Author Archives: Kit Domino

Gallery

An Apology

This gallery contains 6 photos.

My apologies, everyone, I am unable to do my blogspot today due to several domestic problems in the Domino household. Nothing to worry about and normal service shall be resumed as soon as possible. Meanwhile, for your enjoyment, here are … Continue reading

Everything in Threes

Why does everything seem to come in threes? Is it magic number? We have the Three Stooges; plants should be grouped in threes; the Holy Trinity; the three wise men, traffic lights – red, amber, green; clothes, especially for babies: one on, one off and one in the wash; pre-packed meat in supermarkets, chops always seem to be in threes, not one or two or even four; three primary colours: red, blue and yellow; the three little pigs; three blind mice; no buses for an hour then three come along at once; three teaspoonsful equal one tablespoon… I could go on but it does seem odd (excuse the pun) that life and nature frequently have this triplet number. I’ve often wondered why or if there is any significance. Are these things simply a pattern? A lucky number, perhaps? No, I don’t think so for trouble always seems to come in threes too? At least it does in my house. I’ll elaborate…

Dave’s been retired now a month. It’s been brilliant. We’ve had a lot of fun, more laughs than I can remember us having and he and I have enjoyed every moment of this new phase in our long marriage. Except this month has also brought unwelcome and unexpected expense. Picture the scene: a beautiful Sunday, guests joining us for lunch, a roast merrily cooking its way, then bang! All the power in the house goes down. Trip switch flicked on again and again. Bang! Yes, you’ve guessed it, the cooker decided to burn out one of the heating elements in the oven. Oven turned off, meal resumed in the jet stream and microwave. Engineer summoned Monday morning. New element ordered, fitted on Wednesday.

Thursday, pouring with rain. Never mind, have washing to do. Thank goodness for tumble drier as we don’t have room for a washing line in the garden. Load machine with sheets. Drum turns a few times as it fills with cold water. Then bang! Trip switch shuts power off. Dave blames pump in koi pond and goes off to sort. I turn washing machine back on. Off power goes again. Kicks machine. Okay, it’s nearly 14 years old, never broken down so I can’t complain. Suspect pump has given up. Removes wet, soaking bedding from drum. Scratches head. What to do with dripping washing. Engineer summoned again in hope he can fix it. Yes he can. Heater element blown. New one ordered and fitted following Monday morning.

Now have larger washing mountain to climb. First load in: several large towels. Washing machine works a treat and an hour later they are dying in tumble drier. Well… I thought they were. All lights flashing on machine, washing still damp after two hours. Drier defunct. Research problem on internet: Common fault. Terminal. Still pouring with rain so can’t even rig up temporary line. New tumbler on order for next day delivery.

So, that is our three bad things done. Hopefully. Please no more. Dave reckons the dishwasher will be next as it’s over 10 years old. I’ve told him if it does break down, he will be doing all the washing up for wishing it upon us.

It’s still raining, and blowing a gale, but at least the garden is thriving, even if we can’t get out there and enjoy it today.

Kit’s Website and Blog  and Kit’s Art  Site

Gallery

Is It Me?

A conversation with a friend the other day brought up the subject of pet hates, especially in respect to the modern society as opposed to, say, 50 years ago. After several moments pondering what I hate most one matter sprang … Continue reading

Gallery

Enjoying Life

This gallery contains 4 photos.

So, June already! And to think it’s only another three weeks before the nights start getting longer again. What a thought. What a horrible thought. It’s been a busy month and yet nothing much has been going on apart from … Continue reading

If You Go Down to the Woods Today…

Which is precisely what I managed to do last month for a few days. With Dave on the mend following his op, my friend Avis and I slipped away by coach, visiting the beautiful county of Warwickshire, England for a “Bluebell Walk”. The bluebells were out early this year, and are stunning. Knowing this and when combined with a touch of literary culture, Avis and I we were in for a treat.

Anne Hathaway’s Cottage

First to Anne Hathaway’s Cottage (William Shakespeare’s wife). I visited here back in the 60s, as an 11-year-old on a school trip, and well remembered the thatched building and gardens, although 50 years on one now enters through a different building to reach the cottage, and the gardens have expanded. Following a brief history of the house we were allowed to wander at leisure with staff on hand to explain and inform. I’m certainly glad I didn’t live there – no mains electricity, no water on tap and no central heating; one could well imagine how difficult life was back in the 1500s. Outside, I was disappointed to see that the bluebells amongst all the colourful tulips in the beautiful front garden were the Spanish non-native type. They certainly wouldn’t have been found here in Shakespeare’s time. I hope the gardeners dig them all out soon.

Shakespeare’s Birthplace

Then on  to Stratford-upon-Avon. Again, it’s some 50 years since  first exploring this town. The main street on which William Shakespeare’s house  is located is now pedestrianised, thankfully, but a large visitor centre now sits incongruously alongside it. We decided against doing the house tour; instead we took a pleasant walk through Stratford and enjoyed a spot of lunch.

Walton Hall Hotel

A few miles outside of Stratford we arrived at our hotel, set in 65 acres of park and farmland. What a fabulous place! Although the main part of the hotel is modern, it’s built in the grounds of a large 16th century mansion (history & info link) recently owned by the late Danny La Rue.  The rooms were lovely, the beds so enormous they could easily sleep 4 persons! And joy of joys, I had a balcony too so as the dawn chorus started, I opened the French doors and enjoyed my early morning coffee outside as I listened. Bliss! The food was excellent, the staff faultless. In fact, it’s one the few hotels I’ve stayed in where I wish I could have stopped for longer, only the bluebell woods called and thus, after a delicious breakfast we were on the road again, heading for Coughton Court (pronounced Coat-un). I’d never heard of this National Trust Tudor treasure until this trip. Can’t understand why.

Once there, we headed straight for the woods and the bluebells, after all this was the main reason for our trip. There were swathes of them. And the scent glorious. If you’ve never smelt an English bluebell wood you are missing a treat. However, there is only so much one can say about bluebells, but I did take lots of photos, mainly for painting reference.

Of course, Thugs Bunny and Mr Tumble had to get in on the act!

We spent several hours wandering around enjoying the spectacle before heading back to explore the house itself. Coughton Court is still occupied by the sixth generation of the Throckmorton family, infamously involved in the plot to murder Queen Elizabeth I in 1583 and put Mary Queen of Scots on the English throne. Inside, we could wander freely, allowed to touch things, sit on the furniture, even try on some of the Tudor clothes on display. Helpful guides were on hand to explain items and various histories of the house and family. Coughton also boasts magnificent gardens, better than Hampton Court apparently, but I have to admit we were too exhausted to venture further so settled on coffee and cake instead. This is definitely a place to go back to. To read more about the house and the Throckmortons I’ve included this link .

Coughton Court

Time eventually caught up with us to make our way back to the coach and home. A lovely, relaxing two days and a much needed break. Now patiently waiting for the next one.

PS: Meanwhile, I feel a painting coming on…

 

Held In Suspension

March has slipped into April already (how did that happen so quickly?) and spring has well and truly arrived. A few April showers and a lovely weekend gladdens the heart, raising the spirit. It’s been a glorious time for spring bulbs and flowers, the forsythia hedge at its best. I love this hedge at this time of year but during winter it’s bare, boring once leaves have been shed in autumn. At least for the rest of summer it’s a bright green. It’s been a fabulous season too for hyacinths and daffodils and primulas and now the tulips are out along with the sweet-scented wallflowers.

Now all this profusion of colour should be making the Domino household happy but since the new year, we’re living as if in suspended animation, with our breaths held, waiting … waiting. You see, last summer my husband was diagnosed with circulatory problems in his leg and the suggestion made he needed a stent fitted: a simple op under local anaesthetic as a day patient. He had an MRI scan in July, and there the story came to an abrupt halt. We assumed he was on the waiting list and, not being urgent, his time would come around in due course. So we waited… and waited…

Just after Christmas, our GP rang to ask what was happening – Had Dave been for his scan? What was the outcome? – because our GP hadn’t been informed by the hospital. I told him we’d heard nothing, not even if he was on the waiting list. Our GP said he would chase the consultant and find out the situation. More waiting… At the end of February, we were advised the op was scheduled for 17th March. Two days before this, a phone call revealed it had been put back to 28th and he would be under a different consultant surgeon. And so more waiting…

Meanwhile, we tried to carry on as normal, although Dave found it hard, he now has difficulty walking and his job involves a lot of it. On 26th March, a further call advised the op was put back yet again to 4th April. Oh boy! This was not good. Neither of us could focus on anything much. Always waiting for the postman. Hoping the telephone wouldn’t ring with a further delay. Waiting… dreading… waiting…

Last week, we had a long meeting with the surgeon, who explained for the first time what the op entailed, why the delay and why he had taken over Dave’s case. This was a good meeting because up until that point we had no real idea of what was involved: a long 4-hour two-part major surgical procedure under general anaesthetic, far more complicated than just a stent fitted. At least we knew the good outcomes now and what could go wrong. Worrying.

And yes, more waiting… but this time it was good waiting time. It enabled Dave to get a lot of planting done, potatoes, broad beans, onions in along with some summer bulbs. It also meant he could join the family in celebrating my mother’s 91st birthday last Sunday, especially too as my brother was over from Spain as a surprise for her again. It was. And a lovely day had by all, sadly no photos this time.

The 4th is tomorrow. I have to take Dave to hospital at 7 am. He will be in for several days followed by at least 6 weeks at home recuperating. So you can understand why we feel life has been on hold these past few months. At least we’re there now, we hope. Our only fear is that even though  he’s first on the list for the day, should a bigger emergency take precedence, he may be put back yet again.

The waiting’s almost over, but not quite. But then afterwards, at least we will slowly be able to get our lives back to normal, breathe a sigh of relief and enjoy the summer.

 

 

What Was The Heck Was That About?

We all dream when we are asleep, the majority of us not remembering them at all, not even being aware we have been dreaming. Most are good dreams, some scary, some real nightmares, some that make you think you are actually awake and everything happening is real, and others making you glad you have awoken… the list goes on.

What I have noticed is my dreams always seem to be triggered by events that have happened during the day, albeit a conversation or thinking of  someone, some action or incident, a news report, watching a movie… anything at all. If I do remember a dream, which isn’t often, I like to try to make sense of it, work out what inspired that thought to manifest itself in my sleeping state.

Then there are the repetitive ones, always different yet always following the same theme. I used to have these types regularly, usually ones where my teeth crumble and fall out, supposedly a sign of stress or worry. Another where I am looking at new homes but there are never any stairs and I have to climb up like a contortionistic rock-climber to reach the next floor – I never have found out what that one is supposed to mean. Lately, I have been experiencing ones where I am always searching for someone. Again, I have no idea of its interpretation. Whatever it is, it doesn’t worry me too much. A dream is just a dream, after all.

The worst type for me, and I am certain everyone has experienced this sort, is the weird dreams you have early the morning, usually after having awoken from a good night’s sleep, you drift back into that dozing type of relaxed state, or when cat-napping. Odd, peculiar, almost drug-induced highs of tripping out on something and your sleeping world morphs into a crazy, mixed-up, nonsensical mixture of the impossible.

I had one of these the other morning and its very nature has stayed with me all week. I’m still trying to make sense of it. Was it trying to tell me something? If so, what? You see, I dreamt a dandelion plant was growing out of the back of my hand, with an offshoot springing up on my little finger. Okay, I hear you say, I’m a keen gardener, and probably detest weeds. Perhaps I had been gardening the previous day, been to a garden centre, doing or thinking anything to do with plants and weeds. I hadn’t. I hadn’t been in the garden, or even near the garden… it had been blowing gales all week and tipping with rain. But that isn’t the whole dream – whole being the operative word, not a pun. Oh no. The next bit was absolutely crazy! In my dream I pulled the dandelion clean out of my hand, pulling it up, along with the little offshoot, creating a hole right through my hand, and little finger. They didn’t bleed. The holes were clean and perfectly formed, and sealed, no gooey flesh or gunk oozing out. And there it ended.

Weird or what? I’d love to know what that was all about. Any ideas?