Rambling Roses

Dear sisters,
This is my new favourite word Rambling Roses , rambling means rambling |ˈramb(ə)li ng |
adjective
1 (of writing or speech) lengthy and confused or inconsequential.
2 (of a plant) putting out long shoots and growing over walls or other plants; climbing : rambling roses.
• (of a building or path) spreading or winding irregularly in various directions : a big old rambling house.
• (of a person) traveling from place to place; wandering.
DERIVATIVES
ramblingly adverb
ramble |ˈrambəl|
verb [ intrans. ]
1 walk for pleasure, typically without a definite route.
• (of a plant) put out long shoots and grow over walls or other plants.
2 talk or write at length in a confused or inconsequential way : he rambled on about his acting career.
noun
a walk taken for pleasure, esp. in the countryside.
ORIGIN late Middle English (as a verb in sense 2) : probably related to Middle Dutch rammelen, used of animals in the sense ‘wander around in heat,’ also to the noun ram .


Im now back in Prague after a month's break. It's sunny and warm and I think the Indian summer is preparing for september. Here are my rambles of july and august in photographic form.

This is the beautiful Paris Airport greeting me and A. in colour, I think we were just happy to get away from the bowels of Europe, everything seemed beautiful and new. A little holiday really can clear your mind and give you new ideas.







This is what happens when you eat a Glace Macaron in Rouen , mentioned in a previous post by S2. I was there and I found a painting to illustrate the experience. We actually floated from the earth's surface with the sugar rush. Amazing experience. The angel in the middle is the Macarons glacées Angel.






This is my hand in shadow form in Edinburgh light in the staircase of my good friend.






A photo of an old japanese photo of hair being groomed.







And this is a Burger King paper bag transformed back into a tree by a talented artist called Yuken Teruya. I think it is quite a beautiful message.






A photo our mama made when she was in Russia some time ago.
I hope she doesn't mind me posting it on the blog. I think it's a very beautiful picture.



And finally here is a little film I made in Edinburgh. It's called A Summer Breeze
I hope you enjoy it.
I hope you are both well and I love you both very much !
Take care and enjoy the last few days of august.

S3

Bulls

“Mam. The bulls in the next field are jumping on top of each other and wrestling” Jip said. “Interesting”, I said.

Surrounded by the beauty of nature and the innocence of youth, we are summering in Normandy, me and my children, eating lots of baguette and home-made jam, swirling on swings, sailing on gusty winds, trying to catch the sun before the rain falls again.






Today, I kicked the children out of the house, as they were draped over the couch and the sun did shine, our days being numbered. “Don’t come back till tea time”. I said. “Go and explore the fields” Rosie wept and went upstairs for another costume change, her third of the day, and Jip revolted by playing Lego in the front room.

Rosie has developed a dance that is rather vulgar. MTV vulgar, involving rubbing her hands all over her body and wiggling her behind, as she sings a made-up melody. We do not know where she picked this up, from a friend she says, but we do not like to encourage it, which sets her big eyes sparkling and sends her wiggles a little deeper. It is not a good sign.

Jip, at nine, may be too young to know about homosexual bulls, but he certainly has feet before his age. This weekend he officially reached my size, 40, and I am waiting to wear his new Tigers.






We are weaning off the social activities; weddings in white on Ibiza, old friends, new friends, sunshine and rain. We made a short tour of Europe with our good friends from over the seas; Amsterdam, Friesland, Normandy and hey, there they were again, our friends, under the Eiffel tower, near the carrousel, glowing amongst the crowds. My son and I went to Paris for a day. A penknife with Paris landmarks is his new pride and joy. A gold pocket mirror with the Eiffel tower for Rosie, who stayed in the countryside that day. She keeps it in its velvet casing, in the pocket of her patent pink handbag, picked up for 50 centimes at the fair last Sunday. Now shades of boredom are back in the children’s lives again, which is very healthy, if you ask me.





Meanwhile up North, A, is getting used to working, driving to an office in a real car with leather seats, everyday. He wears a blue shirt and a jacket and has a big desk behind which to sit. It is not so busy yet, a phantom of the job that will start in September after Burning Man. Three landed, now just me to go.

For summer reading, I would like to recommend “Just Kids” by Patti Smith (listening to Horses) and “when God was a Rabbit” by Sarah Winman.

Love, S1