Sunday, March 09, 2014

Close up, frailty and tomatoes


Cheerfulness is my chief object in life even when it seems to be a fleeting virtue. I find myself hoping that people will make allowances for its present frailty.

My grand daughter Giselle tells me that when she was in Thailand she was at first offended that people she met repeated the words "tomato, tomato" when they met her. It was only  when they explained that it was in fact a compliment based on her pink complexion, one doubtless encouraged by her initial reaction to their remarks, that prompted the comment.


Rouchswalwe said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
The Crow said...

Will miss your posts, Joe. Glad you were here.

Anonymous said...

what has happened?

Lucy said...

Joe passed away following heart surgery on 10th March 2014. He had been ill for some time but this was still unexpected. Our thoughts are with his family, and our hearts are very full.

Sorry to be the bearer of such sad news. We will try to inform people of of any further news regarding this blog, at the moment there is no direct access to it to leave any message.


Clare Law said...

So sorry to see this news. I will miss our chats in the Grove. Joe was my first 3BT friend and his encouragement went a long way.

Saffron and Suitcases said...

I am so sorry to hear that Joe has passed away. I have followed his blog for many years and enjoyed his writing and photographs. I have lived and worked in Tunbridge Wells, so his local posts always felt familiar. He leaves a void in my life now that he is gone. I send my deepest condolences to his family.
Kind regards

Ruth Griffin

Stella said...

Clare, because of you I discovered Joe. A remarkable circle. Thank you both for the merry ride.

Ellena said...

Because it felt good to come here every day, I still come by.

The Crow said...

So do I, Ellena.

Skyline Spirit said...

pretty nice blog, following :)

Lucy said...

Me too.

Rouchswalwe said...

Yup. I do, too.

The Crow said...

I've been rereading some of Joe's posts, and his call-and-response poetry with Lucy. I don't know what I'm looking for here - comfort, words of wisdom I can use to fix my life, memories...

Joe is gone, but his ghost lives on in my machine. I hope it always will.

3 May 2014

The Crow said...

Hello, Joe:

I was thinking of you today.

A spider descended from the ceiling on an invisible thread of silk, right next to my computer monitor. No, I didn't kill it, though it took every ounce of restraint I have not to. I could hear you telling me about those paper cones your father used to make for catching spiders, to release them unharmed outdoors. I don't know that I'll never lose my cool and dispatch them again, but because of you, there is one lurking somewhere on my desk tonight.

Goodnight, Joe.

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Roderick Robinson said...

Does the Comment facility still work? I'll have to take it on trust.

Two or three weeks away from a miserable anniversary. The Hell with marking an end, why not something more typical of Joe the Man of Words?

Three years ago I was struggling with a transitional passage in my novel, Blest Redeemer. Joe was holding my hand. Eventually we were over the hump and Joe said: "Now have some fun with Imogen." (a subsidiary character - used to measure the sophistication of Judith, the central character).

This part para was one result of that encouragement.

Invited to make love in a car (Imogen) had done the sporting thing: proof she wasn’t standoffish, still had her youth, was prepared to let her body rule her mind. Quibbling would have missed the point. And there’d been more to it than mindless rogering. Telling the tale she had broken off to mention parenthetically they’d parked close to an allotment. That her father was a keen gardener and that she was prepared to risk bathos on his behalf. During her communion she’d been able to smell sage and - further away - compost.

Far from perfect, still more or less a rough-hewn idea. Joe would have advised. But I'm on my own now, and it's all much harder.