All week we had been watching the weather in the UK – the “Beast from the East” causing chaos, with drivers stranded, airports shut down, villages cut off…but all the time, the little north west corner of the British Isles seemed to miss the worst of the weather. Then Storm Emma started romping up the west side of the UK…but veered over to Ireland just before reaching the top of Wales.
We had to get up early, at 5.00 am to drive over to Lyon, but I’d actually woken at 2.30 and not got back to sleep. I was actually much perkier than I’d imagined I’d be. We set out to Lyon airport hoping that the plane would not be cancelled. It wasn’t even delayed!!
Wearing a double surgical mask and latex gloves, to protect from infection – as these days were the days when my white blood cell count would be at its lowest, and I would be most vulnerable to infection – I cut a slightly pathetic picture. We comandeered a wheelchair at the airport and Mr FD pushed me through. I’m very glad, as it was quite a trek to get to the correct terminal. We went through security (surprisingly there was no queue at all) – I caused some problems as I explained about the stent for chemo, and they wanted to see proof of this. It was in my handbag, which had already gone through the scanner, so people were running aroud to fetch it. Then I had to be scanned with a hand held scanner rather than go through the walk-through scanner. It all took a bit longer than usual, but we had plenty of time. As I was in a wheelchair we were allowed through passport control ahead of others (huzzah!) and soon got settled on the plane. I plugged in my earphones and listened to a podcast for the flight. At Manchester we waited until everyone had left the plane, and then climbed the steps into the terminal building. As I entered the bhuilding I slipped on some very wet rubbery matting, and fell down: luckily I went quite slowly, and nothing was hurt, but the cabin crew and pilot who were just behind were very helpful and sympathetic. Also luckily, a wheelchair had been left at the top of the steps and we were encouraged to use it – which meant priority going through border control!! Although we’d been so slow there weren’t many people left waiting anyway. Then we took the time to organise a wheelchair for the return journey, at Manchester airport. Later on, Mr FD contacted Lyon to organise assistance at that end too.
Mum had said she’d pay for car hire, so we went andpicked up the car, then drove to mum’s, in Liverpool. We had lunch, and then my sister arrived from Leicester (not held up by snow at all), and my brother from Stokesley (near Middlesborough) Despite the fact there was still a lot of snow on the east side of the country, he had encountered no problems with the trains getting over. It was lovely seeing them all! We sat and chatted all afternoon, as I had to take it easy, while Wonderful Mr FD went on a mission to buy, and then put in place, a new toilet seat for mum. We had dinner and then, as I’d been awake so early, suddenly fatigue hit me. I was in bed and asleep byabout 9.30, I think!
On Friday evening, we had hastily arranged a meet-up for lunch with my nephew Conor (Judy’s son) and my niece Rose (Mike’s daughter), her husband and baby, over in Manchester. So after relaxing all morning, while everyone else went out shopping for a disabled friend of mum’s, or taking things to the tip, or buying supplies of logs, we all set out for lunch.
Here we are at Croma Pizza, passing Billy the Baby round the table – except not to my end, as I had to stay away from babies (hotbeds of infection, apparently. And Billy was quite snuffly).
There were some, let’s say less traditional pizzas on the menu, but I decided to have
Baked garlic mushrooms, served with (quite a lot of) rocket and a slice of olive bread
Then I chose another starter for a main course, which was a chorizo and Bury black pudding bruschetta, with a goats’ cheese and beetroot side salad. It was very nice.
and with it, I drank a delicious Manchester craft beer, called “Manchester Skyline”
For dessert I chose a “Banoffi Mess” – basically Eton Mess, but made with bananas, meringue, ginger biscuits and cream, with toffee sauce. It was a bit of a disappointment – masses of cream, big chunks of meringue, two slices of banana and one crumb of ginger biscuit. It let down what was an excellent meal, and although I did mention it to the waiter no more was said about it.
Afterwards, Judy and mum went back to Liverpool, while Mike, Mr FD and I went to spend the afternoon with Rose, David and Billy.
Billy in his bouncy chair
I spent some of the time “resting my eyes” but it was lovely just chatting with them, and watching them play with Billy. I kept my mask and gloves on for the whole time, to avoid any infection. And then Mike, Mr FD & I set off for the Bill Bailey comedy gig – this was our Christmas present for Mike. We arrived quite early, but that was fine. I sat in my seat and “powered down” – that is to say, pulled my hat and hood over my eyes and just sat quietly with my eyes closed, relaxing and conserving energy.
Here we are, after my powering down, waiting for the show to start.
It was a very good show – Bill Bailey is a slightly surreal comic, but we thoroughly enjoyed the show. Here is a review of the show from The GuardianOurs was a little different, set in Manchester rather than Southend, but – ad libs aside – it was basically the same. We got home at about 11.30, and we went straight to bed.
On Sunday morning, mum went to church, but I decided it wasn’t worth expending more “spoons” than necessary, considering we had the Elbow gig in the evening. ( The “spoon theory” is a disability metaphor and neologism used to explain the reduced amount of energy available for activities of daily living and productive tasks that may result from disability or chronic illness. … A person who runs out of spoons has no choice but to rest until their spoons are replenished. from Wikipedia) So Judy, Mike & I looked at an old photo album, discussing who the various members of our family were, as Mike has spent quite a lot of time researching our family tree. Unfortunately, while we have great grandparents who were Irish, this is not enough to entitle us to an Irish passport. Mr FD played about with mum’s computer, organising our boiarding passes and assistance at Lyon airport for the journey home.
After lunch, Mr FD and I set off for the hotel in Manchester that we’d booked for Sunday night, about a mile away from Manchester Arena, where the gig was being held. For some reason, the Sat Nav didn’t want to work in Manchester city centre and we couldn’t find the hotel anywhere. We were just about to start a blazing row when Mr FD said “Look!” and there it was, in front of us. Getting to it was another kettle of fish, due to one way systems and taxi/bus lanes, so in the end we parked the car in a carpark and walked! Again, I saved my spoons, while Mr FD went to try to get the car to the hotel – another difficult time, but he finally made it.
We took the tram to Victoria Station, which is next door to the Arena, and Mr FD went to the Box Office, while I sat with a coffee in the station buffet. We grabbed a bite to eat at Greggs (I had a cheese and onion pasty.) and then headed to the Arena. You may remember the terrorist attack that took place in Manchester in May last year. I had imagined it taking place in a large plaza area outside the Arena, but when I saw how narrow the walkway and foyer area are, it is no surprise that the effects were so devastating. There was good security – only ticket holders being allowed up to the walkway, and then passing through X-ray machines at the entrance to the Arena itself.
Again, we were early, so I “powered down” until the support act, John Grant, came on. And then – huzzah! – the main event. Which was excellent! (Review from the Manchester Evening News)
Mr FD’s photo from during “Mirrorball”
After the show we left by a fairly quiet exit, and were lucky enough to be able to hail a taxi straight away. It was a 5/10 minute drive back to the hotel. We thought about going to the bar for a drink, buit they’d stopped serving – and really, that was a good thing, as I was dropping. Even though I was buzzing!!
The next day, we had a full Northern breakfast – sausage, bacon, fried bread, fried potatoes, mushrooms, tomato, black pudding, baked beans, fried egg (which I’m not allowed to have) – plus trimmings (toast-and-marmalade, juice, coffee) and then made our way to the airport, pausing at Asda for a few last minute purchases of the DVD of “Death of Stalin”, some magazines, Zantac indigestion tablets & Tiger Balm (cheaper in the UK!)
Mr FD wheeled me through the airport, on the pre-booked wheelchair, which gave us Fast Track through security and a designated seating area in the very crowded departure lounge. I bought some huge slabs of chocolate (CDM!)
Then we were given a heads-up to the departure gate, so we were there before everyone else, and a very nice gentleman then wheeled me to the plane, so we were in our seats and luggage stowed before the usual scrum. At Lyon, we waited until everyone had got off, then were met by a man with a wheelchair, who wheeled me swiftly through the terminal. When we reached the back of the queue for border control, a quick Excusez-moi! and we were fast tracked through Passport Control. Pausing only to pick up the hold luggage, the man insisted on wheeling me right to the car in the car park. And we headed home, arriving at 6.30 pm.
Today I’m a little fatigued, but not too bad. I slept until about 8.30, when the nurse arrived for my weekly blood test. I wonder if it will show my white blood cells are down?
It was the most amazing weekend. Mr FD was a complete star throughout, looking after me, organising everything and allowing me to just rest and to enjoy myself. Even if I have caught an infection (and I was very careful, using hand sanitiser after every bathroom visit, in between bathroom visits, after touching stuff…Etc etc. Plus my double mask protection and latex gloves in crowds & public places) it was worth it!! It did me the most enormous amount of good.
And thank you all so much for your positive messages of support – they have been very much appreciated.
Here’s a post shamelessly stolen from Confuzzledom who stole it from someone else…
3 Things I Love about Christmas
First and foremost, The “reason for the season” – the fact that we are celebrating the birth of God in human form, Emmanuel, God with us.
The presents – both the giving and the receiving. Yes, sometimes those gifts I receive show little knowledge about me, or are a tad disappointing…but equally I love trying to choose presents that I think people will like.
The food – here in France, things like mince pies are not easy to come by, so those traditional goodies are all the more special when we find them. Huzzah for Le Comptoir Irlandaise, selling boxes of mince pies and jars of mincemeat!
3 Things I Dislike about Christmas
There’s very little really, but I suppose the early-onset of Christmas in the shops is something I don’t like. It isn’t so bad here in France, but it is creeping in…Late November was when I saw my first “Shop for Christmas!” sign.
On a similar vein, the adverts on TV that encourage everyone to buy those “must-have” items – be they food, electronics, toys, sofas…whatever. And that brand you a failure if you don’t get them.
Features in magazines that give ideas for “stocking fillers” that cost more than I’d dream of paying for a super-duper “main” present! I saw something in one feature that was branded a “stocking filler” and cost over £100! That’s practically my entire Christmas present budget!
3 Favourite Christmas Movies
Love Actually – it’s schmaltzy, and a bit over-sweet in places, and the creepy signs-outside-a-newly-married-woman-that-I-fancy scene makes me cringe. But…Alan Rickman! Emma Thompson! Alan Rickman (again!)! Hugh Grant dancing! Alan Rickman! It still makes me cry every time I see it.
Elf. Great fun, and fast becoming a tradition in our house
The Princess Bride. No, not a Christmas movie, but it needs to be included at every opportunity.
3 Favourite Christmas Treats
Mince pies (already mentioned)
Lindor balls.
Foie gras. Yes, I know it’s not at all ethical, and I shouldn’t enjoy it, or buy it. But I do. I love it! We don’t buy it very often, so it is a treat.
3 Favourite Christmas Traditions
I’m not sure these are “favourite” traditions, but they are traditions:
Decorating the house on the second Sunday of Advent. Usually, the same things go in the same place, although I do tweak things occasionally. We don’t have a Christmas Tree, because we can’t trust the Very Bad Cats not to climb it, but I bought a small wooden pine-coney tree this year which I have wrapped in tiny lights which is very acceptable.
Our “spread out” Christmas meal. We really only eat one meal on Christmas Day, which is timed thus:
10.30-ish: smoked salmon and champagne
13.00-ish: foie gras and an appropriate wine (Muscat is good)
17.00-ish: main course (this year it’s roti de pintard (guinea fowl), roast potatoes, spiced red cabbage & green beans
19.00 + cheese and dessert. Dessert can be Pannetone pudding, but this year is going to be mince pies and ice cream.
With this, one never feels full. Between courses there are walks, present opening, listening to music, reading, watching TV, preparing the next course, etc.
Actually this year we may be skipping the foie gras part as we’ve been invited to a friends for drinks. We’re taking peach juice and champagne, so we can have bellinis.
The Church Carol Service – a slightly informal Nine Lessons & Carols – which is always nice. Mr FD comes to this service as well, which pleases me.
3 Favourite Christmas Songs
This one’s a bit tricky, as there are new ones being added, but if we are on secular songs I think I have to go for…
The newest one is either Hygge, by Tiger Moth Tales, which I linked to recently, or Merry Christmas by Big Big Train http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DINVlwX9aZM”When did the ringing of tills replace the sound of the bells?“
3 Favourite Christmas Carols
Confuzzledom didn’t include in her list, but this is an important one for me:
It Came Upon the Midnight Clear
Hark, the Herald Angels Sing – which I didn’t use to like, but after reading the words carefully, and thinking about them suddenly became one of my favourite carols ever!
O Come, O Come Emmanuel – which is strictly speaking, an Advent song, but which speaks so eloquently of the world yearning for its saviour.
3 Favourite Christmas Gifts Received
I’m not really sure – I have been lucky enough to receive some beautiful things. Mr FD is great at choosing just the right piece of jewellery – be it earrings, bangles, Pandora beads. When we lived in Milton Keynes there was a jeweller who came to the Christmas Market every year, and Mr FD would choose something from his stand for me! Now, he will often buy me a Pandora bead.
I don’t think I can choose to be honest.
Let’s just say the gift of salvation through the Nativity. That’s fairly good (!!)
3 FOUR Gifts I Want to Give the World
Stealing Confuzzledom’s first answer: Empathy. I’m stealing Jana’s answer again, but it’s a good one. If people would just consider other people’s feelings occasionally the world would be a much better place!
Stealing Confuzzledom’s second answer: An end to climate change… or at least to slow it down to how it would have been if humans hadn’t come along to destroy the planet. I would like there to actually be a planet by the time my (future) children and grandchildren grow up! – except I don’t have children, but I have nephews, nieces, great-nephews and great-nieces, Godchildren…so it’s just as important
Stealing Confuzzledom’s third answer: Laughter. Bad things are always going to happen… and without sorrow we wouldn’t be able to truly appreciate happiness. But I would love to give everybody out there at least one reason to laugh or smile even when things are at their very worst.
But, most of all, Peace. Peace in the world, peace in communities, peace in family relationships, peace in one’s heart. Peace brought through the Prince of Peace, who came to call us to take his easy yoke and rest in Him.
Thank you everyone for your good wishes. Still waiting.
In the meantime, here is a lovely Christmas song for you – especially if you are a prog rock fan (but if you’re not, don’t let that put you off. It’s beautiful…)-
We were at Friend Richard’s for apèros on Tuesday – which was lovely. He provided so many delicious nibbly things that we didn’t need dinner when we got home! We sat outside until gone nine, watching the light fade over the hills, and the bats come out. He lives at the end of a road up in the hills – beyond him is a forest track, and a lot of trees – so the views are lovely.We could see the lights of the village twinkling in the valley, as the stars started to appear above us. All this, good friends and good wine. What more could you ask for?
One topic of conversation was the signs that autumn is on the way, and Friend Alison mentioned how she has noticed the swallows are now starting to gather on the telephone wires, and twitter about whether it’s time to set off for the South.
Whenever I see this sight, I always say (or, at least think) “The birds are writing music again”!
Someone else thinks this too…Or,at least, thought about how birds can make music. Not quite as delicate as sitting on wires, there is a Liverpool artist, who left large pieces of paper, marked with music staves, on the ground in various parks around the city ,and then waited to collect pigeons to contribute to her music. From the position of their, um, “droppings” she collaborated with a musician to convert this into a piece of music.
If you link to this article you can hear the music that was finally created.
Hey, listen! They’re playing our tune!
Another piece of music created from birds is one I think I have linked to before. In fact, I much prefer this one to the pigeon poo music. It is made from the positions of the birds on the wire:
One morning while reading a newspaper, Jarbas Agnelli saw a photograph of birds on an electric wire. He cut out the photo and was inspired to make a song using the exact location of the birds as musical notes. He was curious to hear what melody the birds created. He sent the music to the photographer, Paulo Pinto, who told his editor, who told a reporter and the story ended up as an interview in the newspaper. It ended up Winner of the YouTube Play Guggenheim Biennial Festival.
I’m not at all musical, but here’s a challenge to my musical readers: can you make music with the birds?
So, Summer School ended. On the Friday night, most of the teachers who were left headed down to the pub. I went too, but didn’t stay for too long – being a bit of a boring old fart! – and knowing that I hadn’t packed yet! Mr FD was due to arrive by train at 12.00 but I’d promised to drive some of the teachers to the station by 9.00, so I didn’t want to be late to bed.
On Saturday morning, I fulfilled all my tasks and got to the station to meet Mr FD at the appointed time. He had left the car he’d driven over from France (& had hoped to sell, but was unable to) at his mum’s, & took the train to Newbury, where I met him. We had planned to go to the Hawk Conservancy Trust but the weather was horrid, so instead we drove to a pub we used to go to occasionally when I was at college in Winchester: The Bush at Ovington
Being a little way outside Winchester, it depended on one of us having a car, but it was a lovely place to go. To be honest, it hadn’t changed that much in the 35 years, and sitting in the bar brought back so many memories: there was the big table next to the open fire that we liked to sit at, here was the River Itchen that was so lovely to sit by on summer evenings…. Today, we both had some good British beer, a chicken-and-watercress sandwich, and (for me) some delicious parsnip and ginger soup. Mr FD had chips. I was allowed one.
We were due to stay at a friend’s in Southampton, so we made our way to Southampton Town Quay for a walk (the weather had brightened up a little by then) and a sit, to watch the boats going up the Solent. Then we arrived at Norman’s. We have been friends since my days at college, when he was the College chaplain. We have always got on very well, and I often think I would have loved him to be my Parish Priest: he is so wise, and sensible, and Godly. But, I think, not comfortable. He would be challenging too. He was – as far as I can remember – when he was Chaplain.
Anyway, he had invited Ian (another friend from College – but not this Ian)and his partner for dinner, so we had a lovely time catching up and just chatting. Norman cooked us melon & proscuttio for starters, then salmon with hollandaise sauce, new potatoes and green beans, then a “fruit crunch” – basically fruit salad with lots of red fruit and a touch of rum, topped with crushed amaretto biscuits, and then a layer of whipped cream and greek yoghurt. With brown sugar sprinkled on top, then left in the fridge overnight, there is a delicious fudgey topping as the sugar melts. Yummy!
The following day, we set off for Frome to catch up with more friends from college. Mr FD has known them for almost as long as he has known me, and gets on very well with them. He and Kit like the same music, and can talk Tech for hours, while Alison (another one) and I just fall into chat-mode instantly. Their daughter Hann was there, as was my Godson, Joe – which was a surprise, but definitely a happy surprise. We had a bread-and-cheese lunch, then strolled into Frome town centre to look at the Independent market there – lots of lovely things. I was particularly taken by the idea of book gardens:
which I think are rather lovely! I might (only might, mind you!) try making some for presents if I can find any appropriate books. Emmaus would seem a good starting place. We had tea in a café – very hip and happening, but terrible service! – and then strolled home, Kit & Mr FD forging ahead while Alison,Hann and I chatted about everything and nothing. Joe had gone to meet friends in the pub.
Mr FD and I had visited Asda on the way and bought pizza and salad, so we had that for dinner, and basically spent the evening chatting, comparing Tech and watching Athletics on TV. Very chilled. Very pleasant.
In the morning Mr FD popped back into Frome to buy some medication, while the rest of us tried to choose names for the two kittens that A&K were going to collect that afternoon. I still don’t know what was finally chosen! Mr FD had bought himself a new phone, which meant that his old phone was passed onto me, so I was able to gift my old phone to Joe (who was using an i-phone-something with a broken screen). Godson was very happy.
After lunch, Mr FD & I headed in the direction of South Wales, where we were going to visit friends from his University days. First we were due at Roger & Mags. Mr FD & Roger had “got mildly drunk together on our first evening at Cardiff University” and they have been friends ever since.
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This is a not-very good picture of Roger & Mags’ fluffy ginger cat, Oscar. I didn’t take any pictures of Roger & Mags!
When we arrived, Roger had taken the afternoon off work, so we sat and chatted about music (Mr FD & Roger definitely have the same taste in music!) and sport and Tech. When Mags got home, we then set out for a lovely little pub somewhere not very far from them, in Caerphilly, but, a little like The Bush, very olde worlde.
More good beer, and good food. I started with a goats’ cheese and black pudding salad, followed by a Welsh lamb burger, and fries. Mr FD had laver bread to start, in a type of croquettewith oatmeal and bacon, and then he went the whole hog and had a double burger – one Welsh lamb and the other Welsh beef!
The following day, Roger & Mags had both taken a day off work so we went for a lovely walk (a little too far for me, as I was struggling by the end, but still delightful) We started at Cyfarthfa Castle Museum and Art Gallery
and from there we followed part of the Taff Trail, above the River Taff. We made a detour to visit the site of an old Iron Foundry, that would have been active in the 19th century, but is now quite derelict.
Halfway round, we stopped at another pub for lunch. More good beer, and this time I had Welsh Cawlserved with bread and cheese. And sweet potato chips.
Mr FD and Roger had the most enormous ploughman’s lunch ever, served with 4 types of Welsh cheese, a thick slice of ham, a pork pie, pickled beetroot, pickled onion, salad and a bread roll. Mr FD didn’t (quite) finish his – though I did note it was mostly the salad that he had left!
The second part of the walk was alongside the river and was really lovely. Incidentally, when we got back home to France there was a BBC 4 TV programme about the Taff, which showed parts of the walk we had done. Here is the link for anyone in the UK who might like to see it.
When we got back to Roger & Mags’ I’m afraid I fell asleep! But later that evening, Mags cooked us a delicious salmon-en-croute, and then we watched some Gavin and Stacey repeats – how appropriate for South Wales! – and a recording of Only Connect. Another chilled time, spent with old friends.
The next day, Roger & Mags had to go to work, and we were scheduled to go on to Neath, slightly further to the west, to call in on another frriend from Mr FD’s Uni days. But the telling of that part of our holiday will have to wait…
Recently I have been listening a lot to the band Big Big Train – Mr FD introduced me to them – in fact I have their music on continual loop in both cars! Lots of their songs are lovely, but I’m particularly taken with the one called “Telling the Bees”.
It reminds me of the production of “Lark Rise to Candleford” that I was involved in when we lived in Milton Keynes. A wonderful ensemble piece, which included some very talented young actors. Of course, you may also remember the TV series, but our live production was infinitely better!
In the play/book the character Queenie talks to her bees, following the ancient tradition of telling the bees of momentous events in the life of the family. This is especially true of the death of the “master” of the bees, as if they are not told, the bees may go away to find a new home, or alternatively the hive will not thrive. Wikipedia tells the story of a family who bought a hive of bees at auction from a farmer who had recently died and, because the bees had not been “put into mourning for their late master” they were “sickly, and not likely to thrive.” However, when the new owners tied a “piece of crepe” to a stick and attached it to the hive, the bees soon recovered, an outcome that was “unhesitatingly attributed to their having been put into mourning.”
Charles Napier Hemy’s painting “Telling the Bees”
John Greenleaf Whittier’s poem, “Home Ballads” recounts this custom:
Before them, under the garden wall, Forward and back Went, drearily singing, the chore-girl small, Draping each hive with a shred of black.
Trembling, I listened; the summer sun Had the chill of snow; For I knew she was telling the bees of one Gone on the journey we all must go!
“Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence! Mistress Mary is dead and gone!”
The Big Big Train song is a happier song, telling of the passing of responsibility from father to son, and how the bees were told of family events. The connection between nature and humankind…”the joy is in the telling the sorrow in the soul”…It is a lovely song, and I urge you to listen (video below) You too may find a new band to play on continuous loop!
My mother said ‘Listen, son…
Your father’s gone
Now the time has come
You must tell the bees he gave his life
Drape black cloth over the hives.
‘Now I am the keeper
And the years passed by
Until the day that Jenny caught my eye
I walked over and I asked her for a kiss
Sweet taste of honey on her lips
Telling the bees, telling the bees
As old as these hills and old as the stones
I feel it down to my soul
And the bees were told
On the day we wed
Wild flower garlands
Draped our marriage bed
Now two years on, we have our son
The bees were told and we carry onTelling the bees, telling the beesAs old as these hills and old as the stones
I feel it down to my soul
The joy is in the telling
The sorrow in the soul
Tears of happiness and sadness
Let them flow…
Telling the bees, telling the bees
I have just read this on the blog The Pool, written by Emily Baker, regarding the attack in Manchester at the Ariana Grande concert on Monday:
There’s nothing more Mancunian than a resilient spirit. Today, our northern souls are aching for those lost, but we will think too of Manchester’s symbol of a bee – a hardworking, community-driven insect with a sting in its tail. It’s no coincidence that bees communicate through dance.
Learning that the bee is the symbol of Manchester, it seems kid of fitting (but also kind of pretentious!) to dedicate this to those who lost their lives and who are injured, or who have lost loved ones.
See the bees onthe globe up at the top!
Rather belatedly, I remember another Bee song by the Manchester band, Elbow – another favourite band. Here it is: Lost Worker Bee, it is called.
I love Elbow. We are sad that we won’t get to see them this year.
Charles Napier Hemy’s painting “Telling the Bees”
