Author Archives: carnun
Now that Gran was no longer around and Miss Daisy was sleeping permanently under the trees there was very little reason to keep it, it is just that no-one had the heart to do anything about it. There was an unwritten agreement to let it just dissolve into nothingness, that was more conceit than wishful thinking.
Klondike, freecell, spider, castle, bisley, demon – to call him a connoisseur would be an understatement of epic proportions. These tables were dedicated to an art form practiced in very few places, an art form of such subtlety that to watch was to dream.
Mahogany crica 1778 with gold leaf inlay in a non-typical asymmetric style with marching chair reupholstered to match the original. Unique and priceless.
All artworks in the making. It was always a competition between the uncles who could produce the best compositions, but the talent was palpable.
The fear of these hung around for years after Aunt Nicea passed away. She used them as punishment for not producing decorations that were up to her standards. To her credit she was always pushing them to improve and it did show in there later schooling. Reflecting on it they couldn’t help but think that she was living vicariously through their achievements.
The question was always about the garish frame. Why gold leaf and why the intricacy surrounding such a tranquil scene?
Suzy and I used to run our marbles from side to side. Her on the one end and me on the other. It was a long shot, but the joy of success!
Time and again they would hide like naughty school girls behind the ruins of local block houses and listen to the cavorting of the young shepherds and their companions in the night. They always guessed there was more to “Red at night”…
Not so in the years that the family gatherings happened. For some reason this was always their haven from Uncle John’s military style discipline. It was their place to build tents, play with Oupa’s pipes and listen to scratchy LPs.
His gran had tried her best to teach him the finer details; but somehow he had never mastered the accuracy required to turn needlework into an art form. These were his pride and joy, brimming with his love for the nostalgia of days gone by, though the eclectic colouring was a bit too modern for the themes of the triple ducks flying by. Nobody blamed him for this conceit, since there is always a danger of things going astray if you are colour blind.