring all around it, to the pupating mass inside a hard chrysalis shell that gives little or no indication as to the marvel that lies within, and finally the air-borne butterfly that flies far away from our terrestrial concerns but will grace us with its presence from time to time...

I'm not quite sure which stage my children have reached, but we are certainly nowhere near the airborne...although I myself would like to take off to the skies. I too would love to escape the relentless nagging (mine!) and frustration and rage as young wings have to be momentarily clipped to avoid disastrous flights and land-bound missions. In the process my own feathers have been tarred and tarnished as I begin to understand the expression "to cry tears of blood" since the salty variety has momentarily run out. I wonder why all of this has to be so hard... Well, apparently we do get through this baptism of fire, but for the time being, a lot of wings are being singed, nerves frazzled and patience grilled on both sides of the generational gap.
Our offspring will be our children for life, well beyond their childhood years. However, for them to advance they have to leave us behind. I just hope the flight path is a little similar to that of a boomerang, in some respects at least. And that what they leave behind isn't bent too far during the teenage years...

                                               On Children -  Kahlil Gibran
                                     Your children are not your children.
                                     They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
                                     They come through you but not from you,
                                     And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
                                     You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
                                     For they have their own thoughts.
                                     You may house their bodies but not their souls,
                                     For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
                                     which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
                                     You may strive to be like them,
                                     but seek not to make them like you.
                                     For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
                                     You are the bows from which your children
                                     as living arrows are sent forth.
                                     The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
                                     and He bends you with His might
                                     that His arrows may go swift and far.
                                     Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
                                     For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
                                     so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Butterfly (last September) - this must have been a mother as it's looking the worse for wear!

Orange poppies and red...

This photo looks upside down whichever way I turn it!

The poppies have been so late this year that I was even beginning to think that they would never come out in any great number... However, on closer inspection, I noticed that for every scattered, solitary cluster of poppies, there are hundreds of bristly buds, waiting to burst out. These look so determined, with their armoured pods like bristling triffids, pushing through the undergrowth and it's difficult to associate these with the delicate, papery petals of the poppies themselves, hidden within.

Triffid!!

  But of course, poppies are one of the most resistant plants in the wilderness, thriving on the harsh conditions that would stunt or deter others.

 
I came across this poem by Sandra McPherson, an American poet from California, where the poppies are indeed orange...


Poppies

Jardin des Plantes, Paris

Orange is the single-hearted color. I remember

How I found them in a vein beside the railroad,
A bumble-bee fumbling for a foothold
While the poppies' petals flagged beneath his boot.

I brought three poppies home and two buds still sheathed.
I amputated them above the root. They lived on artlessly
Beside the window for a while, blazing orange, bearing me
No malice. Each four-fanned surface opened

To the light. They were bright as any orange grove.
I watched them day and night stretch open and tuck shut
With no roots to grip, like laboratory frogs' legs twitching
Or like red beheaded hens still hopping on sheer nerves.

On the third afternoon one bud tore off its green glove
And burst out brazen as Baby New Year.
Two other poppies dropped their petals, leaving four
Scribbly yellow streamers on a purple-brimmed and green

Conical cadaver like a New Year's hat.
I'd meant to celebrate with them, but they seemed
So suddenly tired, these aging ladies in crocheted
Shawl leaves. They'd once been golden as the streets

Of heaven, now they were as hollow.
They couldn't pull together for a last good-bye.
I had outlived them and had only their letters to read,
Fallen around the vase, saying they were sorry. 

Sandra McPherson

Although I just assumed that most poppies bore the same markings, in fact they don't. Some have dark crosses surrounding their powdery stamens, while others appear to have nothing.

Well, even if it's back to grey skies and rain again for today, bicycle rides along the canal are back on track! And I will be watching for the moment when all those buds release their tissue-paper treasure and the fields are edged with red...

Fêtes Johanniques Reims 2013... Living gargolyes on the rampage and much more...

A grotestque group in front of Reims cathedral - 2013

The month of June arrived last weekend, and so did the sun. Incredible! Well, as always here in Reims, the month of June hosts the festival to celebrate the life of Joan of Arc, although there are several other fêtes johanniques in France at this time of year - notably in Orléans and Rouen. Reims is symbolic because it was here that the 'Virgin of Orléans' led Charles VII to be crowned in 1429.

Many favourite gargoyle!

I spoke about all of this last year, Joan of Arc Festival 2012 , but even as the years pass I never get bored of the fête.

Diabolical figures on stilts.

This year was a little different to the others since there was a marked absence of animals, yet a veritable invasion in subhuman beasts!

A certain unsuspecting person (!!!) being followed...

 Many of these were stalking about the Medieval encampments around the cathedral on stilts and were really impressive, towering over the passers-by.












So the camels, yaks and other exotic creatures gave way to a hoard of extras from a Lord of the Rings set...

Along the cathedral - all livened up with folk music and weird animations.

 However, many of the habitual stands, displays and shows were there - as were the Medieval 'huts' that were placed around the historic centre of the city - Place Royale, Place du Forum, le Parvis de la Cathédrale.

Early evening - Place du Forum

I really like the atmosphere which reminds me a little of Footsbarn Theatre, that used to come to Cornwall in the summer when we were children. Funnily enough, the new Footsbarn troup came to Reims three years ago and I actually got to speak to one of the original founding actors. I hope my children will remember this fête in a fond way later on.

Musicians behind the cathedral.

  I really like the wild music and dancing, which makes a change from the usual starchy ultra-conservative atmosphere here, though you don't get much audience participation.

 Well, you can't have everything, I suppose...

Stilted minotaur - Place Royale

 Anyway, the crowds were certainly out, on both the Saturday and the Sunday.

Place Royale

I loved looking at all the costumed characters, because with or without a face mask, most of the wearers seem transformed and transported us spectators to another time.

 There were a lot of strange individuals...

Birdman selling whistles.

No one just seemed ordinary or commonplace...

From henchman to magician, everyone seemed unique...

 
Some seemed to be waiting for some form of divine intervention...

A knight Templar

Were busy in contemplation...

Or creativity...

Devoted to their duties...

Or combat.....

 Or simply relaxing afterwards...

Pause between a fight...

 Huddled around, in jovial spirits...

Or in family groups...

Medieval family

But there were naturally a few lone wolves...

A werewolf sitting on the fountain at the end of my street!

 Of course, my favourite stars of the show were the animals...

These aren't strictly speaking greyhounds, but are of the breed 'galgo espagnol'. Whatever their actual race, they were so gentle and affectionate.

 And what elegance! These were accompanied by the majestic birds of prey.

And everything was accompanied by the music...

 As the sun finally went down, the crowds seemed to grow, concentrating around Place du Forum, which suited me fine as it's just around the corner from my flat!

Processions of performers set off towards the cathedral...

 Threading their way across Place Royale...

 In front of the cathedral were the flag-brandishing troup Castiglion de Fiorentino who managed to perform despite gale-force gusts of wind!

Finally, Joan of Arc appeared on her stead, in preparation for the grand parade to the cathedral on the Sunday.

 Finally the evening ended with a light-and-sound display on the cathedral façade, which I had intended to film, but never got around to working out the video function on the camera.
So, roll on next year!

Lighting on the cathedral façade.

Adieu, nasty little gargoyle...

Basilique Notre-Dame-de l'Epine - Chalons en Champagne

Went off for a change of scenery to forget the incessant rain (well that didn't exactly work out to plan, but it did feel like a different type of rain at least) and more importantly to take my mind off a nasty little blight that has plagued our lives for the past two years. The Noisy Neighbour Downstairs...

There are no known cures to this illness, apart from surgical removal, but as that hasn't been an option, we have all had to grin and bear it.

Symptoms in the sufferer include sleepness nights, irritability and intolerance to excess of any form. Attempts to alleviate these vexing manifestations have involved several calls to the police, many letters of complaint to the housing agency and several less-than-neighbourly verbal exchanges... all to no avail!!!

The show must go on, and so it has over the long months... As we've only been here two years, the suffering is minimal compared to that of the other neighbours who have had to endure this for even longer! This ghastly little gargoyle seems to hang over our lives, ready to disrupt the calm at any moment.

The cause of so many frayed nerves and shattered sleep patterns is literally a creature of the night. This being has a typically nocturnal existence, sleeping through most of the day, though can be espied on the terrasses of the local bars from apéritif time, cigarette poised between lips or yellowing fingers, a glass of alcohol at the ready.

As a creature attracted to species demonstrating similar behavioural patterns, he will readily invite fellow night-time beasts back to his smoke-ridden lair before and after visits to his watering holes and associated gathering places.

Unfortunately, this burrow is below ours, so whether we like or not, we end up aware of all the movements, habits and natural instincts of this singularly selfish, unattractive being. Although drawn to social groupings with others of his type, he shows little but disregard and disrespect for any other living creature, although he will try his Gallic 'charm' on any unsuspecting female of any species. He certainly spends enough time banging around in the bathroom, presumably preening and gurning in the mirror.

An apparently innate attachment to alcohol and tobacco has made his appearance raddled and wizened, while his relatively advanced years (60 - ie old enough to know better!) have not bestowed him any wisdom. A quiet evening of reflection would be beyond him - unless perhaps accompanied by his music. The music... no, I won't even go there....

So, it was with disbelief and great excitement that we all learnt that this unusual, yet wholly unwanted specimen was to leave the house that he has dominated over the years. It all seemed too good to be true...

Well, it is true, but is more a case of  'Don't hold your breath'. Having moved out virtually all his possessions from his warren below - mostly during the night - he now can be heard here day and night.

The nocturnal noise of music, loud conversations,stomping shoes on wooden parquet, slammed doors, windows and cupboards is nothing new, but the resonance is amplified in an empty space without furnishings. Apparently this strange creature is currently presenting signs of an impulsive cleaning instinct, which is insatiable. Perhaps this would explain why the beast in question has decided to keep on his empty dwelling place until...... August!!!

So I dedicate the photo above to this animal, whose unendearing lifestyle habits we have been fully exposed to over the past two years, in a very unsymbiotic relationship.
The photo below is to render us calm and collected in order to endure the next two months, and above all, to help me hold back the burning desire to wring that scrawny creature's neck!!!
I trust he will find the neighbours he fully deserves in his future abode... Adieu gargoyle!