Bartolome Esteban Murillo barefoot

Yesterday was Bartolome Esteban Murillo's 400'th birthday, so says Google - liking the image in the Doodle I checked up on the man and found a wealth of beauty in his pictures particularly of children, and also an intimate knowledge of bare feet.

A peasant boy leaning on a sill

Adoración de los pastores

Now take a closer look at those feet. The dirt, the calluses, the cracks - I know them well - they could easily have been my feet!  I'd like to know what he used as balm to heal those cracks?

Amazing detail in these feet

The young beggar

Look at the detail in the clothes

Check out those feet again!

La gallega de la moneda - another beauty

The picture in the Google Doodle

Convention 2018

Gospel songs today have a lot to say

They lift you up when you're feeling down

Some have a country flavor, some have a modern sound

They all serve the need of planting seeds, so I guess they can't go wrong

But there's none so dear as when I hear an old convention song.

We host an annual convention. In days of yore we peaked to 150 attendees but now-a-days it's us plus maybe 20 or 30 visitors, half of which will be regulars year after year. Why? Partly because that's what we do, rather in the vein of the Cathedrals song. It's a bean feast. It's meet old friends. But it is also meant to be a time for hearing "what God is saying" which roughly translates to enduring multiple hour long sermons. For me, some of these talks have worthwhile content, whilst in others frankly I loose the plot - I come away not having any clue as to the point they were trying to make. 10/10 for effort; not much in the way of results. Maybe that's just me - I'm just a bad listener.

This year I have chosen to do morning boiler duty. Our boiler is the mighty wood burning Turboburn TB4. To meet the morning heating and hot-water load it requires a full load lit as early as possible, topped up as necessary to raise the water jacket to as close to boiling point as is feasible. So, during convention, I light the boiler at around 6 a.m. then go for my constitutional run after which I check the burn and add more fuel as necessary. I like this time in the morning. I do not need to act, listen, talk, and it is quiet which suits my damaged hearing. Whereas convention mealtime is painful. Being sociable, engaging in small talk, is not my scene. And the noise level...

In between meetings and mealtimes and socialising and chores and sleeping I managed to snap a few pictures and here are the best...

A picture in our hall caught in sunlight relief

 

Valleymount bridge

Ballyknockan

My lake shore

Remnants of Autumn

Remnants of Autumn

Yesterday the weather was permitting so I ran round the lake shore, Kings River end of the lake. The lake is starting to fill but it was still possible to ford the river. Another foot or two and it would need to be swum and the water is getting a bit too cold for that. In spite of the cold water, the sun was warm enough for a brief sun-bathe on the sand bar just before the river enters the lake and where it is safe to ford (no rocks underfoot). Sadly I figure this might be my last circuit of that end of the lake this season.

This morning the sky was almost completely blue and my heart urged me to make one last encounter with Autumn which seems to have been rather brief this year. But we had a meeting (it being Sunday) and by the time it was over, lunch had been lunched and washed up, and a few other minor tasks, it had clouded over. Wunderground was still maintaining that rain was possible but unlikely so I set of intending to do Church Mountain. But within minutes it started to rain and it continued for most of my run which I swiftly curtailed to just the lake perimeter (Kings River end) by road.

Ominous weather over Valleymount, from Blackditches

Suggestion of rainbow over Ballyknockan

Atmospherics over the lake, from our bridge

Aunty Elsie

Stock photo of Crantock beach, Pentire head beyond the Gannel

Aunty Elsie lived in Crantock and this alone was sufficient qualification.  But she also had a small shop in which was, oh joy, a loom and a spinning wheel and she actually spun and dyed her own wool and wove it into cloth to make garments and such like. And she fed us (cream teas?) and walked us to the beach, explained the dangers of the River Gannel. And she actually liked us children!
What more could we want of an aunt? And yet she was actually only a friend of our Nana and thus not our aunt at all.

Using a treadle fret saw (which I now have) like the one above my father used to cut out plywood handles to complete the hand woven shopping bags Elsie sold in her shop.

In this photo she is garbed in orange on the steps in her front garden holding my baby sister Heather, my mother on her left, Margaret on her right.

Here we are on Crantock beach, Elsie on the left. No Heather so perhaps this photo predates her. I think the dog is Chum. I am of course at my favourite occupation.

Forever Newquay and Crantock will remain dear in my memories on account of Aunty Elsie and all she stood for. I will never forget how dangerous the Gannel is. Forever I will long to return to Cornwall, a place worthy of dreams, a place of idyllic happiness, contentment, of clotted cream and scones, ice cream locally made with clotted cream and in a zillion different flavours, real Cornish pasties freshly baked from Rock, long sandy beaches, rock pools...

To add to the magic of the place there was also the mystery behind a carving on a low-tide cave which my sister remembers visiting but I do not - perhaps it was considered too dangerous at the tender age I was back then?

Mar not my face but let me be,

Secure in this lone cavern by the sea,

Let the wild waves around me roar,

Kissing my lips for evermore.

I am hoping my sister(s) will contribute to this page to fill in any blanks in my memory...