allium giganteum
Some allium giganteum, or giant onions, I photographed in Helmingham Hall's gardens in June 2017, the last time my parents visited the UK.
Not the edible kind of onions. But the bees like them, and they're pretty.
camellia japonica
blossoms against bricks
pyrus communis
Flowers of the common pear tree, captured on my photo walk from Delamere to Kelsall last month.
of gorse
prunus cerasifera
Some Prunus cerasifera flowers I captured last Saturday during a solo photo walk in Hitchin.
Spring is coming.
a year later... or thereabouts.
So, it's been a year since Mum passed. Well, kind of.
I mean, she died at 06:10 on 1 March 2023 AEDT, but for me, that means her time of death was actually 19:10 GMT on 28 February 2023.
So, for me, that should mean the anniversary of her passing was on 28 February 2024.
Except that this year is a leap year, so 06:10 AEDT on 1 March 2024 was 19:10 GMT on 29 February 2024.
Confused yet?
If I base the anniversary on the date she passed away in Australia (as that's where she was), then I'm posting this late. But it's still only 1 March 2024 here in London, so I guess I get longer to mark the anniversary.
Has anyone noticed I possess a certain sentimentality and a penchant for marking such important dates at precisely the right moment?
Though I didn't have a chance to post about it at either of the potentially recognised moments, it's been on my mind for some time, particularly during the evening on 28 February when it felt like I should acknowledge the passing of a year since her death.
Dad and I acknowledged the anniversary within the hour of her passing on 1 March 2024, his time, in our family WhatsApp chat.
Yesterday afternoon, a little before and a little after my day's sitting with Francois ended, and before I left for my first sitting of the year with my regulars, I edited these two photos to share with this post acknowledging the anniversary.
Although I don't think she had any particular preference for daffodils (I don't remember them appearing often within bouquets she bought or received), her death will now be inextricably linked to them in my mind because of her passing on St David's Day and, in particular, because of her Welsh ancestry.
So, I was already thinking ahead to today when I photographed these two specimens in Frank's backyard the last weekend I sat him in mid-February. Knowing there would be photographs of daffodils as part of my tribute to her this year, as I have access to very few photos of her, and most I've already shared. While thinking ahead to the date and time conundrum as the impact of this leap year had already occurred to me by then.
One thing I didn't get to do while I was visiting Dad was to pore over their photo albums. Two weeks isn't a long time when you're working part-time, sorting through your deceased mother's personal effects and catching up with family you haven't seen in person in about three years.
I didn't know how I would feel one year on. If I'm honest, I still don't.
I mean, there's definitely been a sea of emotions surging around me for the past week or so.
I initially hoped to write my thoughts on the "exact" anniversary (for me). But practical matters had to be dealt with. So, instead, I sort of softly welled up thinking about it without having the time or capacity to put the feelings into words. But knowing I would when I could.
I know it's cliched to say it feels like less than a year, but in the same breath, to say it feels more than a year. But it does.
It's been less than a year since we said goodbye as a family and scattered her ashes.
It's been more than a year since she and I last spoke. Or rather, I spoke to her, as she didn't have many words left by then.
So, the passing of time since her passing has been warped and bent. Though that's not uncommon. I know others feel similarly about the passing of their loved ones, even without the added confusion of leap years interfering with their marking of time.
I wrote a lot about her last year. And I don't doubt I will write more in time. I took photos while visiting my family in Australia that triggered memories, anecdotes, and so forth that I hope to capture in words. Some I'll capture for myself. Others I'll share.
In the meantime, as Spring drags its feet returning to England, the daffodils rush in and bloom on the verges and traffic islands, in suburban gardens, central London parks, cemeteries, the local supermarket, the vase in the entry to our building placed there by my Welsh neighbour who lives downstairs. And in my mind.
For Mum. In her memory.
puffball convention
sowbread
Some Cyclamen hederifolium I photographed in the churchyard of St Nicholas' Church in Arundel while visiting in September 2021.
post-floral
blood red
Two of my self-portraits - one from my wallflowers series, the other from my plush series - are included in Issue #123: Color 2024 of F-Stop Magazine, and both feature floral motifs: the wallpaper in one and my dress in the other.
This photograph, which I took in my parents' garden in Redland Bay in 2009, of a Cordyline fruticosa (commonly known as a ti plant) doesn't include a floral motif. But the leaves are so vibrant with the backlighting that they fit the colour theme I submitted to.
Since I've already shared the two photographs included in F-Stop Magazine, I thought I'd share this one alongside the news.
granny's nightcap
An Aquilegia vulgaris (also known as common columbine, granny's nightcap and granny's bonnet) I photographed in Jo and Becky's backyard in Cotton End while sitting Meg and Mog in August 2022.
stinking willie
A Jacobaea vulgaris (also known as ragwort, common ragwort and stinking willie) I photographed in Jo and Becky's backyard in Cotton End while sitting Meg and Mog in August 2022.
a nice pear
laxton's epicure
something fishy this way comes
Sometimes, my pet-sitting includes fishies.
david and stevie
Week three of the December project I'm doing with friends, Phil, Christina and Charlotte.
(Taken yesterday, so still within the week, but posted a day late).
No theme, just a photo a week of whatever catches our eye.
stale wolf-fart
I took this photo of a puffed-out Lycoperdon last month in London Road Cemetery, Bromley.
The origin of the scientific name did give me a giggle.
From Wikipedia: The scientific name has been created with Greek words (lycos meaning wolf and perdon meaning to fart) and based on several European dialects in which the mushroom name sounds like wolf-farts.
I'm not sure this sounds appetising to the vegetarian palate: Most species are edible, ranging from mild to tasting distinctly of shrimp.
The puff holes remind me of cigarette burns.