March Tooth Fairy pays us a visit

I am the Spring fairy
I am the fairy of Daffodils
I am the fairy of Hyacinths
I am the Snowdrop fairy.

I am the new green Grass
I am the Frost and Sleet
I am the Rainbow and the New Moon
I am the fairy of Beginnings.

I am the fairy come to take
your tooth
I am the fairy to fly it home
Home through moonlight
Owlight, starlight
Grasping the tail of a comet
Plunging through the heart of a secret lake

You can call me Serelia.

We come full circle, blogversary

The wild garlic was unfurling along the cliff as it is now. I began writing this blog in March last year, tentatively, speaking to my many selves, speaking from my many selves. Hoping to bring them all together into a whole and connected one. I think I've succeeded, because nowadays, I'm a lot more comfortable in my own skin. I'm a lot less afraid of what I might find, well anywhere. Bringing light to dusty corners of your psyche can do that for you. Finding amazing friends and community along the way, that's a truly unexpected blessing. Thank you my friends, and my mentors, my guides along this journey.

Here is a poem about voice and grief. Many, many years ago now, I attended a funeral of a girl in my class, she was a young mother, she was diagnosed with a particularly fast acting form of leukemia and was dead before many of us even found out about it. As I drove through the evening home through the landscape of rural New York, this was just like what the spirit of place was saying:

Bare Boughs still this Spring
(In memoriam)

Rain and apple trees.
Lilac buds swell on black stems,
Secret, clitoral, rapt.

I can’t untie this knot, deep
where things come from, deep
at the bottom of my voice.
Joy, sprung rhythm,
clenched and petrified:
A fist, that born words batter against.
A fever in the blood.

By the stream, the clay leans
toward the water, eager for swiftness,
eager to reflect the sky,
Deadpan.

Only the colours of old paint,
Spread and bloom,
Like roots.


Don't let this be a gloomy poem - the spring here and now, is full of hope. Let's wish the knot untied. Let the fist unclench.

Happy Blogversary to me.

Sublime Juxtapositions

Who came up with the sublime juxtaposition of hot fat, fluffy potato and salt? These little critters probably contribute to the obesity of the western world, but oh, how many people can refuse some, just a few? I always nick a few off the children's plate if I make them with fish fingers and brocolli. They are only nice hot and crunchy out the pan, steaming in the middle, with the lovely shock of salt and olive oil. mmm.

A Contraluz, Barcelona in February

According to the novel I'm reading by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, The Shadow of the Wind, the Sant Gervasio district to the northwest is the posh area of town. A Contraluz is tucked away in a little side street behind some artistically lit foliage. It has an outside terrace, probably for those desperate smokers who have to now abide by the european smoking ban. We have to thank Charlie for this recommendation, he was a local for 3 years. A Contraluz is a beautiful space with superb lighting and friendly service. It also has an English menu!

Mr. G agreed to have a romantic date with me that evening and we set out by foot for a brisk walk to find it. We had some nice fresh air and it wasn't very cold, palm trees lined the streets. here is a picture of Mr. G at the table:
OK that is a tired face, but it is about as relaxed as he gets. I wanted to bring home the picture behind him. We looked at the menu for a long time and fiddled with our cutlery.


And ate our bread, with pomegranate sorbet as a small starter from the chef.



Greens are so hard to find!! Parmesan and rocket Yum.
Mr. G left me to order some farfalle pasta thing for him but I had a short circuit and ordered this instead:

Some rather beautifully cooked lamb with jamon...he was a bit surprised when it arrived. Me: "blur". Oops, luckily he's a rather forgiving husband. I had the pretty unforgettable iberian roast pig - wow - I'll be still thinking of this for a long time:

Chinese people and roast pig, that's a symbiosis. Like the chinese character for "peace" - showing the symbol for roof with a pig under it. I'm sure I was silent while experiencing this pigness. The Iberians can sure grow their pig.

Despite stuffing our faces, there is always room for some adventurous pudding:



G had strawberry pannacotta with szechuan pepper (top) and I had the carmelised pineapple and cardamom soup with pineapple sorbet.

...and finished beautifully with peppermint tea. Contentment.