A Face in the Shadows?

The picture in question

An amusing story of accidental art..... or maybe NOT accidental? There hangs on our bedroom wall a perfectly good picture; a framed poster sized depiction of French café society. It is in the 'Impressionistic' style, so all dabs of colour suggesting people, parasols, advertising hoardings and so on but lacking any fine detail. We are both Francophiles and we love these pictures and objects that evoke France and especially café society, so we have a few knocking about the house.

This shows all the café elements crowding the paving in front of a row of cafés in a tree lined avenue; people sit with drinks or food, waiters in black waistcoats squeeze between tables taking orders or delivering trays of food. A fiddle player and an accordionist stand in the road, presumably serenading the customers. Two big white flat-cone parasols shade a group of customers and the mature trees cast a flecky shade on the buildings. I imagine that possibly this is the Bois de Boulogne or some leafy part of Paris but I also think that the picture is generic and modern, rather than a classic artwork. I can see no signature and a brief hunt around in Pinterest and on Wiki has not shown our picture up as a famous Monet, Manet or Renoir. I am happy to be corrected on that - my knowledge of the history of art is very sketchy.

Can you see the face?

But why is this of interest? Well the picture hangs on the wall directly facing you if you sit up in our bed, leaning on the headboard and gazing forwards across the 15 feet or so of bedroom as I, with lots of time on my hands at the moment, have frequently done. When I go to bed or for a nap, I have to spend a half hour or so upright while my lungs clear and calm down BEFORE I can lie down, otherwise I just start that ticklish cough and can never get to sleep. Not a major problem but I do get to spend hours looking at that wall and therefore that picture.

Get too close and the 'face' dissolves back into a mess of leaves
and white wall.

I was thinking I was 'losing it' and seeing things when I spotted, one day, a face at the top of the picture in a white patch. To me it looked like a perfectly good, handsome young man's face reminiscent of the classic Michelangelo stature of David, his head tilted slightly forward and his gaze down at the two musicians. Go up close to the picture and the face un-resolves into leaves, shadows and the white wall, but back at 15 feet away I could not 'un-see' it.

First frozen windscreen of 2018/9 winter

It took me a while to decide to ask Elizabeth had she seen it (she has enough worries about my health without thinking her husband is going gaga!), but when I sat her down on the bed and asked she was straight in there with "Oh yes! The face! That's why we have the picture!" It came from Mum-in-Law by all accounts and she'd spotted that face shortly after losing Theo. She had thought it looked a bit like him and had been a bit spooked by it as a result; no longer comfortable with the thing on her own house wall.

Back in the duck egg game. I think these are being laid by
Mumma-duck back on line, but it is possible that one of the
female 'babies' has now reached point of lay. White duck egg
is on right.

To me, it is such a clear face that I got to wondering whether hiding faces in your picture might be a thing. Do we just have a coincidence here or is it deliberate? Hence the Wiki searches, but I can find no word on this, so I will have to leave that to the art experts.

Almost complete restored chair. Just needs a
bit more waxing on the woodwork

Enough on shady faces, though.... what else have we been up to? The Woman of the House has come (regretfully) to the end of her run of evening classes on furniture restoration. She has thoroughly enjoyed these, as did many of her fellow 'students', so she is trying to set up some more classes for around Easter. Regular readers will recall a small bedside chest of drawers which was the first 'victim' of these labours, but the biggest share of the classes have involved the restoration of a much loved (by me) easy chair.

This piece needed all manner of work, so has been an excellent subject for applying the new skills and techniques. All the soft furnishings, webbing and detail had to be carefully removed (noting carefully how they were so that she could rebuild it!). The frame was also starting to sag backwards so that the legs were no longer vertical and the sides were going diamond shaped; that needed straightening and glue-ing.

30+ years of old varnish and dirt had to be stripped and sanded away from the wood so that it could be built back up with our home-grown beeswax polish. The cushion covers were dumped and new ones made using the sewing machine here. The back padding was completely rebuilt as new and I can vouch for its comfort and support. As the classes ended, the chair has now come home, though it still needs more polishing but it is superb and Elizabeth is (and should be) very proud of it. No pressure 'boss' for the 2nd chair - this one's partner!

Hey Dad! Sun's going down. Surely supper
time!

Meanwhile the weather has turned bitingly cold and there was a first frozen windscreen for us this morning. One of the ducks has started into lay - we suspect this is Mumma-duck now done with her child rearing responsibilities for 2018 and come back on line. Sorry if these posts have gone a bit 'sporadic'. Enough for this one.

Unlucky 13

Wednesday saw me driving down to Silverwood-land to collect Liz, have a bite of lunch with Steak Lady and get a first look at the new grave stone on Mr SL's grave. That would have been a perfectly good story for a blog post. I didn't need all the death, destruction and drama shoulder-barging it off the front pages. It would have been fine. A nice peaceful happy post. That would have done. Come home, few days to recover and prep the house for our weekend visitors. Everyone's a winner. However, the best laid plans (as they might have said) of mice and men shall come to naught when Brer Fox intervenes. Let me explain.

Flights of Angels Sing Thee to Thy Rest

Wednesday, as I said, I was off down to Silverwood-land for the 2 hour drive to meet Liz, see this grave, spend a bit of time with the Silverwood gang and a bite of lunch. It was not the best drive ever - I was driving straight at the bright, low sun, on a very frosty morning and the windscreen washers had frozen up, so I had that fine, salty spray off the vehicles in front and was playing that silly game of trying to wipe the windows whenever that car or lorry went through a puddle and gave you a good wet dose of spray. At some points I even had to stop, pull over and get out and wipe it with a rag.

So, I arrived and we drove round to admire the very fine and tasteful head stone (Rest in Peace Theo) and adjourned to a local café for a bite of breakfast. From there round to Silverwoods for a chat with Mr and Mrs S. It was a lovely relaxing day and we headed home in good time to be there for poultry lock-up and to let the dogs out for a 'comfort stop'. So far so good. As we drove up our lane towards our gate, we could see "white stuff" in the verge of our splay and quickly worked out that this 'stuff' was Buff Orpington feathers. Maybe one had got out and been hit by a car?

First inkling of the problem. Feathers in the verge of our splay

No such luck - as we opened the gate and drove up the drive, those feathers were quickly 'joined' by larger puffs  in the drive, on the front lawn, in the 'woods' to the left and then, with increasing horror, the grass around the pond and even strewn across the frozen ice of the pond. We had obviously had a disaster and immediately suspected a major fox strike. In the gathering gloom we could also not see any chickens so our hearts sank; we thought we'd been wiped out, all the birds killed and taken. The sort of thing you read about but you hope never happens to you. The absolute lowest down side of having your poultry free-range.

Feathers on the frozen pond

From that low point it did start to improve. We spotted the geese all intact and could see 2 ducks with them. We started to spot chickens cowering in corners, scattered into surrounding fields, perching high in hedges. Two sad, still lumps of feather proved to be injured roosters who allowed us to pick them up and carry them to safety indoors. Other chickens hearing our voices and us whistling them up decided it was safe to start clucking and to come out of hiding. We shepherded these home more or less willingly. We spotted the old Sussex (Enda) the wrong side of a sheep-fence and helped her over in near darkness. One Guinea fowl started shouting from 30' up a spruce tree in the pig-run and we found his 'wife' (Min) in the rafters.

Brer Fox went this-away? The field
opposite.

As the darkness closed in we had everybody we could safely locked away but could see no sign of the three turkeys, 4 of the ducks, various chickens, one of the Guineas. It was all a bit confusing (as well as upsetting) but we could do no more. We had to leave them be and hope that more birds might be roosting out and might join us in the morning. We also now had a day-time fox who might easily come back for more and who I needed to either have words with or at least show him/her/them that we are now home, alert and ready.

Safe in the Tígín?

By the next day, it was all a bit clearer. Only one Guinea fowl came home - he'd roosted in a tall ash half a field away and quickly replied with his alarm calls when his buddy woke up in the spruce and started calling. Nobody else came home. In our searches in the evening we had found 2 unclaimed corpses, a duck and the old white Hubbard (Miss White). The fox(es) had managed to kill 13 birds and taken 11 of them away including all 3 turkeys, 3 of the Buff Orp poults (the chicks from Dustbin Lady and Crate Lady), 4 ducks, one young Marans cockerel and both the old Hubbards (Miss White and Miss Red). We assume that, though it is possible that the ducks flew away and the turkeys are scattered across the landscape.

Sunrise over the village crossroads

We have also since found the path used by the foxes carrying off the dead ones - they went off across the lane and through that field opposite which we tried to buy and on then through a hedge and diagonally across the 2nd field. After that we lost the scent and could find no more feathers. We are being fairly philosophical about all this and because the fox has not returned (except possibly to collect the last 2 corpses which we threw into a bramble patch) we are not sure what we can do about him/her/them.

Frosty grass is almost Christmas Card-ish.

We are relieved and delighted that we did not lose more birds. We lost no adult Buff Orps and we kept our two old favourite survivors, the old Sussex (Enda) and the even older Cuckoo Marans (Squawk). Our #2 Buff rooster (The Corporal)  is badly injured but is hanging in there and our #1 (Lt. Colonel Sir Bufton Tufton) is so unfazed and immaculate we suspect that he was either in the beer tent when it all kicked off or, possibly, at his London Club. They do say that it is always the roosters that "get it" because they leap to the defence of their women. Buffers does not seem to have read that bit of the rules of engagement.

The kattens are off for their ops.

More on all this fun and games in a future post.

Go Theo !

Easter is upon us, which means the end of Lent and therefore Mum and Dad's successful attempt to eschew the demon alcohol for 6-7 weeks (since Pancake Day) is all over and tonight's soul food menu of choice was fish and chips and fizz and red wine.

We are pleased to be able to report that Theo, hubby of Steak-Lady is coming back out of hospital (allegedly his first ever stay in such a place in 82 years!) with nothing more serious than a chest infection. A mad keen fan of the medical drama "House", he was allegedly intrigued and fascinated by all the goings on, especially when his condition did not immediately succumb to easy diagnosis, and he expected Hugh Lawrie to come round the corner at any minute with his entourage and say "Nooooo... it's never Lupus!" We also hear that he was quite taken with a certain lady doctor, and didn't want to come home. Atta boy Theo!

Deefski

Monty and Theo

Two superb new dogs in the Rec tonight, both young and bouncy (almost too bouncy; I had to squeak a couple of times to pre-empt certain death). One a three year old "blue" Shar-Pei (more like a dark smokey brown) called Monty, the other a three month old liver-spotted dalmatian named Theo. They were full of beans indeed, but apparently the dally is keeping the shar-pei entertained.

One small problem - the shar-pei has delicate skin and the dally has sharp, needle like pup-teeth which quite often draw blood. The vets cannot sew the shar up, because of the rish of infection under the stitches. Fun and games!

Meanwhile, Diamond is still in that London hospital. Mum is cooking pancakes for Dad and John W, and Mum is winding Daimond up by texting her about all of us lot eating "her pancakes". She's had her "procedure" and we now await results. She is mainly "tired". As usual with Diamond, nothing runs really smoothly, and there have been problems with "lines". Still rooting for you, Diamond. Knock 'em dead!

Deefski

Dukie and Theo

Dad home nice and early (Taking a "Poets" day) so we get a goodly walk, and in my case, another chance to escape in the Cemetery, when Dad is juggling 3 leads and a poo bag. I feel the flexi-lead handle thump onto the ground behind me. H and I have been pulling like mad anyway as we'd just seen a bunny dive for cover in one of the big shrubs (they're 10 feet+ diameter, so I guess they're more accurately "shrubberies" !). I'm off - racing for the bush and diving under it. Dad gives chase but is hampered by having to haul H and the unwilling Meggie along at ever increasing speed.

He sees me, then 8 foot of lead, then the handle, all disappear under the bush, and hears the handle clack-clack off a few trunks as I go by. Fearing that I'd easily become tangled inside the bush, he races round the bushes, only to see me emerge, unscathed, lead still in tow, behind, neatly traps the handle between a free ankle and a gravestone, he brings me to an invioluntary stop. Fun while it lasted though

In the Rec, we meet up with a magnificent, handsome young standard poodle called Dukie, and I am accused of being a "tart" (not sure what one of those is) when I roll around writhing on the ground under his nose, and bounce and run flirtatiously (whatever that is) all around him. He is out with his chum, a lovely shiny, beautifully groomed red setter called Theo. By comparison with these scrubbed, clean chaps, we are looking decidedly beige and Mum has been heard to utter the words "minging" and "shampoo" in the same sentences. This is a worrying development.

Of, course, on the way to the cemetery, we pass my Sister's house, Ellie Bezel, and as usual we see her though the net curtains. She's up on the back of a chair looking out of the bay windows, but sadly no humans are about, so we can only look in through the gate with our tails wagging tentatively, while she looks out a bit forlornly. It seems an age since our schedules co-incided - that's winter for you and all the humans grabbing dog walks in the short daylight, while they can

Have a great weekend

Deefs

Too busy for one dog

"You're to busy for one dog!" - a fantastic turn of phrase picked up from our Deep South westie friends, describing their very active young pup, Theo. Theo is a tad more sedate now (They used to call her "Theo-Whoosh") but the too busy thing definitely fits me, according to Mum and Dad. We get fed in one room, shut out from the kitchen where the cats get fed, lest we harrass the cats away from their bowls and pirate the lot (as if!). But once the cats have finished we are let through to lick up aby tiny gleanings. Unfortunately there are 2 bowls, several feet apart, and I only have one mouth, so Dad gets a regular laugh as I am torn trying to lick both before either Meg or the H can get any. Too busy for one dog indeed

Meanwhile, today was Frontline day. We had .. um "company"... but we were trying to keep them secret, but Haggis grassed us up by scratching and licking around his tail. The humans always seem to know, perhaps by the rusty coloured saliva stains where he's been licking. So the game was up, and Dad came at us with a liquid trigger pack. We don't really mind - after all, what's a thin parrafinny stink, when you're a connoisseur of fox poo and dead seabirds? The cats got it too, much to their disgust. they sulked in the garden and wouldn't come in for supper

Deefer