Benjamin Franklin: my hero and his autobiography

Now I have a confession to make straight out of the blocks: I am a huge fan of Benjamin Franklin. He was, in my opinion, a true giant among men, not simply in terms of his physique (which I understand to have been large) but in terms of his intellect, his wisdom, his moral character, his good humour and his compassion for his fellow men. For me he epitomises all that was good about the Enlightenment. Let's just take a quick roll call of his many occupations: Founding Father of the USA, inventor, politician, philosopher, civil rights activist, scientist, newspaperman, linguist, traveller, diplomat, writer and no doubt a few more that I've overlooked along the way. In my view he was a true polymath, who, when he passed away, left the world significantly better off for his having lived in it.

His autobiography, which is written in an accessible, discursive voice is now well out of copyright - and some! If you'd like to read the great man's personal account of his own life you can download it free from Amazon kindle:Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin.

I've just finished reading it, and I have to say that I've enjoyed it enormously. It evidences how he remained down-to-earth and proud of his humble beginnings for all of his long life. There's nothing flowery or melodramatic in there. It's the account of a matter-of-fact character who was very comfortable in his own skin.

He had a very twenty first century enthusiasm for self-improvement, which I found rather endearing. If you download his autobiography on page 71 (Loc 1187 of 2513) you'll find his list of the 13 virtues that he tried to cultivate throughout his life. He tells us that he started on this little list at the age of 20 and kept going, never having totally perfected them to his own satisfaction. They were as follows:

1. TEMPERANCE. Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation.
2. SILENCE. Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.
3. ORDER. Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.
4. RESOLUTION. Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what your resolve.
5. FRUGALITY. Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e. waste nothing.
6. INDUSTRY. Lose no time; be always employ'd in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.
7. SINCERITY. Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly.
8. JUSTICE. Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
9. MODERATION. Avoid extreams; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
10. CLEANLINESS. Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, cloaths or habitation.
11. TRANQUILITY. Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.
12. CHASTITY. Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation.
13. HUMILITY. Imitate Jesus and Socrates.

He explained that he tried to work on these individually in the sequence outlined, hoping that when he had mastered one it might help him master its successors. He openly acknowledged that he fell short of the standards set on numerous occasions, but concluded that the attempt to live by them made him a better and a happier man. He devotes numerous pages to these 13 virtues in the hope that some of my descendants may follow the example and reap the benefit.

His tone is that of the fellow sinner. There's nothing hectoring, pompous or arrogant about the way in which he imparts his wisdom. He not only quotes Pope: Men should be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown propos'd as things forgot; but he also puts that principle into practice in writing his autobiography.

And, if you consider his 13 virtues, I think you'll have to agree that they're not a bad set of rules by which to try and live your life. We have so many self improvement books on the market today. And most of them, when you actually get down to it, are ninety five percent flimflam and five percent useful information. As a genre I loathe them. I hate the way they beat about the bush quoting anecdote after pointless, self-serving anecdote, before they get anywhere close to getting down to business.What those authors could learn from the great Dr F ... .

Anyway, that's what I've been reading this week, and a jolly good read it's been.

All the best for now,

Bonny x

D is for dog ...

And mine is an angel. No, honestly, I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I believe in angels. I think they walk amongst us, they jolly us through the tough times and they're there for us when disaster strikes. They come in all shapes and sizes and colours, but they're real and they're doing good stuff all over the place, even now as I sit here writing this post.

This is totally MY bed

Which leads me on to Maxi, my very own household angel. He's a constant presence by my side all day - and all night. Every step I take, every corner I turn, he's there like my little furry shadow. He makes very few demands of me, other than to be fed and go for the odd walk, which I'd be going on anyway and, in return, I have the most loyal, devoted friend on the planet. Never does he voice a negative opinion or raise a critical eyebrow. Never does he make a selfish demand or act out of spite. He is one hundred percent brilliant, and I love him to bits.

The fine art of chillaxing ... involves not sliding off your beanbag

What's more he's worked a miracle or two of his own. For one thing he's converted the initially cynical Mr B from being someone who said things like Oh I don't know, wouldn't a dog tie us down and create loads of work? to someone who's enormously proud of his dog, whom he congratulates every evening on being the cutest dog in the world. And as for Emi, well he's gone from being the boy who felt sore about not having any brothers of his own to being a happy little soul with a fur brother - his words, not mine.

Whatever you do, I can do too ...

So you see my little household angel has worked his own special brand of magic and has made us all happier by being a part of our lives.

All the best,

Bonny and Maxi xx 

As shared on The Alphabet Project and Wordless Wednesday

Micropolis, St Léons, Aveyron, France

Now gird your loins if you're not a fan of the legions of creepy crawlies that we share our planet with ... . Micropolis may not be entirely your cup of tea, but, if you're in the area, it's well-worth a look.

It was Mr B's idea to stop off at Micropolis, the city of the insects, to break our journey back to England from Spain. It's just 15 minutes from the famous Millau Bridge, about which I've enthused here: Millau Bridge.

I wasn't totally sold on the idea, but, as I could see that he was really enthusiastic, I went along with it.

Emi will love it, he said.

On being consulted Emi duly confirmed that it did indeed sound like something that would be right up his street. Creepy-crawlies or mini beasts, as they've been encouraged to call them at school, will always be a hit with an eight year-old boy.

The centre has an indoor gallery and an outdoor trail. So, even if it's raining, it's still a viable venue for an afternoon out.

It sits on the shoulder of a hill, looking down on the historical village of St. Léons. As you can see the setting is spectacular.

The roofed gallery feels like something the insects have designed for themselves. As you walk along the pathway to enter the building the wind whistles around the structure producing a humming noise that sounds like millions of massed bugs swarming in the afternoon sun.

And now, with the benefit of having been there, I must confess that it's a pretty cool place. Insects, spiders and bugs may not be your thing; they certainly weren't top of my hit parade, but, as they're at pains to point out in Micropolis, they've got an important role to play in our various ecosystems, so I guess we owe them some respect.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not the sort of girl who freaks out when there's a spider in the bath. As it happens the boys in my house do that, and I'm the one who picks up the offending arachnid and deposits him safely outside in the garden. No. It's not that I've got an aversion to these little beasties; it's just that I've never found them compellingly interesting. What I have been intrigued by, however, is the degree to which my boys (husband and son) find them totally fascinating. I guess you either get insects or you don't. And whilst I enjoyed wandering around looking at the (often frighteningly) large beetles, for whom I have total respect and awe, I still don't get it. They're great, but I'm not hooked in the way that certain other people are.

My husband was carried away on a wave of nostalgia for his childhood, and started telling us all sorts of tales about his pet insects. He'd once been an avid collector of stag beetles ... eek! He and his best mate, Albert, used to roam the woods around Montseny armed with strong knives looking for decaying wood, which they would slice open to reveal the cornucopia of life inside. Often they would find larvae as big as the first half of their little fingers. Apparently the stag beetle larvae exist in their larval state for several years, feeding on rotting deciduous wood, before they pupate.

These trophies were then carried home in a bucket to live in a specially constructed box in the basement of the house (history does not record the views of my in-laws on this encroachment of the insect world into their garage). In any event their progress was actively and enthusiastically monitored. My husband claims that all of his friends were also busy collecting stag beetles out there in the woods and that they'd get really competitive about having the largest, fiercest male. The males, which are larger and more fearsome-looking than the females, use their jaws to wrestle rivals out of the way for favoured mating sites and for food. This territorial display of masculine prowess soon became a compelling spectator sport for Mr B and his chums. In their defence I have to explain that television reception isn't great in that part of the mountains ... .

And then, one day, they woke up, grew some facial hair ... and discovered motorbikes and girls. My in-laws no doubt heaved a huge sigh of relief as they reclaimed their garage ... and they all lived happily ever after. The End.

There are hundreds and hundreds of displays of dead insects in glass display cases, which felt a bit morbid, but there are also displays of living insects. They have a great ant city with stacks of boxes and clear perspex tubes where red ants are free to swarm around all over the shop.

Everything is aimed at being educational in a fun, funky, effortless sort of a way. Emi was fizzing with excitement over the whole shooting match. He was especially keen on the spider section, even though he's scared out of his wits by spiders.

Perhaps I showed my lack of insect-fervour by enjoying the section with insect-eating plants. There was even a plant down there that threatened to devour Emi. Luckily we were able to prise him out of its killer clutches before the acidic juices dissolved his tennis shoes.

The highlight of the indoor section for me was the corner devoted to bees. Maybe this was really just a function of my enthusiasm for honey rather than the little chaps who make it, but I was fixated by the natural form hive that dangled (safely) behind a glass screen as lots of worker bees buzzed in and out working their sweet magic.

When we'd seen all the stuff inside we headed up the hill for the outdoor trail.

Now the idea of this trail is that somehow the insects have been super-sized, so that we can relate to them as not being very different from ourselves, and come to appreciate the problems that they face in their daily battle to survive. The object was to help the bugs get ready for a carnival, which might be a bit of a stretch for the adult imagination, but happily Emi was more than able to throw his mind around the notion that he could hug a housefly and show it how to throw some moves on the dance-floor.

And help a dung beetle. Lovely work!

Then he had a go at rehearsing with the bug orchestra.

And riding on the back of a stag beetle ... or is that a flee ... or am I losing it completely?

There are several imaginative, insect-inspired play areas where the little folk can run about to let off steam. The whole bug carnival theme was something that our straw poll of one embraced with real enthusiasm. As for Mr B and me, we enjoyed larking around in the sunshine and taking lots of silly photos.

They've got a very acceptable cafe if you'd like to fit in a bite of lunch or stop for a coffee. There are also lots of outdoor picnic tables where you can have a déjeuner sur l'herbe. The exhibition is run in French, as you'd expect what with it being in France and everything, but they do pretty good explanations in English. There is good wheelchair access to the indoor section, and they also have a lift to take people up the hill to the outdoor trail, but it's not really do-able if you've got a mobility issue as the pathway is pretty steep in parts. Sadly dogs are not allowed in either the outdoor or the indoor areas, so Maxi, our pooch, had to wait for us in the car.

Anyway if you find yourself with an idle moment in this part of the world it's a great way to pass an afternoon. If you'd like to visit you can find all the information here: Micropolis.

One of the best bits for me was the lovely countryside all around. The hills are teaming with wildlife. I took Maxi for a walk before we set off and enjoyed listening to the birdsong and the crickets. I even heard a cuckoo. There are loads of wild flowers. It's a truly beautiful part of the world.

All the best for now,

Bonny x

As shared on Blue Monday

Messing about, ... Park Güell ... and waiting for the sun to shine ...

Every time I go out I can't help doing a quick mental inventory of the wild flowers that are in bloom over here on the Costa Brava. It amazes me how many different types of colourful blossoms I stumble upon during my daily comings and goings. The cheerful orange poppies, that bob happily in the breeze, are my favourites.

This past week we've had a pretty mixed bag weather-wise; not at all what we'd been expecting for the end of May.

There have been some sunny days, but there have also been some stormy ones with spectacular thunder and lightening, nature's very own son et lumière show, for which we've had ring-side seats.

On Tuesday evening the weather came charging down the mountain in a blaze of fury. It was the wind that caught our attention first. It came suddenly, out of nowhere, to assault the old pine tree in the garden outside, twisting the branches this way and that to the point where they seemed certain to snap. Then we noticed that the noisy seagulls had disappeared. The sky darkened, and we watched from our sitting room window as the swirling clouds came tumbling down to earth, obscuring the view and leaving an impenetrable white fog. A moment later the thunder crashed, then the lightening flashed and the heavens opened. Rivers of water cascaded down the street, the garden became a floodplain and fat, swollen rain drops battered the window panes like tiny, angry fists.

We responded by fetching some logs from the basement and lighting the fire. Cosy in front of the hearth, with the weather doing its worst outside, we watched Cate Blanchett in Woody Allen's Blue Jasmine. Have you seen it? She really rocked her role, and in my view she so deserved her Oscar for such a convincing performance. I absolutely believed in her character. Her stylists did a great job too. I know we're talking about a lady who'd still manage to look stunning if she were dressed in a bin liner with her face scrubbed and her hair in rollers, but she wore such chic outfits, which were then re-cycled continually as her fortunes declined. It felt like her frocks were a metaphor for what was happening inside her head.

This week they've been holding a second hand boat sale in our village. I'm not much of a one for messing around on boats; I'm a bit of a landlubber. The thing is I get horribly seasick once we start bobbing around on the waves.

If I could get over my nausea I'm sure I'd love to go boating on one of these, especially if the weather was calm, the sky was blue and the water was like a mill pond.

I'm not sure what the connection is between selling boats and donkeys, but they've also had a gang of these little chaps doing pony rides along the beach.

Meanwhile life has carried on as normal down in the harbour.

The fishermen have mended their nets.

And the folk who simply sail for the fun of it have puttered around as usual.

We had a great day out with Emi's cousins down in Barcelona.

They took us for a romp around Park Güell, which was sensational. Antoni Gaudí is one of my heroes. I read the other day in the newspaper that there's a pressure group petitioning the Vatican to have him beatified, and subsequently canonised as a new patron saint for architects.

As with all his other buildings there's a playfulness and a sense of fun in the design of Park Güell. If you ever get a chance, please go inside one of his buildings because they're as special once you're in them as they are from the outside. Gaudí really wanted people to enjoy being inside his houses. He introduced as much natural light as possible, and everything has a wholesome, organic feeling: a bit like living in some enchanted forest where life is perfect, the wind never blows too strongly and the sun never shines too hot.

Sadly we didn't have time to go inside the monumental zone as we had to go to a family barbecue. The queues for tickets were frightening, and the next time slot available at 1 p.m. was for 3:30 p.m., which would have totally scuppered our plans for the afternoon. If you plan on going it would be advisable to book your tickets online in advance.

You can get all the details here if you'd like to arrange a visit: Park Güell information

As it was, we enjoyed the rest of the park even though it was crazy-busy with people. I made a mental note to myself that we ought to revisit in the winter on a nice, clear day when there aren't so many people around.

There's also a museum about the great Gaudí, but our time constraints meant that we weren't able to get a ticket to go in for a nosey around that either.

Nevertheless we enjoyed some great views down over the city and out to sea.

And the most important part of all was for us to enjoy a day with my sister and brother-in-law, and for Emi to catch up with his lovely cousins.

Hasta la próxima,

Bonny x
As shared on Welcome to the weekend and Friday Finds

C is for cousins ...

For little boys who don't have any brothers of their own, cousins are very important people. And for Emi his two little cousins from Barcelona are the very best people on earth ... .

We had a great time with them last Sunday in Park Güell.

So here's to cousins,

Bonny x

As shared on the Alphabet Project