RDP Saturday: Placid

A placid view of our local River Aare. It is not always so placid, but mostly. On its way it passes not so placid places as our Kanton Solothurn, but it behaves quite well here. There are even expert swimmers that swim their way from our town of Solothurn to Bern which is about 45 Kilometres: apparently the good swimmers can do it in half an hour.

RDP Saturday: Placid

RDP Saturday: Dreams

The expert sleepers are cats, without a doubt, They spend 23 hours a day sleeping, and the remaining hour is divided between eatiing and searching for somewhere to sleep. Do they dream? I think so, as sometimes in their sleep they make a strange nouse as if someone was approaching with a can opener.

Do I dream? Of course, although as I get older my dreams seem to get more realistic, as if they were not dreams but really happening, And then I suddenly awake and realise that it was all a dream after all: everything being as it should be, nobody missing or injured. And yes sometimes I seem to be back in the past living where I once lived in London, but not quite – with other people. I talk in my sleep apparently now and again, and if it gets vivid it can get a little loud, although I would not know today as I have no-one to wake me.

RDP Saturday: Dreams

RDP Saturday: Whiskers

Cats are the nasters of whiskers, as our Tabby had, although their ae exceptions.

Our Fluffy was a Selkirk Rex breed: more curls in the fur and a characteristic was that they have no whiskers They grew, but were so brittle that they would break. Fluffy was also blind, but she found her way around, proving that a cat does not need whiskers to measure distances. They have a sharp sense of taste and smell.
And then there was Nera, Tabby’s litter sister. She had enough whiskers and pleanty of fur which was the problem. So once a year she had a visit to the vet for a poodle cut.
RDP Saturday: Whiskers

RDP Saturday: Filter

I do not drink coffee. It does not like me, so I gave up drinking it. However, where there is tea there is a way. At last our local store is selling actual tea leaves, and not everything in a tea bag. As I am the only person drinking tea at home, it is not worth making a pot of trea. I have my tea filter which is ideal. Just put the tea leaves in the little basket and let it rest in a cup of boiled water. After a few minutes I have a cup of tea, freshly made with the leaves. I do not put milk in it or sugar, due to lactose problems and my diabetes, but it serves its purpose in the morning with my breakfast. For me a good start to the day.

RDP Saturday: Filter

RDP Saturday: Copy

It is great that today you can copy almost anything with the computer. I just copied this letter from Vita Nicolson, known generally as Vita Sackville-West, the English writer. My grandmother grew up in the Priest’s House in Sissinghurst castle with her 11 brothers. She was the youngest of them all. They were not rich people, all the boys earnt their living as farm labourers and my grandmother worked in the dairy of Sissinghurst castle. Time went on, and the castle came to the hands of Harold Nicholson, an english diplomat, who was married to Vita Sackville West. It seems my grandmother visited Sissinghurst castle. where Vita had made it a garden paradise. In the meanwhile Vita had become a well-known writer and she wrote this letter to my grandmother after a visit she paid to Vita. Of course this was many years ago and I just knew the facts a little from what my father had told me, and my grandmother.

Some years ago I visited the castle and I was quite proud of my grandmother’s history. She was a country girl that met her husband when he was visiting relatives in Sissinghurst. My grandfather was then living in London, Shoreditch, a cockney area and when they got married that became my grandmother’s new home. I often wondered how she survived the culture shock with a move from the countryside to the East End of London. The only trace I found of Vita Sackville-West and Harald Nicholson were their graves in the Sissinghurst church cemetary.

RDP Saturday: Copy