Homemade fig and walnut muffins. (Click on image to enlarge).
Perhaps not exactly Silent Sunday — but we’re too busy eating for conversation right now.
If art is to nourish the roots of our culture, society must set the artist free to follow his vision wherever it takes him… We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda; it is a form of truth.” — John F. Kennedy
Posted to Debbie’s Six Word Saturday
The Big T’s cafe racer is a work in progress. Perhaps it will be on the road by (our) spring?
Posted to the Ragtag Daily Prompt | Spring
This is the most difficult Changing Seasons post I’ve ever written.
How do I describe the way a month that could easily have passed without comment suddenly became one that no New Zealander will ever forget?
Because at 1.40pm on Friday 15th, a terrorist murdered fifty Muslim men, women and children practicing their religion in two mosques in the city of Christchurch — and changed this country for ever.
A terrorist left 48 more worshipers with serious physical injuries, and hundreds more to deal with the psychological trauma of having witnessed the carnage or dealt with its aftermath.
A terrorist shattered families, brought fear and anger to the Muslim community, defiled a city trying to rebuild itself after deadly earthquakes, and dragged these little islands out of our illusion of peace and safety.
In the two weeks since, we have seen the best and the worst of humanity. Hundreds of thousands of Kiwis have turned up at mosques and vigils and rallies to offer condolences, flowers, cards, food, music, prayer, haka, hugs, tears and above all — aroha, or love.
Our Prime Minister has behaved with sensitivity and compassion that is being admired beyond our shores.
Our government has tried to put aside politics and act decisively to make legislative changes to gun and other laws.
And the racist underbelly of our society is being exposed and scrutinised like never before. On the plus side, when people are coming forward to talk about the abuse they routinely experience in this country, they are being believed at last. On the minus, the xenophobic violence and hatred continues.
It is too early to know if this act of terrorism will (ironically for the terrorist) bring about positive change in New Zealand, or if, when the next big news story comes along, we’ll go back to “business as usual.” I hope for the best, but truthfully am not that optimistic.
So what do I have to show for March? Certainly not photos of candles and placards and grieving. Others have done that (sometimes beautifully) but for me personally, it has felt intrusive.
So here are a few shots that haven’t made it into other posts this month.
Food features heavily as usual. The Big T and I celebrated his birthday a week before the Christchurch attack with lunch at the Sawmill Brewery in Matakana. A beer tasting tray and some shared plates of delicious food — perfect. And I’m still grappling with sourdough pizza; trying to make a base that is light, crispy and easy to work. I’m not there yet, but my boys aren’t complaining.
The Changing Seasons is a monthly challenge where bloggers around the world share what’s been happening in their month.
If you would like to join in, here are the guidelines:
The Changing Seasons Version One (photographic):
The Changing Seasons Version Two (you choose the format):
If you do a ping-back to this post, I can update it with links to all of yours.
Jude at Life at the Edge
Tracy at Reflections of an Untidy Mind
Tish at Writer on the Edge
Suzanne, at Being in Nature joins us for the first time.
Pauline at Living in Paradise
Yvette at Priorhouse Blog
Sarah at Art Expedition
Lindsay at Squeak of a Nuthatch
Deb at The Widow Badass Blog
Joanne at My Life Lived Full
Gill at Talking Thailand
Ju-Lyn at All Things Bright and Beautiful
Posted to Friday Flowers
There is beauty in the old and the worn and the weathered that goes far beyond the aesthetic pleasures of haphazard and irregular colours and textures and forms.
It is the beauty of imagination.
Who hasn’t looked at a solitary, bleached and lichen-encrusted post and wondered about its function, its past, the people who hammered it into the ground, and those who leaned on it to climb a fence or open a gate.
And the weathered park bench, being progressively claimed by the surrounding garden. Who sat here to catch their breath? Or check their Facebook, send a text, write a poem or a love letter. Who read a book, planned a dinner party, solved a problem, proposed marriage or ended a relationship here?
Do you feel it too?
Posted to Lens-Artists Photo Challenge | weathered