daybyday

2012-01-31T20:32:00.000-08:00

ABC Wednesday
The letter this week is C

C is for such a lot of things, but the first thing I think about is C is for CAT

And so I give you a nice little Collage of Callie, the Calico Cat and friends

Miss Roo, with the collar, came with us when we moved up the hill. She was one of a pair of sweet little cats who had been abandoned, - her sister's name was Kanga, but unfortunately we lost her to leukemia. Miss Roo was on her own, but soon had a wonderful territory to hunt in, across the road, amongst the grapes in the vineyard. When we moved we did our best to acclimatize her to her new home, but she yearned for old familiar haunts. Three times we brought her home from the old acreage, but the fourth time she wandered we lost her to a car as she crossed the road, on her way to what she considered home.

We went for almost a year without a cat, but then our grandson brought us Callie, - she was so much like Miss Roo, - a tiny little replica. But you can see she has grown into a fairly large cat now!!! My daughter would put her on a diet!!! She spends an hour after lunch on Charles' knee, as he naps, and he is the one who grooms her. For me she just has cupboard love!!!!

BP is our youngest son's cat, who he loves immensely, and who travels with him whenever he leaves the meadow. He is a gentleman cat, in the true sense of the word!!!!

Here is Rebel, Dot and Frank's sleek and muscular cat, who maintains his figure by climbing to the top of cupboards, up screen doors, and various other forbidden places.

A real 'lad' who didn't make it on to the Collage because I didn't have a picture of him,

but certainly deserves to be there.

He is so conscious of looking in good shape that he has learned

to weight himself on the scale. I kid you not!!!!

For more C's do visit here at ABC Wednesday, with thanks to all who make this meme such a pleasure .

2012-01-30T20:27:00.000-08:00

January 30th, 2012

A nice mild day.

We waken sans duvet, which has been thrown off in the night as the open window brings in the warming air, reminiscent of early spring.

But of course it isn't - just a rare day in January when all the air currents are flowing the right way and our narrow little valley is protecting us from the winds that are blowing elsewhere in southern British Columbia.

I take the opportunity to shovel a little path to the compost bin, stir it up a bit and add more kitchen refuse, - I don't really think it is making much rich earth for the garden right now, but I look forward to that beautiful black loamy dirt, soft in my hands and full of all the good stuff that plants thrive on.

There is a lovely apple green china kitchen compost container in the drug store

(where you can buy anything).

So far I have resisted bringing it home but I look each time I go in, and

eventually I suppose it will find a spot in my kitchen.

I had another peek at it this afternoon when I went to buy some birthday cards.

Then I went to the grocery store where the produce section has just been revamped.

'Just like uptown' I told the produce section manager.

To celebrate, and probably help pay for these sophisticated vegetable bins, they have imported a great variety of exotic fruits and vegetables, and I was moved to buy some in order to

make Charles' breakfast more appealing, and provide a change from the usual orange and Ambrosia apple, - not that they aren't delicious.

I bought a golden passionfruit, a Star fruit, whose proper name I don't know,

and a Honey Pomelo. They are lounging around on

the kitchen counter looking quite exotic.

Besides a little passion from the Passionfruit, and some star-shaped slices from the Starfruit, I expect that the Pomelo at least will contribute lots of pith and rind to the green apple kitchen compost and boost the health of the rose roots, come June.

The weather report forecast flurries overnight, so perhaps we will be glad of the duvet.

2012-01-28T19:45:00.000-08:00

Saturday, January 28th, 2012

Nothing on television tonight, sez Charles, as he twirls the dial, so to speak, and catches a bit of right wing politics.

Fine, sez I - I have other things to do and will be back at nine o'clock to watch 'Lewis" (with wonderful references to 'Morse" here and there throughout the show).

It has been a busy week, with great peaks but not without conflict and misunderstandings.

However, I have been stewing around, trying to pick up knowledge about digital pianos, - the ones that are appropriate for church use, - and finally our daughter suggested I ask Steve!

Of course, why hadn't I thought of it before. Steven is our eldest son. In the beginning I taught him to play the piano, but he far surpasses me now in the wonderful ability he has to express himself through his music and to rely on his ear, rather than his eye, to pick up marvelous melodies.

And besides that he is most generous with his time. and has a boundless spirit that is willing to help anyone, any time, willingly and with the same sweet smile he's always had....

The Church Board kindly gave me permission to go and find a digital piano to replace the old clunker we have had to rely on when it was a matter of piano vs. organ, - or piano and organ.

And so late yesterday morning I started off for Summerland with Sid, our third son, clambering up into his very large truck by way of a small step ladder. We arrived there just at lunch time, met Steve went to have lunch with our DIL, Terry, at the restaurant she is in the process of buying.

I scoffed down the best part of a magnificent Greek Salad, and then we were off to Kelowna and the Music Shop.

I really am quite countrified now, - it is so long since I've been even to a large town, and Kelowna has grown to be a city at least as large as the one I grew up in on the prairies. The music shop was amazing, - I counted ten cellos, - probably about fifty guitars, gleaming brasses by the dozens, and then all these wonderful small pianos.

I was shy about playing, to try out the sensitivity and weight of the keys and the various buttons marching along above the keyboard of this HP302 Roland, but eventually played a little Scott Joplin, and Steven played Sweet Georgia Brown, and then Myrna, who doesn't play the organ in church, but does play the piano, came and gave the instrument her blessing. Sid, who plays drums and appreciates piano, thought it was pretty adequate, so after giving the man a cheque we all went next door to a bar and grill and had the largest plate of tacos and cheese and chicken and jalapeno peppers I have ever seen (country girl) while they bundled up the Roland for transport.

Sid was in Kelowna to pick up yokes for his steel shop and so we nudged them over and they loaded that lovely piano into the back of the truck, and off we went in late afternoon traffic, which was quite horrendous. We stopped in Penticton to phone Charles and buy him a wireless mouse for his laptop and then came home on a less crowded highway with the mouse and the piano and a light heart.

It was a lovely day, - I did so enjoy seeing the Okanagan, - the new highway and a different bridge to the one I used to go over when I made regular trips to Kelowna. But most especially it was such a pleasure to spend time and have conversation with these two sons, - I enjoyed the day immensely, and thank them both for their kindness and cheerful company, - and Terry for that gorgeous Greek salad and a peek at her new venture.

Myrna has been in touch and is ecstatic about the new piano and that adds even more pleasure and satisfaction to the day. Oh, life can be very good sometimes....

2012-01-24T15:19:00.000-08:00

ABC Wednesday
January 25th, 2012

The letter this week is bountiful B

and considering the date, how many people will choose the Scottish Bard, Robbie Burns, whose birth date was the 25th of January, 1759. Well, I will tip my bonnet to him, beribboned and tucked with heather, and choose instead another Scottish B - the Bagpipe.

Glen Thompson

We have Pipers scattered through our family, - David was a Pipe Major and his band piped him out of the church with his lovely bride on their wedding day.....

His grandsons played the pipes and drums and entertained the neighbourhood when they came to visit us.

And here, as they prepared to play at their grandfather's funeral reception.

One of his mentors, Harry Lunan, was the last surviving piper to have played in battle during World War 1 before his death in 1994.

Harry Lunan joined the Gordon Highlanders in 1913 as a piper, for which he received one penny a day extra pay. He took part in the horrendous Battle of the Somme in 1916. At the attack on Highwood, armed only with his bagpipe, he led a suicidal charge into machine gun fire, playing his comrades into attack with Cock o' the North.

"I just played whatever came in to my head, but I was worried about tripping on the uneven ground, which interrupted my playing" he says in an interview that appears on the cover of a CD dedicated to him. (The Last Piper)

Harry Lunan's daughter lived one street over from us when we moved from the farm, but before that the family came from the small town in Alberta where my sister lived with her piper husband.

And then there are my cousins who moved to California and celebrate the Thompson clan with great enthusiasm. My first cousin, with the beard and the big drum and what looks like a pith helmet!!

A Brae, Bright Scottish quartet...even without the bagpipes

The family has their serious side as well. Glen Thompson, whose picture heads this post, is a well known piper and piping teacher.
When he was fifteen he went to Scotland to study with Duncan Johnstone at the College of Piping, in Glasgow. To finance this journed he became the featured piper of the loch Ness Pub in old town Pasadena,
playing there every weekend during his sophomore year in high school.

In 1998 Glen took over the Cabar Feidh Pipe Band as Pipe Major. He has appeared in
many movies and is heavily involved with the Clan Fraser,
having played the pipes as the guest of Lord Lovat at many occasions.

Although his background is in competition they say Glen is at his best when entertaining a crowd.
I, alas, have never heard him play, and I do so love the pipes.

Charles is non-committal and rolls his eyes.

For more great B's visit here at ABC Wednesday and see what Mrs. Nesbitt and her Blessed
helpers have to offer.

2012-01-23T11:36:00.000-08:00

A Baptism

A rare occurrence in the mainline churches these days As are weddings, - the last wedding I played for in the church must have been five years ago - there are so many other venues that young secular people find appealing. Traditionalists are to what we once considered Holy Sacraments as needles are to haystacks!!

Nevertheless we had this very mindful and beautiful ceremony at morning worship yesterday for a sweet baby entering into a community of loving souls, - he smiled all the way through it, even when the minister scooped up at shellful of water and cascaded it over his dear little forehead.

All of us old believers, who are so forlorn at the lack of children's voices in the church, - young energies and sweet innocence - were past delight and into wondrous nostalgia.

I wakened about one o'clock last night. The glow from the street light was golden on the trees and Orion's belt stood out brilliantly against the dark sky.

Today the sun is shining, - it is high enough in the sky and rising to our view by nine o'clock, skimming the top of the mountain. Beautiful blue sky and soft benevolent clouds!

I see buds swelling and catkins on the hazelnut tree and I yearn for spring...

2012-01-21T19:10:00.000-08:00

January 21st, 2012

I have a pair of socks that I am knitting for Charles that somehow do not draw me with any enthusiasm, even though I am anxious for him to have them because I know they will be comfortable on his poor feet that suffer with neuropathy.

No, all they do is keep me from clicking my needles, making something that really appeals to me and stirs me to get with it. I just feel the tiniest bit guilty about the socks whenever I leaf through knitting books and see something I'd love to try, - oh golly, that tiny bit of guilt is really messing up my creative life!!

If I were being sensible I would know that in beginning a new project I can hardly wait to sit down and work at. making those blessed socks would be more inviting in spare moments when my hands want the calming effect of knitting but my mind isn't in to figuring out complicated patterns.

And goodness only knows that this is not a life that has been confined to having just one thing on the go at a time! And I have UFO's to prove it, the socks for Charles being just one example. There is the front of a lovely white sweater hidden away in a knitting bag, along with half of the back, and in a basket with a closed top I even have a circular needle sweater knit up to the arms of the most heavenly blue wool, - a project that someone else foisted on me when they found it impossible to go the last mile with it.

This is not the UFO I have in my possession, but it is close enough, except for the shimmer in the wool, to be a near cousin of the one that was so kindly given to me, complete with markings for the sleeve and a confusing sheet of instructions that were vague as to just where the previous knitter had left off - given up because of disgust, lack of interest or distressing confusion.

At one time I had three or four looms warped at the same time, and happily went from one to the other, content to be creating, busy planning new warps, throwing a studied weft with care and happiness.

And here I sit, stymied by a pair of tweedy socks!

I am hoping to become activated soon, and to fill these winter days with something that pleases me and keeps my hands flying and my mind pleasantly occupied.

Mary Cassett

2012-01-18T22:05:00.000-08:00

A snowy day in the Similkameen

Well, if it hadn't been for the wind it would have been quite a pleasant day, - a little nippy

but what's that to a Prairie girl.....

However the snow was fine and dry, and the wind whipped it up into

an absolute frenzy, - white veils of snow were spirited down the road like ethereal gypsy dancers,

their feet barely touching the ground, and then caught up in the

wind's passionate embrace and flung skyward.

That all sounds quite romantic, and I suppose it was if you were cosy by the fire, but out in the

garden the small birds, their feathers fluffed, were grateful that the bird feeders were full.

a mourning dove looked down inquisitively

while Miss Callie visited at the side window with a chickadee perched in the Rose of Sharon,

tail swishing......

late in the afternoon a flock of quail came to clean up the gleanings on the ground

and just at dusk I saw them all flying up into the tall trees next door......

shelter for the night.

I heard the plants in the garden sigh comfortably, happy with the lovely new coverlet

and safe from King Winter's mighty wind.

2012-01-17T15:49:00.000-08:00

ABC Wednesday

Off we go on another wild ride through the Alphabet

So why shouldn't A be for Alphabet

I had considered skipping this round of ABC Wednesday, because sometimes Time crowds in on me and I end up posting quickly and not very mindfully, - a video that is entertaining, - a picture or a poem that it only takes a few minutes to post. And do not have time to visit other wonderful posts as often as I would like....

But it is such good discipline and pleasure to be part of this meme, so I am going to try to devote more time, whenever I can, and so here is what I have learned about Alphabets - thanks to Sir Google and Wikipedia.....(who I expect will be blacked out in just a few short hours, in protest)

First things first, a bit of history - the word ALPHABET comes from the Greek word, alphabetos, and the word alphabetos in turn comes from the first two letters of the Greek alphabet, a Alpha, and b Beta.

The names of the Greek letters were based on Phoenican letter names, the first two letters of the Phoenican alphabet being are'aleph (ox) and beth (house).

The Greeks created the first phonetic alphabet when they used letters from the Phoenician alphabet to represent consonants sounds which were not in the Greek Alphabet .

An Alphabet is a set of letters representing one or more phonemes, both consonants and vowels, and in some cases combinations of letters are used to represent single phonemes, as in sh, ch and th, and I guess ph, too.

The best known alphabets are the Roman and Cyrillic. which have been adapted to write many other languages. Some alphabets are used for only a single language and some alphabets are used only for religious purposes, or for decoration, such as the Coptic, or the Irish Uncial.

which really looks like just another font, doesn't it........

Just a few facts, Ma'm, but how very fascinating it must be to study linguistics.

Do you remember when you first learned the alphabet, - well, probably not. Those days are lost in the mists of time as we grow older, but quite likely it was at your mother's knee, - from a book perhaps

or maybe a song.

Maybe your learning was enforced by the blocks you played with...

and here are some for modern little techies....

We learned so early what these letters meant when they were put in orderly fashion to form words, and what a marvelous gift this has been, - to be able to read the thoughts of others, - to be able to express our own inner selves in written form. To be able to travel the world from an armchair, or snuggled beneath the blankets at night with a flashlight!

"To learn to read is to light a fire. Every syllable that is spelled out is a spark." Victor Hugo

For more great A's visit here at ABC Wednesday, as we start once again an alphabetical adventure at Mrs. Nesbitt's wonderful meme.

2012-01-16T15:23:00.000-08:00

Monday, January 16th, 2011

Walnuts

Here are the walnuts

that hang from the tree

that grows next door

and towers over

the neighbour's woodshed.

Late in the fall the tree is luxuriously laden

and the walnuts loosen themselves from the branches

and roll down the roof of the woodshed,

bouncing over the ledge and hiding

in the grasses that grow along

the few feet that divide us

from the neighbour's fence.

I imagine that in the spring the

nut hatch will find a noisy heaven

amongst the branches of this generous tree

but in the meantime.......

You see them - small and dry, with their hard black coats split, but I would imagine still harbouring

the Jaglone that dyes a wonderful variety of earthy browns, depending upon how

long they are stewed and if a mordant is used, and also what kind of mordant.

My days of dyeing wool are long past, although I have a wonderful

remembrance of them in sample skeins that along with my other weaving

and spinning paraphernalia are now mostly decorative.

Still, the memory of those exciting days, gathering materials, watching the wool absorb

the dyes of such a great variety of natural plants, and change before

your eyes with different mordants - all those memories still warm my heart

and make me grateful for the richness they brought to my life.

I picked up all the walnut hulls that fell on our side of the fence

and they sat for a few months in the garage until Charles,

dear one that he is, decided to crack them all and retrieve the nuts.

They are now drying in a basket to keep them fresh and edible

although I just might use them all up before they have time to get

rancid, as old walnuts are wont to do!

I have had to put them out of my reach so that I won't dip into

the basket each time I pass it and pop one of these lovely golden nuts into my mouth.

I have found an enticing traditional Greek dessert recipe

that uses one and one half cups of walnuts and little flour. If, when I try it,

it is as delicious as it looks, I will share the recipe with you!

2012-01-13T21:51:00.000-08:00

A leisurely afternoon -

I had planned to turn up my toes for a few minutes after lunch, and then to walk to the Post Office and to the Library. I have had a marathon read between the days before Christmas and today, when all thirteen of the books I had ordered came into the Library at once and all fell due on Friday the 13th.

I really did quite well. I finished Alan Bradbury's 'I Am Sick of Shadows' about midnight last night, which left me with just two books unread, - two books that I was unable to renew because someone else, somewhere in the Okanagan, was sitting on the edge of their easy chair, reading lamp lit, waiting to read these popular tales.

I looked at the blue tote bag that held all these books, and considered the four blocks I would have to walk to the Library.

"Take the cart", - said Charles magnanimously.

The cart makes me nervous. It is a big cart with large wheels, made for fields and uneven ground, and I have seen Charles do wheelies on it, - that cart is adventuresome and dangerous....who knows, - it may even have as mind of its own, as is the way with Charles' canes......

"Take the car", says Charles, understandingly, - and so I pick up my keys, go down on the lift, open the garage door and the gate to the fence and back up into the lane.

I stop at the Post Office and mail my letters, lug the big blue book bag into the Library, and am lucky enough to be able to renew the Emma Donoghue book at the last minute. Somebody else had turned in a copy for she who was waiting anxiously for 'The Sealed Letter'. This made me quite happy, and I left the Library, popped in to see my dear DIL in the Variety Store she would so dearly love to sell and bought a bright Christmas throw and two table runners which will look cheery on someone's tables next Christmas, - my first contribution to the 2012 Christmas present box.

At the grocery store I add a bag of frozen shrimp to the necessities, thinking of a nice easy stir-fry for supper Sunday evening.

On to the Bank, where I make a deposit, - always better than a withdrawal - and then I browse next door at the pharmacy - not the pharmacy which Jenifer owns, where the order of business is strictly pharmaceutical, but the pharmacy cum newspaper/magazine stand, gift shop, vet supplies, the occasional shelf of groceries, and newly added, some belly dancers' jingly belts and a few glamourous sheer scarves, shirred through silver rings with bells and chimes attached. I buy one of these scarves for a beautiful granddaughter, and even consider the belly dancers' jingly thing-a-ma-jig, but decide against it......

When I come home I hear on the weather report a forecast for snow for the next FIVE DAYS - I am elated. It has been such a satisfying afternoon! And here it is Happy Hour already....

For supper I cook a wonderful hamburger that Frank had mixed together with some kind of copacetic genius, and during the evening, while I have been writing this, Charles turned up the television and I quickly went to listen to the most magical wild and tempestuous music, - two violins, a viola and a cello, played with such a fusion of concentration and abandon by four young people from the Chan Centre in Vancouver. I was totally bewitched.

It's been one of those lovely days, and when I lock the doors for the night I will be sure to look and see if the snow has arrived!

2012-01-09T20:27:00.000-08:00

ABC Wednesday
January 11th, 2012

Whoa - we've come to the end of the alphabet, - the Zinging Z

Z stands for Zip-a-dee-doo-da

Enjoy!! There is no encore.

For more exciting Zs click here to go to Mrs. Nesbitt's

ABC Wednesday

2012-01-08T20:59:00.000-08:00

Sunday, January 8th, 2012

For just a little while this morning the world was pure and white, unmarked and magical.

A neighbour's cat made dainty tracks across the white expanse of lawn (not a very big expanse, - it is only a small lawn) investigating the bird feeders and upsetting Miss Callie no end, as she perched on the top of the sofa and peered through the slats of the blind....

The snow hung heavily on the everygreens that reach across the side fence

and through the kitchen window I followed the twisted and unpruned branches that in summer

filter the sunlight from the west - still beautiful in their bareness and a convenient place

for quail and small birds to visit while I do kitchen chores....

Dorothy and Frank came for morning coffee, - we went to dress, and as we

stepped out the door to walk to church (Charles rode on his cart)

we heard the church bell ring across the snowy lane.

The plants in the garden shivered with delight!! Finally, a beautiful

white coverlet to keep them warm until the sun resumes its summery task....

2012-01-06T19:49:00.000-08:00

January 6th, 2012

The Day of Epiphany

O sages standing in God's holy fire

As in the gold mosaic of a wall,

Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,

And be the singing-masters of my soul.

W.B. Yeats

Twelfth Night and I have now laid the Christmas tree and all its precious

ornaments to rest, - wrapped in tissue, and passing through my hands together with the memories of where each angel, each Santa, each glistening bird came from.

I started early with Christmas decorations, nostalgic for Christmases past

as we made this new home our own.

No great Twelfth Night Party here tonight, but somehow I have

this wonderful feeling of Epiphany - Epiphany as light and manifestation

and something akin to the feeling that September brings.

The summer is over, as is the great festival of Christmas. and there is a

feeling of energy and enthusiasm and plans.

The house has a aura of simplicity, - the Christmas table has been shortened, the white linens put away, along with the silver and the company dishes.

I have a little list of things to do. I know from experience that all of them

will not get done, but that's o.k., - I will prioritize them according to

pleasure and expediency and the light that each one

of them will bring into our lives.

I have left the stained glass angel and the two snowflakes

hanging in the window, and the amaryllis, along with the white hellebores

I couldn't resist. They will cheer the path to spring and daffodils.

2012-01-03T10:24:00.000-08:00

ABC Wednesday
January 4th, 2012

The letter this week is the curious Y
Why, you ask? - well just because we are coming to the end of the alphabet and have only one more week to go in Round 9 of ABC Wednesday, kindly sponsored by Mrs. Nesbitt and her Young-at-heart helpers.

Y is for Yahk - located in the southern end of the East Kootenays along the beautiful Moyie River Yahk is a small B.C. town where Charles and I once spent a few winter months about sixty three years ago, when he was working on the construction of a bridge leading into town and I was pregnant with our second child. What I remember is the snow, and the woods and the incredible kindness of the residents of the town who remembered to tell Santa about our two year old son who would be attending the annual Christmas party. And I remember all the mittens I knitted for Christmas presents, because this was how my hands coped with empty time....

The Goat Soap company in Yahk

Years later David and Nicola who now make wooden rings in the wilds of the Cariboo, were a vibrant presence in this town, and I'm sure have many wonderful remembrances of the people who live there and the woods and the snow and the history of the place. Amongst their friends was a far removed cousin whose shared ancestors came to Canada as United Empire Loyalists circa 1775.

Yahk has a great railroading history and at the time we were there steam engines still pulled the railroad cars through the mountains of the Kootenays.

It is a quiet town now, - a pleasant backwater where nature is the chief tourist attraction. HOWEVER - rumour has it that Yahk benefited from more than railroading and lumbering, and the dilapidated provincial police barrack and gaol built in 1919 does not live out its days for nothing. When in 1919 Woodrow Wilson signed into law the Volsted Act that brought prohibition to the United States it immediately became 'corruptngly profitable' to distil booze in southern B.C. and run it south. 'Yahk, in such close proximity to the border, was a handy location for stills, and numerous caches of liquor are said to have been secreted in the vicinity awaiting trans-shipment.'

On dark nights powerful Oldsmobiles, souped-up and concealing tanks in their trunks and under their back seats, roared down the highway into Idaho, while reliable Fords, similarly outfitted, stole quietly along back-woods trails to slip undetected across the Border. Of the hundred of thousands of dollars that changed hands, much of it flowed through Yahk, and secret stashes are whispered to lie there yet in those woods, awaiting the return of long-gone smugglers.

Overnight, on December 5th, 1933 when FDR signed the order repealing the misgided Act, Yahk lost its illicit income and now the secret stashes are good only to attract visitors to the area!!

If you would like to read more about the letter Y visit the postings here, at Mrs. Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday .

2011-12-31T22:15:00.000-08:00

New Year's Eve 2011

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

an excerpt from a verse by
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

And here we are, on the cusp of a new year with all that it promises,
each day anew.
We start out the year tenuously, well aware of early birthdays
that will see us twelve months along on this adventurous journey.

The small creeks that joined us to the river of life are widening out into
a placid estuary, and each day we strive for serenity,
ever grateful for the love that surrounds us,
the small boats that guide us,
and look, - look, oh look! the stars shine.

We move towards spring.
Small stirrings in the earth, warmed by a returning sun.

Soon the sap will rise again and it will be the time of the Pussy Willow!

I'm with Poe - hope springs eternal!!!!

and now I am off to see the new year in with the beloved.

Happy new year to all dear folk.

2011-12-27T18:59:00.000-08:00

ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is the eXtraordinary X

X is for the kissy part of....

Charles and I have six children, who in their early years made lovely homemade cards for Mum and Dad, signed with OXOXOXOXs (hugs and kisses), and now bring beautiful sentimental cards, more sophisticated in their wording, but still with those fond hugs and kisses across the bottom, which dampen the eyes, just a smidgin, and make you think it has all been worthwhile.....

Add to that the dear cards that arrive on special occasions from fourteen grandchildren, and you will know that we have boxes and boxes of loving OXOXOXOXOXs. What could be sweeter......

Thanks to Mr. Google for the illustrations.

For more Xamples of the letter X visit here at ABC Wednesday, with

thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her eXcellent helpers.

P.S. Xmas kisses are especially nice.

2011-12-25T10:44:00.000-08:00

We are buried in the splendid confusion of Christmas,

but from the depths of wonderment

Charles and I wish you all the peace and happiness and joy

that this day brings,

- and our earnest wish that it continues for each one of you

as often as reality allows throughout the coming year.

Off to stuff the bird......

A very Merry Christmas to all!!!

2011-12-21T09:51:00.000-08:00

ABC Wednesday
The letter W

W stands for Whiskers

Out of four sons three of them have whiskers, but the well trimmed kind that make them look distinguished, and not anything as wild as this.....

the Brad Pitt beard, which is said to turn the ladies on, but looks a little unkempt to me

and they don't look like this, which IMHO has no pizzazz at all, but just looks

as if the gentleman in question was too lazy to shave, but thinks he

looks attractive in a manly, woodsy way.

Miss Callie sports whiskers like this, and is terribly glamorous

and sensitive to what goes on around her.

For more interpretations of the letter W

visit here at ABC Wednesday

with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt

and her Willing

helpers.

2011-12-18T18:17:00.000-08:00

A Christmas Letter. December, 2011

This year, more than any year,we have a great nostalgia for Christmas!

The wonders of a childhoodChristmas when, if we got up early enough in the city before the tracks of themilkman’s horses had disappeared, we could imagine a flight of reindeer; alittle old driver, so lively and quick, springing into the early morningshadows where the Christmas tree glimmered with shimmery globes, enjoying hismilk and cookies and leaving small gifts, precious, but never extravagant.

We remember Christmas when thechildren were at home, - the magic when they were small, and wide-eyed; cominghome from Christmas Eve services, feeling the holiness of the night and thenthe tender task of filling Christmas stockings. First the orange, down in the toe, and then the sweets and the candycanes and the small presents; the littlewarm bodies, so eager with anticipation and probably a few, at least, just feigning sleep….

Lovely memories, and now this year, quite ancient, we havemoved into town, - and although thetimes that make us nostalgic are in the distant past, and for many Christmashas become quite secular, still we see the same wonder in the eyes of our greatgrands and it seems, for the very young, the magic of Christmas is stillpalpable.

We hopeit is that way for you, too.

We arein a dear house with a small, manageable garden which has all the flowers ourhearts desire, - Roses, peonies, poppies, delphinium, daisies, lilies and amarvelous Rose of Sharon. Charles’ mode of transport about town, in goodweather, is his electric cart, which takes him to sing and play bridge andsocialize. Life is good.

And thedoor is always open to friends and loved ones.

Lovingwishes for happiness at Christmas and in the New Year.

2011-12-15T11:12:00.000-08:00

December 15th, 2001

I pick up the butterfly cane and make off to the Post Office with the last of the Grandchildren's parcels.

On the way I pass the church and see Paul and Christine with a ladder to the roof, reaching to the bell tower where the old train bell is being very balky and needs greasing. A few years ago our son, Sid, built a lovely new bell tower in his steel shop to replace the old, but decrepit original, and the tower was dedicated to God and to the memory of the two brothers Charles lost in World War 11. I am warmed by what these young people are doing, as they look forward to hearing the bell on Christmas Day and ringing in the New Year, and I know that Charles will be so pleased.

I continue on to the Post Office, where the subject is the nippy weather, - but 'no snow yet, thank goodness', goes echoing around from one Christmas mailer to another! I say nothing - to me, a prairie girl, it is not winter until it snows, and certainly not Christmas!

As I come from the P.O. I hear the bell!! Tentative at first, but then pealing quite gloriously.....well, as gloriously as an old train bell can manage...

This morning we waken to snow!!!!! Beautiful.....

Life is good.

2011-12-12T20:02:00.000-08:00

ABC Wednesday
December 14th, 2011

V is the letter of the day.

V is for Victrola

When I was Very young we had a wind-up Victrola that lived downstairs next to my father's crystal radio.

When I was a little older we acquired a real radio, but we still went downstairs to wind up the Victrola, put on some old records and dance a bit. The old Victrola was quite magical......

Now people read on Kindles, do amazing things with telephones, write blogs that the whole world can read, if they are so inclined, and I think how my mother would shake her head and say, 'My word, what next'!

For more V stories visit here at ABC Wednesday, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her Very Versatile aides.

2011-12-12T16:30:00.000-08:00

Everything is copacetic!

Well, most things are copacetic......

The Amazon order arrived in the mail in time for my own mailing of parcels, as did the National Geographic envelope.

|Last evening I rummaged around in all the leftover wrappings and stickers and ribbons from last Christmas, weaseled my way through a cupboard filled with presents to reach the sturdy card table, set it up next to my computer and a nice source of music and went off to bed quite pleased with myself.

This morning I got up and made shortbread, some with almond bits and some with ginger, and they all baked beautifully and are ready to stuff into Christmas bags....

Sometimes life is just, well, - copacetic. I am off to take a walk over town to look at some children's books as a last present purchase..... I shall take my cane with the butterflies on it! And come home and pack boxes to mail tomorrow.

2011-12-09T21:28:00.001-08:00

Friday, December 9th.

A beautiful, crisp, sunny December day. No wind!

Out for lunch with the volunteers at the Bargain Centre, - 19 of us all dressed up in Christmas finery, and full of a spirit of gratefulness and appreciation for their wonderful help, given with such good humour and kindness.

I rather feel that I have been on a Sabbatical, - or else I have been stuck at an intersection, not being able to quite get the gears in forward movement. However, whilst I have been neglecting this blogspot I have written the Christmas letter, mailed all the Christmas cards, bought most of the Christmas presents, made big, fat buttery shortbreads for Christmas bake sales, and decorated the house!

The stained glass angel and snowflakes that we bought last year catch the low sunlight, skimming the hills. I planted the paperwhites a little early, and didn't experiment with feeding them hard liquor to stunt their growth, so now they are bending their sweet white heads, a little awkwardly, I must admit.

If they are past their best shelf life on Christmas day there are a couple of amaryllis that should join our celebration and brighten these diminished winter days.

I am about to go and do the late evening chores in the kitchen so we can get up to freshly brewed coffee in the morning - early, early tomorrow morning to try to catch the moon in eclipse. It shone so splendidly tonight in a cloudless sky, with a few of the brighter stars to accompany it on its westward journey.

2011-12-06T10:59:00.001-08:00

ABC Wednesday
December 7th, 2011

The letter this week is U
Not many U's in the dictionary, but here is an absolutely marvelous one....

U is for Ustinov.......Peter Ustinov

A two times Academy Award winning film actor, director, writer, journalist and raconteur. And it is as a raconteur I wish to entertain you with a few witty Ustinov quotes, and a wonderful video in which he recounts a tale of his mother's encounter with Queen Mary.

First the quotes.....

I am an optimist, unrepentant and militant. After all, in order not to be a fool an optimist must know how sad a place the world can be. It is only the pessimist who finds this out anew every day.

At the age of four with paper hats and wooden swords we're all Generals. Only some of us never grow out of it.

It is our responsibilities, not ourselves, that we should take seriously.

Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit.

I was irrevocably betrothed to laughter, the sound of which has always seemed to me the most civilized music in the world.

For more U tales visit here at ABC Wednesday and have a wonderful visit all around.....

2011-11-29T11:02:00.001-08:00

ABC Wednesday

The Letter T - for Tennyson

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

Poet Laureate in the U.K. for much of Queen Victoria's reign, - a prolific writer, many of whose quotes are familiar in conversation and literature to the present day.

Tennyson

Now sleeps the crimson petal

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;

Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;

Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:

The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,

And like a ghost she glimmers on to me

Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars,

And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves

A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,

And slips into the bosom of the lake:

So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip

into my bosom and be lost in me.

Varsity Glee Club

For more T's trip over to ABC Wednesday, here.

2011-11-22T18:50:00.001-08:00

ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is the Sophisticated S

Ella Fitzgerald
Singing

Sophisticated Lady

Sensational

Do go and visit ABC Wednesday here

for more wonderful S stories.

2011-11-21T20:08:00.001-08:00

Is it too early to plant the paper whites? Will they be past their prime by Christmas Day? Regardless, today the spirit moved me!!!

I planted a dozen bulbs in a shallow blue bowl

and hope they will look like this....

or perhaps a little shorter if we use the alcohol treatment!

I think I mentioned the alcohol treatment before.

It is recommended following the results of a research program

conducted by William A. Miller, Professor of Horticulture at Cornell University

and a number of his students.

Here is the gen.....

Plant the bulbs in stones and water, as usual

After a week, when the roots have started to spread,

pour off the water and replace it with a solution of 4 to 6% alcohol

made from HARD liquor (this is important)

To get a 5% solution from a 40% distilled spirit you add one part of alcohol

to 7 parts of water, and use this solution for further watering as needed.

Moderation is the keyword, - don't increase the percentage

of alcohol above 10%!

Plants suffer from alcohol poisoning too!

Rubbing alcohol works just as well, if you can't bear to use your scotch or rum

on a bowl of bulbs, but as it is usually 70% alcohol

when bought 1 part of alcohol to 10 or 11 parts of water

is sufficient!!!!!!

I rather liked the idea of individual bulbs in glasses, on a window sill

or in front of a mirror - perhaps I will see if we can go to the plant shop tomorrow

when we go to town.....????

2011-11-19T18:23:00.001-08:00

Four Months....

One would think we would be well settled in by now, but I think the time it takes to be confident that you are at home with all your belongings is a relevant thing, completely proportionate to age.

You know where the knives and forks are kept, where the bed linens live and the very essential bathroom items are pretty well right to hand, and under control, but occasionally you wonder about certain things and you vaguely remember having seen them, but was it here, in the house on the hill, or does your vision stretch right back to what shelf or cupboard housed them on the farm????

I have lost my knitting needle case, - the long. silver cylinder that my mother kept her knitting needles in and which I have used ever since she died. I am relying on bits and pieces of needles that I pick up at the Bargain Centre to tide me over, but it MUST be somewhere, - perhaps in the weaving trailer which still picks up the sunshine and the wide stretch of valley up on the hill; full of looms and yarn and forty years accumulation of weaving paraphernalia. I must go and see, - maybe tomorrow....

I have reached the point where I feel the need to open each cupboard and drawer, empty them out, contemplate them, catalogue their contents in my mind and put them all back, duly noted. They were so quickly filled up, those busy moving days, as the boxes came in and were emptied, put into drawers and on shelves.

Charles has spent a couple of these snowy mornings going through things that he swept into boxes at the last possible moment. and having a lovely time reminiscing and putting things safely away. Will he remember where he put them? Ah, there's the rub.....

The Christmas linens, - where are they now?? I have been following a backward path to when I last saw them, just before the big unsettling day arrived. Still with some fragile things to pack and no packing paper available I can remember taking them off the shelf in the linen closet and wrapping things safely, - but what things?? Oh, that escapes me, but what I do know is that the tablecloths and napkins are not in the linen closet here, or in any other drawers or chests or basket or box. So I continue my backward journey and perhaps in the middle of the night I will waken with an ancient Greek eureka moment, and the Christmas table will be set with the old familiar linens.

If not, I still have a couple of damask cloths, but such a devil to iron, - sigh.......

John Singleton Copley

2011-11-14T21:27:00.001-08:00

ABC Wednesday
The letter this week is the Regal R
R is for Rhinoceros

You may have read this story before,

but even if that is so, another reading

is sure to delight you...

A Just So Story by Rudyard Kipling

HOW THE RHINOCEROS GOT HIS SKIN

NCE upon a time, on an uninhabited island on the shores of the Red Sea, there lived a Parsee from whose hat the rays of the sun were reflected in more-than-oriental splendour. And the Parsee lived by the Red Sea with nothing but his hat and his knife and a cooking-stove of the kind that you must particularly never touch. And one day he took flour and water and currants and plums and sugar and things, and made himself one cake which was two feet across and three feet thick. It was indeed a Superior Comestible (that's magic), and he put it on the stove because he was allowed to cook on that stove, and he baked it and he baked it till it was all done brown and smelt most sentimental. But just as he was going to eat it there came down to the beach from the Altogether Uninhabited Interior one Rhinoceros with a horn on his nose, two piggy eyes, and few manners. In those days the Rhinoceros's skin fitted him quite tight. There were no wrinkles in it anywhere. He looked exactly like a Noah's Ark Rhinoceros, but of course much bigger. All the same, he had no manners then, and he has no manners now, and he never will have any manners. He said, 'How!' and the Parsee left that cake and climbed to the top of a palm tree with nothing on but his hat, from which the rays of the sun were always reflected in more-than-oriental splendour. And the Rhinoceros upset the oil-stove with his nose, and the cake rolled on the sand, and he spiked that cake on the horn of his nose, and he ate it, and he went away, waving his tail, to the desolate and Exclusively Uninhabited Interior which abuts on the islands of Mazanderan, Socotra, and the Promontories of the Larger Equinox. Then the Parsee came down from his palm-tree and put the stove on its legs and recited the following Sloka, which, as you have not heard, I will now proceed to relate:--

Them that takes cakes
Which the Parsee-man bakes
Makes dreadful mistakes.

THIS is the picture of the Parsee beginning to eat his cake on the Uninhabited Island in the Red Sea on a very hot day; and of the Rhinoceros coming down from the Altogether Uninhabited Interior, which, as you can truthfully see, is all rocky. The Rhinoceros's skin is quite smooth, and the three buttons that button it up are underneath, so you can't see them. The squiggly things on the Parsee's hat are the rays of the sun reflected in more-than-oriental splendour, because if I had drawn real rays they would have filled up all the picture. The cake has currants in it; and the wheel-thing lying on the sand in front belonged to one of Pharaoh's chariots when he tried to cross the Red Sea. The Parsee found it, and kept it to play with. The Parsee's name was Pestonjee Bomonjee, and the Rhinoceros was called Strorks, because he breathed through his mouth instead of his nose. I wouldn't ask anything about the cooking-stove if I were you.

And there was a great deal more in that than you would think.
Because, five weeks later, there was a heat wave in the Red Sea, and everybody took off all the clothes they had. The Parsee took off his hat; but the Rhinoceros took off his skin and carried it over his shoulder as he came down to the beach to bathe. In those days it buttoned underneath with three buttons and looked like a waterproof. He said nothing whatever about the Parsee's cake, because he had eaten it all; and he never had any manners, then, since, or henceforward. He waddled straight into the water and blew bubbles through his nose, leaving his skin on the beach.
Presently the Parsee came by and found the skin, and he smiled one smile that ran all round his face two times. Then he danced three times round the skin and rubbed his hands. Then he went to his camp and filled his hat with cake-crumbs, for the Parsee never ate anything but cake, and never swept out his camp. He took that skin, and he shook that skin, and he scrubbed that skin, and he rubbed that skin just as full of old, dry, stale, tickly cake-crumbs and some burned currants as ever it could possibly hold. Then he climbed to the top of his palm-tree and waited for the Rhinoceros to come out of the water and put it on.

THIS is the Parsee Pestonjee Bomonjee sitting in his palm-tree and watching the Rhinoceros Strorks bathing near the beach of the Altogether Uninhabited Island after Strorks had taken off his skin. The Parsee has put the cake-crumbs into the skin, and he is smiling to think how they will tickle Strorks when Strorks puts it on again. The skin is just under the rocks below the palm-tree in a cool place; that is why you can't see it. The Parsee is wearing a new more-than-oriental-splendour hat of the sort that Parsees wear; and he has a knife in his hand to cut his name on palm-trees. The black things on the islands out at sea are bits of ships that got wrecked going down the Red Sea; but all the passengers were saved and went home.
The black thing in the water close to the shore is not a wreck at all. It is Strorks the Rhinoceros bathing without his skin. He was just as black underneath his skin as he was outside. I wouldn't ask anything about the cooking-stove if I were you.

And the Rhinoceros did. He buttoned it up with the three buttons, and it tickled like cake crumbs in bed. Then he wanted to scratch, but that made it worse; and then he lay down on the sands and rolled and rolled and rolled, and every time he rolled the cake crumbs tickled him worse and worse and worse. Then he ran to the palm-tree and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed himself against it. He rubbed so much and so hard that he rubbed his skin into a great fold over his shoulders, and another fold underneath, where the buttons used to be (but he rubbed the buttons off), and he rubbed some more folds over his legs. And it spoiled his temper, but it didn't make the least difference to the cake-crumbs. They were inside his skin and they tickled. So he went home, very angry indeed and horribly scratchy; and from that day to this every rhinoceros has great folds in his skin and a very bad temper, all on account of the cake-crumbs inside.
But the Parsee came down from his palm-tree, wearing his hat, from which the rays of the sun were reflected in more-than-oriental splendour, packed up his cooking-stove, and went away in the direction of Orotavo, Amygdala, the Upland Meadows of Anantarivo, and the Marshes of Sonaput.

THIS Uninhabited Island
Is off Cape Gardafui,
By the Beaches of Socotra
And the Pink Arabian Sea:
But it's hot--too hot from Suez
For the likes of you and me
Ever to go
In a P. and O.
And call on the Cake-Parsee!

More wonderful tales of the letter R can be found here, at ABC Wednesday, and this grand story by Rudyard Kipling can be found at Sir Google's address here http://boop.org/jan/justso/rhino.htm.

2011-11-12T22:08:00.001-08:00

Sunday, November 13th, 2001

We are swept away by the wonderful help we get from our family, and the most recent was quite magical, - I am sure it involved a wand in the hands of a speedy son, here on holiday from the Caribou, and a flash-by grandson.

They arrived mid afternoon and by supper time had transferred the garage-cum-workshop into the neatest, tidiest space with room for the SUV in the midst of all the things that survived the Great Downsizing.

Christmas decorations, wrappings and ribbons flew up the lift from the garage into the walk-in closet. Pictures that have not yet been hung went down into that lovely cemented space under the house, along with a half a dozen boxes whose contents haven't yet found a place to perch.

Suddenly all of Charles' bits and pieces. and his thousands of small tools that he cherishes and just might use someday, found a home on the shelves that line the west side of the garage and the pegboard they hung on the wall.

David went out and measured the SUV, - came in and measured the free space in the garage, and all was well! Home for the vehicle, out of the wet snow that fell this afternoon!! When ladies get ancient one of the things that have little appeal for them is sweeping the snow from the car, and chipping the ice from the windshield. I have become thoroughly spoiled with a nice dry garage, and am not prepared to give up this enormous luxury!!

Thank you, you lovely, big, strapping elves!!!

In case you materialize around here again, my dear wizards, I am on the lookout for the Christmas lights whose 'putting up' requires an agility that doesn't live in this house any more, alas..............

2011-11-12T10:43:00.001-08:00

Remembrance Day ina Small Town

Late afternoon onthe 10th of November when Charles starts looking for the new can of Never Dull,brings out the old toothbrush, the sliding thing he slips under medals toprotect the ribbons, and last of all the Medals and the small and precioussilver wings.

While he shinesand polishes (the spitting comes later when he does the shoes) I re-sewthe Squadron Emblem on the pocket of his jacket.

This is all indeference to our slower pace, - time was when Remembrance Day morning was awhirlwind of activity, but we move slower now, and find it best to start a dayearly.

As we prepare, theloss of Charles' two brothers in France and in Holland is ever present in ourthoughts.

And I think of myfather who was wounded at Cambrai a month before the signing of the Armisticein 1918, and how the effects of that wound left him walking with a cane for thelast twenty years of his life.

Shortly after teno'clock on the 11th Charles is looking pretty handsome and spiffy for an oldVet. He has received phone calls, e-mails and loving hugs from children whoknow how important this day has always been to him, and never fail to expresstheir love and understanding.

We leave the house,hoping to get a parking spot close to where he will take part in theRemembrance Day service by reading the Names of the Fallen and citing the Actof Remembrance.

There is a coldwind blowing. People begin to gather, well scarved and hatted - many of themcarrying wreaths. Friends and family stop to chat as we wait in the SUV for thefirst signs of the Parade. The crowd grows thicker (the owner of the town'sgrocery store says 400)

The Legion memberswho will conduct the service test the sound system and attend to last minutedetails around the Cenotaph.

There - we hearthe music which accompanies the parade and led by red coated RCMP (no horsesthis year) the Colour Party, the Army Cadets, the Veterans who are still ableto march, the Legion members, our oldest son, Steve, a peacetime veteran, the Brownies and Guides and Cubs and Scouts, theElks, the Royal Purples and other Service Club members all right turn on to thegrass and march acrossthe park to the Cenotaph.

At one time therow of Veterans was long, and stretched for over a city block. Now there areonly a handful in the Parade, a few more in wheelchairs and on crutches, butall intent on honouring those of their dead comrades who once, in the nowdistant past, were like brothers to them, still enshrined in their hearts.

The wind scattersleaves and causes collars to be raised. Everyone takes their place, and theservice begins.

A wonderfullystrong voice leads the singing of O Canada. There are prayers, and a poemwritten by a young student in the high school.

The Army Cadetswho stand at each corner of the Cenotaph lower their Arms and Charles reads theNames of the Fallen Comrades.

The Bugler playsthe Last Post and the flag is lowered.

The two minutes ofsilence is poignant, and heavy with emotion.

And after theLament and Reveille,

The Act ofRemembrance.

They shall notgrow old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, or the yearscondemn.
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we shall remember them.

The tribute to theFallen, the Laying of the Wreaths, the reading of a Remembrance poem and thesinging of 'O God, our Help in Ages Past'.

The wind comes ingusts and chases the clouds around the sky, creating small gaps that allow alittle sunshine through. Fingers and toes grow cold but people remain to theend, as they honour lost loved ones and those who died to make the presentmoments possible.

After 'The Queen'the parade marches off, - the crowd disperses and makes their way to the LegionHall. Charles and I linger to talk to family and old friends.

When we arrive atthe Hall we find a great long line-up of shivery people waiting for HotRums....

There is Beef Stewand wonderful warm Chili provided by the Legion.

Four long rows oftables are crowded with adults, - next door at the Elks Home the children havecookies and cocoa. People linger, talking, exchanging memories, up-dating news.Gradually the crowd thins. Some people go home, - others make their waydownstairs for an afternoon of comradeship, old time tunes, dancing, a littleKaraoke and a wonderful air of good fellowship.

During theafternoon the Legion Brass visit, the Mayor says a few words, - unfortunatelythere are no pipers this year, but often we are included in their rounds ofvarious Remembrance Day services.

Years have passedsince our first Remembrance Days in this town, when the Veterans were young andplentiful and glasses were raised to comrades just a few years dead.

In later years Charles and others took rum and comradeship during the afternoon to veteransconfined to their homes, coming back if not three sheets to the wind, at leasttwo and a half.....

Now the Veteranfinds himself a little 'out of the loop,' - honoured, and thanked, - questionedand perhaps even held in awe in some cases, but very conscious of being ofanother generation. Our appreciation is great for the Legion members who makethis Day so special, and for all who Remember....

Well, this is how itis in one small town, and probably to a great extent the happenings would befamiliar in hundreds of other small towns.... a people expressing their sorrow,their love and their need to pay honour to the Valiant hearts. And in doing sogathering closer together.....

(The pictures are from yesterday, but many of the words are archived from a Remembrance Day post of 2008 - still relevant to the honour a small town pays to those who 'gave their todays for our tomorrows' )

2011-11-09T21:11:00.001-08:00

Nov. 9th, 2011

November comes to visit

Amy Hopp.com

We go to the house on the hill to admire the work of the floor installers as they lay 'Whiskey' laminate throughout the house, - completed pictures to follow. Soon.......

It has been a dull day. November tires of lurking in the hills and comes to visit the valley folk, bringing with him a dusting of snow in the early morning and dire portents of miserable days to follow. There is no sun to catch the shadows in the hills or to highlight the rolling meadows of fall grasses.

Frost lends a more subtle air to the garden that last week glowed gloriously in the sun.

Remnants of the morning snow embroider the sedum

and the last roses, a little tattered, a little torn, but still icily delicate

plump rose hips mark a memorial to their June sisters

The climber at the garden gate is surrounded with the rich shades of autumn

and along the way the small furled leaves of the burning bush turn wine and rose and crimson

By the time we leave to come down the hill into town, and home, November has relented, and sent a few fluffy clouds and small patches of blue sky to ease us gently into this melancholy month.

Tomorrow we will shine shoes and medals, press jackets and knife sharp trousers, in preparation for Remembrance Day on Friday.

2011-11-07T21:50:00.000-08:00

ABC Wednesday
November 9th, 2011

Q is the favoured letter this week

I have always been fond of words that begin with Q. Quicken, quiver, quaver, quintessence, quiet, quail, quest. quip, quietism, quicksilver - they all have a rather old fashioned romanticism to my ear.

And then there is Quatorzain, a poetic term used in English literature, as opposed to 'sonnet' for a poem in fourteen rhymed iambic lines.

The difference being, the Quatorzain ends in a couplet, as a sonnet never does. Almost all the 'sonnets' of the Elizabethan period, including those of Shakespeare, Sidney and Spenser, are really Quatorzains, consisting of three quatrains of alternate rhyme, and the whole closing with a couplet.

This book will tell you all about the differences in the two forms!

Here is a perfect example of a Quatorzain, published by Michael Drayton in 1602.

Dear, why should you commend me to my rest,
When now the night doth summon all to sleep?

Methinks this time becometh lovers best;
Night was ordained together friends to keep.

How happy are all other living things
Which through the day conjoin by several flight,
The quiet evening yet together brings,
And each returns unto his love at night,
O thou that art so courteous unto all
Why should'st thou, Night, abuse me only thus,
That every creature to his kind dost call,
And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us?

Well could I wish it would be ever day,
If, when night comes, you bid me go away.

This small bit of information about the forms of sonnets and quatorzains may not be something you have been aching to know, but please do enjoy the poem, and the poet's lament at being separated from his loved one when night falls.

For more interesting interpretations of the letter Q visit here at ABC Wednesday with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her Quaint helpers.

2011-11-06T21:48:00.000-08:00

Sunday, November 6th, 2011

The skies are a brilliant blue and against their depth the trees who have not yet cast their golden leaves are burnished by the fugitive sunlight. The rest of them have dropped their glowing funeral gowns and raise naked arms into the November air.

Nights are chilly and I pull a warm woolen blanket over the pots of geraniums that

hug the house for warmth.

"This is the treacherous month when autumn days

with summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.

Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts

her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze

makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,

and, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,

The violet returns........"

Helen Hunt Jackson, Autumn Sonnet an excerpt

Friday afternoon I made a quick trip to the garden on the hill, looking for the remnants of the rust and wine chrysanthemums that linger long into November. Across the path I saw a valiant poppy, brave against the night frosts and crumpled crimson with defiance. Two more fat round buds lay nestled in the fresh greenery of second growth.

I brought the poppy home and took it to the church today for Remembrance Sunday.

2011-11-03T09:15:00.000-07:00

It is time to take the dried leaves out of the pumpkin man and fold him away for another Halloween. He did yeoman duty, greeting the little princesses (a plethora of them - or was it a bevy?) and the frog that accompanied one of them - the witches and the ghosts, a warrior from space and a bluetailed dragon.

As soon as the day warms up we will scrunch up the leaves and spread them on the newly planted flower bed in the back garden. November is being very gentle with us, so far. Well, yesterday he fell prey to temptation and sent a rather strong and chilly wind to remind us he is on his way down the hills and into the valley, but on the whole there is a little period in the middle of the day when it is a joy to be outside.

It is true that November is rather a dreary month, but there are two ways of enduring it. Cyril Connolly, an English author and a bright positive fellow, says that 'fallen leaves lying on the grass in the November sun bring more happiness than the daffodils'

while T.S. Eliot bemoans 'since golden October declined into sombre November / And the apples were gathered and stored, and the land became brown sharp points of death in a waste of water and mud.........' Eliot can be quite miserable.

I will go with Cyril this day. The sun is just above the horizon and the clouds are shining silver above it.

It looks like a perfect day to muck about!!!

2011-11-01T12:57:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday

The letter P

P is for Paderewski

and here is Ignacy Jan Paderewski playing Frederic Chopin; a Nocturne, A Waltz and his beautiful Etude in A Minor, Opus 25/11

Paderewski was a famous Polish pianist, who from his early childhood had a great interest in music. He

made his musical debut im Vienna in 1887 and his brilliant playing inspired extravagant praise both in Europe and the United States.

During World War 1 Paderewski became an active member and spokesman of the Polish National Committee and in 1919 he became the Prime Minister of a newly independent Poland,and subsequently the Polish Ambassador to the League of Nations.

In 1922 he retired from politics and returned to his musical life, touring the United States

in a private railway car with great success. He was a wit, and a raconteur, and he once recalled "I established a certain standard of behaviour, that, during my playing, there must be no talking. When they began to talk I would stop. I would say 'I am sorry to interrupt your conversation. I deeply regret that I am obliged to disturb you, so I am going to stop for a while to allow you to continue talking'. an effective ploy.

Paderewski died in 1941, still touring, still delighting his audience with his brilliant playing......

For more Perfect Ps visit here at ABC Wednesday.

2011-10-27T21:36:00.000-07:00

Thursday, October 27th, 2011

We are going to town this morning. We have made out a list and checked the order of errands, culminating in Charles' visit to the ophthamologist for his second eye injection, which he assures me is nothing more than a faint little 'pinchy' feeling, and I take him at his word and hope it will do all the things that the doctor says it will in preserving his vision.

As I get ready to go my own vision is all too sharp. I am paying somewhat more attention to my face than I usually do when I notice, to my horror, a new wrinkle amongst all the others that I try valiantly to ignore. This one is across the bridge of my nose, and as I crinkle up my face to try to figure out how it arrived I see before me a real witch's face!!!! Has Halloween come early and have I been bewitched? Horrors!!!! But no, I uncrinkle my face, and there are all the old familiar 'character' lines, and I resolve that I will try to stay as serene as possible so the new wrinkle won't get any deeper!

I read a query recently to the effect that if God wanted women to have wrinkles, why didn't he arrange for them to appear on just the soles of their feet.....I thought that was a good question, deserving of a good answer.....

On the way to the City Charles is driving and I am taking pictures, but on the way back the late afternoon sun lights the trees so that they are glowing and I am not clever enough to take pictures while I drive. But I do nourish my love for autumn.....

We visit the garden shop where I buy some amaryllis to have for Christmas, and a few hyacinth's to make February brighter. While there I take this picture of a lovely two toned tree

and a wagon of pretty fall pansies, which I resisted.

An endearing day (except for the new wrinkle) but now it is time to go and do bedtime chores and say goodnight.

2011-10-26T21:59:00.001-07:00

October 27th, 2011Here is a little Smilebox presentation of pictures we took when we went for a drive along the Similkameen the other afternoon.It takes about thirteen minutes so you probably need a cup of tea or coffee if you want to see what fall is like this year in the Valley, - not as many reds, but lots of gold and orange and some beautiful reflections in the river. Music is by Thelonious Monk.

Personalize a free photo slideshow

2011-10-25T19:08:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday, October 27th, 2011

The letter this week is O

O stands for Jacques Offenbach who wrote this marvelous Galope Infernal taken from Act 2 Scene 2 of his operetta 'Orpheous in the Underworld', first performed in 1858.

Offenbach used Greek mythology as a backdrop, the operetta being an irreverent parody and scathing satire on Gluck and his 'Orfeo ed Euridice'.

It culminates in this risque galop infernal that shocked some in the audience at the premiere!!! It is famous outside classical circles as the music for the "Can-can. BTW, Saint-Saens borrowed the Galop, slowed it to a crawl, and arranged it for the strings to represent the tortoise in 'The Carnival of the Animals'.

But this is Offenbach's day, so do enjoy this rendition by the FernsehBallett, and visit here at ABC Wednesday for more interpretations of the letter O, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her 'orferly' good helpers.

2011-10-24T16:18:00.000-07:00

October 24th, 2011

Oxtail Soup

Today, as I waited to hear the results of #3 son's back surgery, I distracted myself by emptying and rearranging the freezer portion of the fridge, and while doing so came across a package of Oxtails.

Are Oxen a rare species, - certainly the cost of their tails is in the rarified atmosphere, somewhere close to the price of rubies!!! But they do make delicious soup - the tails, that is. I'm not sure of the whole oxen, - don't have a pot large enough!

The recipe I found online (why did I need an online recipe, - the one in the Purity Cook Book, circa 1920 is quite adequate)...nevertheless, the online recipe advised that one should cut the oxtail into one inch chunks. That was beyond me, - the bony part wouldn't co-operate, - so I floured and seasoned the pieces as they came from the Supermarket, browned them in some drippings and thought about what a delicious supper this soup was going to make.

Some nice diced and sauted onion, a couple of carrots and a stick of celery, a bay leaf, some thyme from the pot at the back door and a few sprigs of parsley tied up in a cheesecloth bag (what a time I had finding the cheesecloth after the big move...) a bit of beef broth and six cups of water, and I put it all on to simmer in my nice new red soup pot. Oh yes, I diced up a lovely fresh tomato as well, as I couldn't find any tomato paste.

Then I went away and saw Charles off to town, turned on the DVD and watched a video of the garden, sighing occasionally at the view we exchanged for the convenience and pleasures of town life.

Three hours later what an appealing odour filled the house - who knew ox tails could smell so delicious.

Supper is all ready, beautiful and tantalizing, and Happy Hour is upon us.

We still wait to hear about Sid's surgery, which the surgeon didn't get to until this afternoon......

2011-10-22T22:45:00.000-07:00

Saturday, all day long

It seemed this day was one without imagination. A dull day, with a lethargic spirit that somehow crept inside and inserted itself into the bracelet of bright autumn days that have encircled our lives. And so I went looking for inspiration to quieten the melancholy and return to some semblance of creativity and mindfulness, and came across this lovely poem by Mary Oliver.

Mocking Birds

This morning

two mockingbirds

in the green field

were spinning and tossing

the white ribbons

of their songs

into the air.

I had nothing

better to do than listen.

I mean this

seriously.

In Greece

a long time ago,

an old couple

opened their door

to two strangers

who were,

it soon appeared,

not men at all,

but gods

It is my favourite story

how the old couple

had almost nothing to give

but their willingness

to be attentive -

but for this alone

the gods loved them

and blessed them -

when they rose

out of their mortal bodies,

like a million particles of water

from a fountain,

the light

swept into all the corners

of the cottage,

and the old couple,

shaken with understanding,

bowed down -

but still they asked for nothing

but the difficult life which they had already.

And the gods smiled, as they vanished,

clapping their great wings.

Wherever it was

I was supposed to be

this morning -

whatever it was I said

I would be doing -

I was standing

at the edge of the field

I was hurrying

through my own soul,

opening its dark doors -

I was leaning out;

I was listening

2011-10-19T21:14:00.000-07:00

October 19th, 2011

From 'A Calendar of Sonnets'

October

The month of carnival of all the year,

When Nature lets the wild earth go its way

And spend whole seasons on a single day.

The spring-time holds her white and purple dear;

October, lavish, flaunts them far and near;

The summer charily her reds doth lay

Like jewels on her costliest array;

October, scornful, burns them on a bier.

The winter hoards his pearls of frost in sign

Of kingdom: whiter pearls than winter knew,

Or Empress wore, in Egypt's ancient line,

October, feasting 'neath her dome of blue,

Drinks at a single draught, slow filtered through

Sunshiny air, as in a tingling wine!

Helen Hunt Jackson

'O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained with the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit beneath my shady roof; there thou mayest rest and tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe, and all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers'. William Blake

Each day of sunshine is a blessing. I fill my soul with each cool, crisp hour; the quick movement of the birds in the garden, the sunlight through the leaves, transparent gold; my hands in the damp earth planting purple allium; fortifying myself with all this loveliness against the dreary days of November.

2011-10-18T11:18:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday
October 19th, 2011

The letter this week is N

N stands for Narcissus, and in particular for Narcissus Tazetta, or Paper Whites

paperwhites-teal-Miriam Schulman

A tradition at our house at Christmas, but it is always a problem to remember to buy them,

and then to remember to plant those lovely fat brown bulbs at just the right time, so they will be in their full glory at Christmas time.

Last week, when we were in Penticton, I went searching for paperwhite narcissus, but I was too early to find them on the shelves. However, they did have them in the back room, and now a couple of dozen are sitting in a cool place in the fridge, waiting for the time to gather the pots and the small stones, put them where the light will encouraged them, and wait for the wonderful fragrant purity of the flower.

Three weeks before Christmas should have them blooming on schedule.

One of the problems with paperwhites is their tendency to grow tall and graceful, - so graceful that they often fall over and have to be tied up with stray bits of Christmas ribbon.

I read now that adding a weak solution of alcohol to the water in the pots will somewhat stunt the height of the plants without affecting the blooms, and I think I might try this with a few bulbs.

Directions for doing this can be found here.

For more interpretations of the letter N go here, to ABC Wednesday, and say thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her kind helpers.

2011-10-17T20:51:00.000-07:00

October 17th, 2011

Another gorgeous October day - the sun shone and the sky donned its brightest flax blue gown. A few wispy clouds embroidered the edges, but on the whole it was blue skies all around.

On my visit to the grocery store and then along to pick up a little Orange Brandy and Scotch for Happy Hour I didn't see one dismal, miserable face. All smiles, smiling back at me.....

Smiling is infectious, you catch it like the flu. When someone smiled at me today I started smiling too.

I passed around the corner, and someone saw my grin. When he smiled I realized I'd passed it on to him.

A little Google poem, and I'm sorry there is no author listed.

Two doors down from us they have started to decorate with witches and pumpkins for a combination Halloween and Birthday party and across the street a few pumpkins line the picket fence.

This sent me on a 'witch' hunt and I found my old hanging witch in a box far back in the bedroom closet.

I have the witches boots and her long black robe; her broom and her peaked hat

which she can hang out on the porch while she comes in to refresh herself.

But alas, Evelyn, across the street, tells me that all Hallow's Eve will bring only a handful of elves and trolls and wee witches to call Trick or Treat on this street. You have to live up in the area by the school, where three or four hundred children will fly along one side of the road, and then down the other -filling their goodie bags and returning to the school for hot chocolate and Halloween cookies.

At one time all the grandchildren came back to the house where Grandma and Grandpa had morphed into a witch and a wizard, and had cocoa and cookies, but those days are just a lovely memory now.

Ah well, - it was still a gorgeous day, and the sunshine gilded the golden trees along the street.

I got out the long lens and took a picture of the Aspens in the Cawston Basin, cropped most of the telephone wires out of the picture and remembered the memorable morning Charles and I spent driving the old logging road to reach this golden wonderland, a couple of years ago.

I think it might rain tomorrow, but then again we might have one more sweet Indian Summer day

2011-10-15T20:40:00.000-07:00

Late News......Beijing

A Banner Year for the Division of the Chinese Underground Railway

that operates a diversified line in the Hillside Garden

in the Similkameen Valley

Circumstances showered blessings on this thriving suburban line

when it was discovered that the Hillside Garden

was not receiving the attention that had previously hindered

operations and that the former deterrent to our

productivity was absent for long stretches at a time

during the summer.

Nevertheless, she came to garner the spoils and to gather the Brilliant Lanterns

that amass along the line. It is understood they are

now hanging to dry in her new back yard before joining

a vase of Silver Dollars.

2011-10-12T20:17:00.000-07:00

October 12th, 2011

Bittersweet October.

The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause

between the opposing miseries of summer and winter.

Carol Bishop Hips

Such a beautiful month, and I can't believe how fast it is flying by. Our days have been filled with medical visits that take us up and over the Yellow Lake Pass where for the past eight months a friendly flagman has waved to each and every motorist who has waited, frustrated, while the rocky cliffs have been ground away to make a wide safe road the length of Yellow Lake

And some days we still sort and store as we try to accommodate all the precious paraphenalia we brought from the house on the hill.

Today was such a day, but delightful. Charles went singing, and early in the morning I had an aha moment about where we could put the old oak dining room table and chairs that have been languishing in the garage taking up room that the SUV will soon need when the weather grows cold. The buffet moved from the kitchen into the dining area. The high table and chairs took its place in the kitchen, and in a most serendipitous moment our oldest son and youngest grandson turned up to move the heavy oak table, and it all looks quite homey.....

Nice days keep happening. On Saturday we decorated the church, and on Sunday we expressed our thanksgiving for the great gifts we continue to be blessed with. A small church, and humble. but dear to our hearts after sixty years of worship and association.

In the afternoon Charles kept a singing date at the historic Grist Mill in Keremeos which dates back one hundred and fifty years (a long time for this young western valley). At the beginning it was the only mill in this southern part of B.C. and farmers came from as far away as Vernon at the northern end of the Okanagan Valley to have their grain milled into flour.

I left my camera at home, but a dear DIL had hers, and shared her pictures.

The Singers, - Charles and Steven in the background.

Only a few of them, but all in good voice and well received.

Photoshop and I spent a wonderful evening with these photos.

Out in the front garden where we put the blue iron swing whose top bar serves to hang all the bird feeders there is great fluttering and scattering of seeds.

Our first visitor was a Stellar Jay, but mainly the clientele is made up of finches and chickadees, thrushes and sparrows and robins.

And cleaning up all the scattered seed the quail from the neighbourhood have had the word and gather beneath the bar, lovely and plump and happy that the 6th Avenue cafe has opened.

Complete with spa for bathing......

2011-10-11T15:44:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday
October 11, 2011

We have reached the letter M already, - half way through this entertaining round of ABC Wednesday.

M is for Claude Monet and also for Edouard Manet, both French Impressionist Painters who became friends when they met in Paris.

Monet (1840 - 1926) was the founder of French Impressionist Painting, a style of painting which expresses one's perceptions before nature, especially in plein-air landscape painting.

Monet's impressionistic Sunrise

Eduoard Manet (1832 - 1883) broke new ground in choosing subjects from events and appearances of his own time and stressing "the arrangement of paint areas on a canvas over and above its function as representation" (Encyclopaedia Britannica) This painting of "Luncheon on the Grass" aroused public hostility because of the perceived scandalous presence of a naked lady in the company of two gentlemen, and the painting was refused exhibit in 1863. However it made Manet a hero in the eyes of other Impressionistic painters.

I have always admired these two painters, - especially Monet - and I have tried to incorporate his use of roses and blues and lilacs and other pastels in the garden, and even in our first kitchen on the farm where I painted cupboard drawers and doors in Monet colours.

For more interesting takes on the letter M visit here at ABC Wednesday with thanks to Mrs. Nesbit and her mates.

2011-10-05T19:19:00.000-07:00

October 5th, 2011

A rainy day......

Yesterday's clouds were a good indication of what we might expect today.

But nevertheless, when I had trouble getting to sleep last night I consoled myself with plans to visit
the hillside garden when Charles went singing this morning, gather up all the pots and collect the lovely loam we packed into them in the spring to make a bed for the day lilies that have been waiting restlessly in a big tub.

Instead, I cleaned the fridge. A real necessity with turkey and pumpkin pies looming for Thanksgiving feasting.

Which brings me to the subject of gratitude! Hear the words of Hafiz of Persia...

Even after all this time,

The sun never says to the earth,

"You owe me".

Look what happens with

A love like that.

It lights the whole sky.

Which pretty well says it all, doesn't it ?

Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving. Kahlil Gibran

this beautiful photo by Giangiorgio Crisponi

I have read somewhere that the new Testament teaches that religion is grace, but ethics is gratitude, and so for all these magnificent gifts the universe dispenses the ethical person will be mindful and find happiness in their appreciation for even the smallest of them,

and awe at the greatest.

Well, today I am grateful that after lunch and a nice visit from Son #1 the rains went away and Charles and I took the truck and went up the hill to retrieve some pots of flowers that were past their best shelf date but still had lots of re-usable soil.......

Another snippet I read today about gratitude.....

"We are told that people stay in love because of chemistry, or because they remain intrigued with each other, because of many kindnesses, because of luck.

But part of it has got to be forgiveness and gratefulness". Ellen Goodman

2011-10-04T09:55:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is the elegant L

The last time we visited L I brought with me Lang Lang, playing Leibestraum by Liszt.

He has come again with Beethoven's Appassionata (Sonato No. 23, Op. 57, First Movement), - one of my favourites and Lang Lang seems to play it with some discipline and at a fairly reasonable pace.

For more lovely L's visit here, at ABC Wednesday, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her kind helpers.

2011-10-01T21:23:00.000-07:00

I wake this morning, and it is October.

Wild October, with its beautiful russets and transparent greens

the sunflowers, small suns against the laden apple trees

glowing grasses, delicate and sun blown

Mary Cassett 1880

the garden on the hill glowing with intense purples

And down here in town my hundred square feet of transplants that look like nothing more than sticks, thirsty for today's rain that gathers any lingering summer energies and deposits them around the newly planted roots of peony and delphinium and daisies and one lovely potted rose in the centre of it all - the Abraham Darby that was waiting for me at the garden nursery.............

I love October, - I wait in eager anticipation for vivid sunrises, fiery sunsets, scarlet rose hips, misty mornings and that wonderful feeling of quietness, - the hush of autumn as the earth prepares herself for sleep.

"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd and plump the hazel shells

with a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

and still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o'er brimm'd their clammy cells.

John Keats

Ode to Autumn

2011-09-27T19:49:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is K

and K stands for the Kootenays

Kootenay, which is the name used for the south east corner of British Columbia, comes from the Kootenay First Nation, a group of linguistically distinct Native people who occupied the eastern part of the Kootenays, and whose territory extends into northern Washington, Idaho and Montana.

The western portion of the Kootenay district was also occupied by Interior Salishan Natives, related to the Coastal people, or by Thompson River-Shuswap Natives.

About 100 years ago prospectors came to the West Kootenays, attracted by its rich ore deposits, and mining and ghost towns haunt the area, silent relics of past treasures.

Ghost town of Slocan Mines

Geographically the Kootenays are spectacular. Four parallel mountain ranges march successively across the southeastern B.C. landscape, - the Monashees, followed by the rugged Selkirks, and further east the Purcells, and then the Rockies.

Kootenay Lake , which is 65 miles long, runs in a north south direction, and the Kootenay river joins with the Columbia near Castlegar.

The part of the Crowsnest Highway east of Grand Forks is called the Skyway, and it is the highest elevation paved highway in Canada. The stretch between Salmo and Creston, where avalanches are a fact of life, is infamous for dangerous driving conditions in the winter.

The Salmo Creston Pass

The Kootenays are a marvelous part of British Columbia.

There is skiing and hot springs, wildlife and parks. wonderful backroads

to travel and all those mysterious ghost towns

to investigate.

Here is a pictures of the caves at the Ainsworth Hot Springs

and below it a picture of the famous Cody Caves, which heat the springs at Ainsworth.

The Kootenays are a super place to spend some time if you are celebrating the letter K

and for more interesting K's visit here at ABC Wednesday.

2011-09-26T19:53:00.000-07:00

September 26th, 2011

"A late summer garden has a tranquility found no other time of the year". Wm. Longgood

Well, I am busy trying to beat the clock and the calendar. Up early, once again filled with Monday morning zip!

Breakfast over and the bread machine busy making its own peculiar noises as it kneads the bread, I leave it to its own devices and am off up the hill. The SUV is stuffed with odd pails and pots and plastic boxes. Overhead dark clouds loom ominously (have you ever know dark clouds to loom any other way?), a west wind blows, and I am aware that this is going to be a fast trip if I am to beat the the storm home.

I make my way through the overgrown garden, coming first to the Oriental peony. which is surrounded by ranunculus running rampant through the iris.

A delight to dig the peony, - the soil is moist and crumbly and I find about a dozen lovely brown tubers that look like small sweet potatoes. I will be able to make a whole row of Oriental poppies, I think to myself. With great enthusiasm. Until I remember the scope of this new garden and my determination to keep it within bounds. It is such a lovely plant, and has a history of being moved, - first from David's garden, then to the old lost garden, - from there up to the hillside and now it will flourish as a townie.

Not too far away is the red Bleeding heart, that looks like a real push-over with all its stems cut back in preparation for the move. It comes out nicely, as does the bergamot....the wind comes up a little, but I ignore it and go to tackle the big peony plants, which I suspect may request more brawn than I have......

But I persevere and eventually I have two large clumps of peony tubers in my plastic pot. and I heave it into the back of the SUV. I like that word 'heave' - I did literally heave it, as it was much too heavy to lift.

Now to find that beautiful rust and gold iris that I posted a couple of weeks ago. I know which bed it is in, - but which particular tuber might it be???? I dig up the one I think it is, and two surrounding it, and hope that if I am wrong whoever cares for the garden next year will be generous.....

The clouds are lowering and looking rather mean, so I quickly dig up a small shrub we planted for our anniversary last year, - pop it into a pot, and just then I feel the first drops of rain. Off down the hill, - I arrive just as Charles is disappearing into the garage and closing the door!!!!! Nevertheless, I quickly unload and hope I waken with the same cheerful, energetic spirit tomorrow morning, so everything can get replanted!

"Spring flowers are long since gone. Summer's bloom hangs limp on every terrace. The gardener's feet drag a bit on the dusty path and the hinge in his back is full of creaks". Louis Seymour Jones

2011-09-24T20:56:00.000-07:00

Saturday night -

And I am remembering Monday morning and all the plans that buoyed me as I rose early, full of energy and enthusiasm.

Well, Monday was fine, - I was up early and cut the side lawn, started the sprinkler on the raised bed and then went up to the garden on the hill and dug up a small yellow rose, a bit of the coral bell and a pretty daisy that I planted in the spring. Brought them home, planted and watered them, and was pleased with myself!

Tuesday morning Charles needed the SUV to go and sing with the senior's choir at a funeral, but undismayed, I planned an afternoon excursion to the garden for some peonies, but alas, it didn't materialize.

Wednesday was a repeat of Tuesday, except this time Charles needed the SUV to go to the Care Facility and sing with the senior's choir, - what a skylark he is becoming!!!

Thursday and Friday were taken up with preparing a short history of our ninety year old church to put into a brochure for an Anglican Regional District Car Rally, and today was the day we were inundated with 52 extra Anglicans, having fun, spreading good cheer, and hungry as bears. They ate up every bit of the lunch we had prepared for them!!!!

At a very brief service before they were able to pounce on the food, Nick (our new minister) finished with a prayer, and I immediately recognized the concerted Amen that followed as Anglican, pure and simple. No hesitation, they responded as one and my heart remembered my early days in the Anglican church and I felt at once poignant and comforted.

I have been reading lately about 'cellular memory' and the heart being a possible storage spot for memories - very interesting concept. Surely the memories we gather in our childhood are the ones that catch us unawares and touch us most deeply.

I cherish the time we spent this week with our 'landlord kids' in whose house we are living. They hung things for us, put in new doors, with our oldest son's help put Charles' lift into the garage and replaced the sunroom steps, - were a treasure to have around and have now gone back to their meadowland in the Cariboo.

Only one week left in September, - the month I had earmarked for settling plants into the new bed. Will I make the deadline? MUST I be so organized??????

an early morning sunrise

The landlord son...

I think we could exchange his beard for my hair, and vice versa - just turn them upside down!!!

The Skylark in his singing regalia, and off to the side a portrait of him when he was 17

2011-09-20T10:49:00.000-07:00

ABC |Wednesday
September 21st, 2011

The letter of the week is J
J is for Jester, and we give you Danny Kay in the role!

Enjoy...

For more happy J's please visit here at ABC Wednesday.

2011-09-19T12:19:00.000-07:00

September 19th, 2001

I am out cutting the little side lawn, enjoying the pearly fall crocus and the few delicate pink roses that have deigned to provide a small but exquisite autumn show. The hand push mower makes a lovely whirring sound and there is the faintest aroma of freshly cut grass as I enjoy the blue sky and the summery clouds in the crisp, cool September air.

When I am finished I go to measure the length and width of the raised garden bed in which I plan to plant the peonies and delphinium, the scarlet bergamot and pristine phlox, a couple of iris, a few roses, some pearly everlasting, a bit of coral bell and probably some sage - stop, stop! It is only 24 feet long and 3 and a half feet wide. I must be content with small snippets...... but I will smother the composter in the far corner of the back garden with day lilies, some Stella d'Oro and the big red streaked ones that are so showy.

It is very hard for me to admit to myself that I am now eighty-six, and the day-long sessions I once enjoyed in the garden have shrunk to an hour or two in deference to aching muscles and failing energy, but for those shortened hours I am incredibly grateful, and I can always dream on a grand scale!

This afternoon I will go up to our house on the hill that stands, empty eyed, gazing over that lovely vista to the Cawston hills, and I will delight in the garden that continues with its business of creating beauty while it procreates, - making seeds, pushing the Chinese Underground Railway a little farther into the suburbs, swelling corms and bulbs and rosehips. I will gather the dried pods of the heritage sweet pea that will crackle and burst in my hands, scattering more progeny at its feet and bring home roses and the second flush of delphiniums to sweeten the house and reflect in the mirrors and our memories.

Life is good.....

2011-09-17T22:07:00.000-07:00

Saturday, September 17th, 2011

The Witch's ball finally hangs in the dining room window

and as the Witch gazes through its magical blueness

she begins to feel more and more

that it is time

to park her broom

and take up permanent residence.

Time to shake away

the cobwebs of uncertainty

and unsettledness.

Turn to her knitting

and learn once again the intricacies of

the Long Tail Cast On

2011-09-13T21:09:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday
September 13th, 2011

I is the letter for this week.

I is for Iris, and although it is not the least bit original I hope you might enjoy this picture of an Enchanting Iris from the June Garden.

Since Iris is the Greek goddess for the Messenger of Love, her sacred flower is considered the symbol of communication and messages.

Greek men would often plant an iris on the graves of their beloved women as a tribute to the goddess Iris, whose duty it was to take the souls of women to the Elysian fields.

For more interpretations of the letter I click here to visit ABC Wednesday.

2011-09-11T21:39:00.000-07:00

September 12th, 2011

I wait impatiently for the days to cool, for the garden to show signs of sleepiness as it gets ready for bed - but summer lingers on. By mid-morning it is too warm to be out in the garden, and by late afternoon, when there should be a cool September breeze to make happy hour on the verandah a welcome break it is still and heavy - no lightness in the air that speaks to one of September when the garden catches its breath and the delphinium and the roses send forth blooms that rival suimmer's show.

Usually, by this time in September the Aster displays tentative shaggy flowers, while all over the dark green bush buds promise a glorious tribute to fall later in the month, but this year both they and the 'mums are content to graciously bide their time while summer flowers give us one last tender retrospect.

We wait for cool mornings, mild afternoons and early evenings to refresh the spirit that laboured under August's heat.

I go up the hill to the garden we left in mid summer and dig up bits of lavender, the Christmas rose and the purple hellebore that is just now coming into bloom. I have replanted the astilbe and this week I will cut back the peonies, - the white ones and the pink ones and the brilliant red - and bring them to plant in the long raised bed in the back garden. And then I will go to the nursery and hopefully find an Abraham Darby and a Prairie Princess and a white Winchester Cathedral to plant between the peonies and delphiniums. And at the back, against the fence, we will plant the heritage sweetpeas and some sunflowers, and place the lady fountain somewhere amidst the shade with some forget-me-nots around her feet.

And then I will be able to get my knitting out, and finally feel at home and contented.

2011-09-09T21:41:00.000-07:00

Thursday, September 8th, 2011

I go to the library. It seems such a long time since I've been there, - the summer has not been conducive to long lazy spells with a book in my hand,and not much else on my mind but the enjoyment of a leisurely summer afternoon.

I come home with Wendell Berry's Essay, 'Life is a Miracle' and I can hardly wait to put everything aside and take it to bed with me......

Wendell Berry is a good antidote to Marvin Minsky.

He is of the opinion that "the most radical influence of reductive science has been the virtually universal adoption of the idea that the world, its creatures, and all the parts of its creatures are machines - that is, that there is no difference between creature and artifice, birth and manufacture, thought and computation. Our language, wherever it is used, is now almost invariably conditioned by the assumption that fleshly bodies are machines full of mechanisms, fully compatible with the mechanisms of medicine, industry, and commerce, and that minds are computers fully compatible with electronic technology"

Berry contends that we must go beyond empirical knowledge to imaginative knowledge, - to knowing things "intimately, particularly, precisely, gratefully, reverently, and with affection."

There, that makes me feel much better, - I really didn't like the idea of being a machine and giving up my old traditional ideas and the faith which supposes that life is full of unpredictable mysteries.

This evening there was a pale moon rising as the sun turned the western sky a lovely apricot colour, and as I dug a nice moist spot for the lavender and astilbe plants I brought down from the garden-on-the-hill.

Of course no matter how I aimed the camera there were still wires to remind me that the moon shines with equal elegance on town and country.

and the Cawston hills still glow with the setting sun.

2011-09-07T07:08:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday

H is the letter for this sunny week

H is for Vilhelm Hammershoi.

Of an exhibition of this celebrated Danish painter's work

entitled, " The Poetry of Silence"

it is said

"Hammershoi\s most compelling works are his quiet, haunting interiors, their emptiness disturbed only occasionally by the presence of a solitary, graceful figure, often the artist's wife.

Painted within a small tonal range of implied greys, these sparsely-furnished rooms exude an almost hypnotic quietude and sense of melancholic introspection.

In addition to the interiors, the exhibition also includes Hammershoi's arresting portraits, landscapes and his evocative city views, notably the deserted streets of London on a misty winter morning. The magical quietness of Hammershoi's work can be seen in the context of international Symbolist movements of the turn of the last century but the containment and originality of his art makes it unique."

Besides the quiet greys and blues Hammershoi occasionally used subdued yellows in his paintings.

Follow the open doors into the heart of Hammershoi's magical paintings, and click here for more wonderful interpretations of the letter H, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her helpers.

2011-09-03T22:48:00.000-07:00

Living in Town

Here we are, behind the white picket fence, still hanging pictures, still shelving books, still opening boxes, still looking for the pink USB, the clock that hung in the breakfast nook, various bits and drills, things that got stowed away when we first arrived that we haven't seen since, and what we really search for is that sense of settlement that probably won't appear until the last picture is placed just so, and the book shelves have been sorted into some semblance of order and when we grow used to gazing across the street at the neighbour's pretty garden

rather than that lovely vast expanse of mountains and sky and the distant valley, stretching out into meadows and blue haze. How lucky we are to have spent most of our married life in that environment.

And now, how lucky we are to have neighbours who come to visit and welcomed us with baking, and supply us with tomatoes and cucumbers and freshly picked carrots and beans out of their town gardens.

And how wonderful it is that Charles can get up and shower and dress and steer his cart up the road, around the corner, and arrive at the Senior's centre where they are always looking for a fourth for bridge and his social life has expanded just as wide as that lovely vast expanse of mountains and sky and distant valley.

We pick up the mail just around the corner and the library is a short stroll down the road. A nice clear area of undeveloped parkland opens up to the benchland that rises behind us, and there are those mountains and bluffs and white clouds and blue sky that we see now from a different direction, but they are as lovely as ever.

I look out my kitchen window into what seems like a deep forest of pine and fir, lightened by the sunlight on the leaves of nut trees and great long bamboo like shoots that slide their huge and glorious leaves through the fence into the side path that divides us.

Life doesn't always have compensations as fine and comforting as those we are enjoying in our ancient days, and so we are grateful for what each day brings, and maybe next time Charles makes a Grand Slam he will have been brave enough to have bid it!!!!

2011-08-29T21:02:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday
August 31st, 2011

The letter this week is the auGust G

G is for Gratitude

Here is a litany of gratitude written by Anne Porter, poet, born in 1911

In Publishers Weekly David Shapiro observed that 'Porter writes what might best be called plainsong: short, unadorned works that, like gospel or folk music, cut directly to the ambiguous heart of things."

A List of Praises


by Anne Porter

"Give praise with psalms that tell the trees to sing, Give praise with Gospel choirs in storefront churches, Mad with the joy of the Sabbath, Give praise with the babble of infants, who wake with the sun, Give praise with children chanting their skip-rope rhymes, A poetry not in books, a vagrant mischievous poetry living wild on the Streets through generations of children. Give praise with the sound of the milk-train far away With its mutter of wheels and long-drawn-out sweet whistle As it speeds through the fields of sleep at three in the morning, Give praise with the immense and peaceful sigh Of the wind in the pinewoods, At night give praise with starry silences. Give praise with the skirling of seagulls And the rattle and flap of sails And gongs of buoys rocked by the sea-swell Out in the shipping-lanes beyond the harbor. Give praise with the humpback whales, Huge in the ocean they sing to one another. Give praise with the rasp and sizzle of crickets, katydids and cicadas, Give praise with hum of bees, Give praise with the little peepers who live near water. When they fill the marsh with a shimmer of bell-like cries We know that the winter is over. Give praise with mockingbirds, day's nightingales. Hour by hour they sing in the crepe myrtle And glossy tulip trees On quiet side streets in southern towns. Give praise with the rippling speech Of the eider-duck and her ducklings As they paddle their way downstream In the red-gold morning On Restiguche, their cold river, Salmon river, Wilderness river. Give praise with the whitethroat sparrow. Far, far from the cities, Far even from the towns, With piercing innocence He sings in the spruce-tree tops, Always four notes And four notes only. Give praise with water, With storms of rain and thunder And the small rains that sparkle as they dry, And the faint floating ocean roar That fills the seaside villages, And the clear brooks that travel down the mountains And with this poem, a leaf on the vast flood, And with the angels in that other country." I follow a friend on Facebook, and each day she lists five things she is grateful for. What a lovely habit, and one I think we should all cultivate. Visit here at ABC Wednesday for a wonderful variety based on the letter G.

2011-08-28T22:17:00.000-07:00

As August draws to a close a last entry in August Break....

Lush, ripe apricots lie on the roof of the neighbour's shed, dwarfed by a towering walnut tree.

Sunlight dapples the leaves and I wait for the birds to discover this bounty.

2011-08-27T22:05:00.000-07:00

What am I reading, - and even more important, when am I reading it?

Were there ever days when I had the time to indulge myself with my nose in a book and the world far away?

Of course there were - just not lately....

Nevertheless I came across Marvin Minsky once more in my travels on the net and was moved to get two of his books, - 'The Emotion Machine' (Commonsense thinking, artificial intelligence, and the future of the human mind) and 'The Society of Mind' (270 brilliantly original essays on...how the mind works).

I am hoping that these essays are short one or two pagers, as I can only stand so much brilliance at one time before I get confused and my mind wanders off on different paths.

Neither of these two books is hot off the press, - The Society was written in 1985, and the Emotion Machine was published in 2006.

I open the Society of Mind randomly, and here is an essay on The Roots of Intention. (pge 196)

I read the foreword.....

The wind blows where it will, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know whence it comes or whither it goes; so it is with every one who is born of the Spirit. St. John

Marvin Minsky takes these words and applies them to language and words we utter with no conscious sense of where they come from or how they influence our further thoughts and what we might do as a consequence of them.

I mull this over and have to acknowledge that I probably never know exactly what words I will use to express an idea, or, in fact where either the idea or the words come from. Marvin Minsky questions whether ideas evolve from two or more partial states of mind, or between signals that represent these states, which leads one into his theory of the Society of Mind. Minsky contends that " there is no difference between humans and machines, because, he believes, humans are machines whose brains are made up of many semi-autonomous but unintelligent 'agents' (who mistakenly consider themselves intelligent individuals"

Now that gives me something to think about, or if his theory is correct it will set the cat amongst the pigeons in the brain that contains all these semi-autonomous agents.

Because the 'words we think seem to hover in some insubstantial interface'. and we have no idea of the origin of them, or the destinations they lead us to, or the action or accomplishments which might result, they have a certain magical quality. Does that explain some people's love of words? Are they equipped with the right signals and crossings that are found within the brain?

I do not mean to sound facetious, - I would really like to know but it appears that there has been little advanced work on Minsky's theories in the last couple of decades. It is said that he has disturbed many of his co-researchers by insisting that what we think of as consciousness or self awareness is actually a myth - a convenient fallacy which allows us to function as a society.

There is a rather lengthy video of a talk given by Melvin Minsky here, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. He is a most pleasant and down-to-earth fellow and his talk is peppered with many pithy asides and humourous comments. If you have an hour to spare do listen, and tell me what you think!

2011-08-25T22:43:00.000-07:00

She has taken to wandering the corridors, continuously, - shuffling in her blue slippers and speaking in whispers, - a long journey that she seems compelled to make, around and around, her hand following the railing, her blue eyes bent to the floor.

Her caregiver urges me to find a place to sit and settle with her, and so we sit in a quiet corner, hand in hand, my arms around her shoulder, and I talk of the days of our long, long friendship. Her eyes brighten. She breathes a question that I strain to catch, and I tell her of our move, and of Charles, whose friendship with her husband was so close. She tells me in broken phrases how she longs to join him.... We talk a little of her family, - of the girls, who come to visit when they can, and of the son she leans upon, and waits for through the long hours of each day.

We sit for a while without talking, silently, but I am surrounded by the love that her friendship has brought me over the last sixty years. And it has come to this, for her.....

When it is time for me to leave we seek out the Caregiver and he walks a little with her while I punch the buttons that release me into the world she no longer inhabits. I am in tears as I drive home, and when I tell Charles of her distress his voice thickens and tears spring to his eyes as well, as he remembers his promise to her husband to watch out for her.

Who can protect from this most dreadful disease that steals, as you watch, the precious talents of living learned so eagerly in childhood.

I pray for her to soon realize her heart's desire, as my heart breaks.

2011-08-23T14:28:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday
August 24th, 2011

Let's hear it for the formal letter F

F is for Alfred William Finch, who was born to English parents in 1854.

His parents had moved to Belgium. where "Willy" was born and trained at the Academie Royale des Beaux-Arts in Brussels. He became a founding member of Les XX, a group of twenty Belgian painters, designers and sculptors who rebelled against the prevailing artistic standards and outmoded academism

He changed his own painting to the Pointillist and Neo Impressionist style, and became one of the leading representatives of his style in Belgium, along with Theo van Rysselberghe.

The Cliffs at South Foreland in the Finnish National Gallery at Helsinki

Box at the Theatre in the Belgium Art Museum

Landscape Sunset at the Turku Art Museum in Finland

Eventually he determined that he could not make a living as a painter and moved to Finland in 1897 at the invitation of Count Louis Sparre to become a Ceramist in the Iris Ceramics factory, but when the factory closed he went back to painting.

The Pointillist style of painting, though laborious and difficult, lends an amazing sense of movement to the painted landscape.

For more great F's visit here at Mrs. Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday.

2011-08-16T15:52:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday
August 17th, 2011

E is the letter this week

E is for Eeyore, the Endearing, gloomy-doomy friend of Winnie the Pooh. An old grey donkey with a long detachable tail around which is tied a lovely pink ribbon which he loses quite regularly. The pink ribbon, I mean. Owl once found it and used it as a door pull, making Eeyore even sadder than usual.

Eeyore lives in the southeast corner of the Hundred Acre Wood where he has a house of sticks which is continually falling down. This area of the Hundred Acre Wood is called Eeyore's Gloomy Place: Rather Boggy and Sad.

Of course he has a repertoire of rather despondent quotes arising from his anhedonic outlook on life and his poor opinion of the other animals in the woods, describing them as having 'no brain at all, some of them' 'only grey fluff that's blown into their heads by mistake'.

From Winnie the Pooh, a poignant quote - "The old grey donkey, Eeyore stood by himself in a thistly corner of the Forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, "'Why" and sometimes he thought, "wherefore" and sometimes he thought, "Inasmuch as which?" and sometimes he didn't quite know what he was thinking about".

At such times he was probably eating thistles, his favourite food.

Christopher Robin and the other animals tried to cheer Eeyore with a Birthday Party. He was given an empty honey jar from Pooh, a popped green balloon from Piglet, and a note from Owl. Piglet and Roo seem to be having a merry time while Eeyore looks quizzical and not sure what to think about the Happy Birthday cake.

Be that as it may, Eeyore's birthday party lives on in Austin, Texas on the last Saturday of April each year.

It started in 1963 as a spring party for students of the University of Texas but after a few years it morphed into a full blown Festival, a tradition in Austin's hippie subculture. The original event featured a trashcan full of lemonade, beer, honey sandwiches, a live flower-draped donkey and a may pole.

When the festival moved to Pease Park in 1974 Austin area non profit Friends of the Forest began arranging for food and drink vendors, public services and scheduling live music and family-oriented games and contests. Although family oriented in some parts of the Park it is also known for its adult entertainment, - drum circles, scanty costumes, sweet smoke, modern hippies and an annual attendance in the thousands.

Eeyore would switch his tail slowly and mutter 'I wonder what next!!!!'

For more great E's visit here at ABC Wednesday, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her wonderful helpers.

2011-08-14T19:52:00.000-07:00

August 14th, 2011

A child of the Great Depression, - born and bred a Redneck, my darling has finally reached the pinnacle of his inventive achievements.

Whilst cleaning out the basket on Charles' heavy duty country scooter cart to spiff it up for town use I came across (amongst 58 other bits and pieces, tools and wires, duct tapes and binder twine) his telescoping magnetic picker-upper.

I didn't know it was his telescopic magnetic picker-upper, as it was ensconced in a most ingenious case.

As we all know, Necessity is the Mother of Invention, and so when Charles found that his telescoping magnetic picker-upper was picking up more things than what he wanted and getting entangled in all 58 other bits and pieces, he set his mind to the problem at hand. When something is required by the average Redneck his thoughts don't turn to the local hardware store, or a specialty shop, but rather to his stash of goodies packed away in old tobacco tins and earnestly labelled as to contents.

The main part of this marvelous case is an eight inch piece of heavy stiff green hose, cut from a longer piece of hose that quite possibly belonged to his Grandfather. It is firmly taped at one end with black Duck Tape, - the end safely covered and secure.

At the other end is the Piece de Resistance!

The cork end of a bottle of Newfoundland Screech Rum fits quite neatly over the green hose!!!

I haven't been able to determine yet if it is a long, skinny plastic pill bottle that fits into the top of the Screech bottle, or if the Screech bottle comes complete with this accessory that you slip the telescoping magnetic picker-upper into to keep it firmly and lovingly encased.

When the whole thing is assembled it is a sample of magnificent Redneck inventiveness and the object of many a snide remark, small giggle or hearty guffaw and sometimes even unbelieving admiration

Miss Callie found it quite intriguing, and was prepared to play with it, and roll it along the floor as is her wont with anything round and skinny.

We would take orders, but as far as I know it was the only Newfoundland Screech Rum bottle top available in the stash, and I don't think Scotch Whiskey comes equipped with such an accommodating lid.

It is truly 'one of a kind', and to be treasured and perhaps even displayed in a deep box frame lined with dark green velvet!!!

2011-08-13T19:21:00.000-07:00

The August Break
August 13th, 2011

'A broken down sentinel'
the original picture taken by a
hiker/photographer in the hills
around Summerland.

We hung a few pictures today.

The picture of a Pathfinder Lancaster
guiding a crippled buddy home,
which reminds Charles of the day when
he and his crew, returning from an operation,
flew around and close by a
badly damaged ship until
they reached an emergency drome.

We hung some water colours
and my mother's petit point

Tomorrow I will put up a hook and hang the bewitching ball

and perhaps I will feel less in need of
the August Break.

2011-08-10T20:01:00.000-07:00

The August Break
August 10th, 2011

My favourite rose

the Abraham Darby

one of the nicest of the David Austin apricot roses.

It has a strong fragrance 'somewhat fruity mixed with a traditional

old rose scent' and I love it.

This one grows in the garden we have just left, but I plan to replace it in the new garden - soon!

2011-08-09T14:02:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday

Here we are at the darling letter, D

D is for Dimple

At one time I was quite sure that the angels in charge of baby making bestowed dimples upon certain people in order to make them appealing, totally adorable and the most favoured of people. Same for cleft chins!!!

However, Wikipedia now informs me that dimples may be caused by variations in the structure of the facial muscle known as zygomaticus major and that this bifid variation of the muscle originates as a single structure from the zygomatic bone which, as it travels anteriorly, then divides with a superior bundle that inserts in the typical position above the corner of the mouth. An inferior bundle inserts below the corner of the mouth.

That most attractive cleft chin also has a structural origin, - it is a y-shaped fissure on the chin with an underlying bony peculiarity, apparently resulting from the incomplete fusion of the left and right halves of the jaw bone, or muscle, during the embyonal and fetal development. Or it can develop over time, often because one half of the jaw is longer than the other, leading to facial asymmetry.

Or, for those who are into this kind of thing, the same result can be achieved by surgery!!!!!!!

So much for my angel theory, but however the dimple and the cleft chin are arrived at I still find them very sweet and feel that those who possess them have definitely an advantage over those of us who are bereft of such an appealing feature.....

Do not despair if you don't have dimples in your cheeks.

Perhaps you have Dimples of Venus, - not so apparent but equally bequiling.

For more daring and delightful Ds visit here at ABC Wednesday, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her dear helpers.

[edit]

2011-08-07T21:45:00.000-07:00

Sunday, August 7th, 2011

I picked up my fancy cane with the butterflies on it, tucked my music into my carpet bag and while the air was still fresh and cool this morning I walked the half block to church.

Across the street and down the sidewalk (we only have sidewalks on one side of the street) I tapped along, feeling rather unfamiliar with this walking aid as it is the first time I have used it since Charles bought it for me a couple of years ago. I passed the long line of parked cars belonging to Catholic communicants attending 8.30 mass and crossed to the other side into the shade of the trees surrounding the Church where, I have to admit, parked cars were much less prevalent. The Roman Catholics are staunch in their faith and customs, while we, half Anglican, half United Church, waver around from one tradition to another trying to find a way of worship acceptable to all.

What assists us more than anything is the sense of community and family and a true fondness for each other.

It was a lively service, - I had chosen hymns that were alive with rhythm and syncopation - a fast paced version of Psalm 24 based on an Israeli Folk Melody and arranged by John Ferguson, 'Lift up the Gates Eternal', - a real swinger.

And 'I the Lord of Sea and Sky' which the congregation loves and sings the refrain with great gusto - 'Here I am, Lord'!!!!!

We sang 'Praise the Lord with the Sound of Trumpets' which has some lovely bass vamping, and a new hymn that the congregation has taken to their hearts and voices, 'Jesus, You have come to the Lakeshore' which fitted in quite nicely with the story of Jesus walking on the water and calming the disciples in the midst of a storm, and Peter, brave in the faith which sustained him as he joined the Lord, but faltering and sinking when doubt assailed him. And I thought how true that is of our everyday lives!!!

After a little time of conversation and coffee I swung along home with my butterfly stick, told Charles all the little bits of news and gossip, - we had lunch, a small nap and then sat out in the shade on our little front lawn and enjoyed the birds and the people passing and each other's company.

A nice Sunday!

2011-08-06T13:52:00.000-07:00

August Break

The neighbour's delectable apricots hang across the fence right by our garden gate........

I haven't yet laid eyes upon the snake, but temptation is strong!

"Is not the action of nature like the stretching of a bow?

The high, it pulls down; the low, it lifts up;

it takes from what is in excess

in order to make good of what is deficient.

Who can take what they have in excess and offer it to others?"

Tao de Ching

2011-08-05T20:33:00.000-07:00

Friday, August 5th, 2011

Sitting on the porch in the cool of the evening, watching the mourning doves and the quail perform their evening rituals and admiring the delicate willow that grows in the front garden, a haven for dozens of small song birds.

I don't know the name of this lovely tree that bends and sways in the breeze (that has thankfully arrived to blow away the heat of the day). Charles thinks it would be perfect for making baskets, so for the moment it is the Basket Willow.

Summer has truly arrived in the Similkameen, - a time for doing chores early in the morning, - running over town before everyone is mopping their brow and complaining about the heat, - well, what can you expect. It's Summertime, summertime, - the days are hazy, the hills are blue in the distance and nobody is moving at a very fast pace, - including the person unpacking boxes.

Today I tackled the den, where the computers live and where at one time I had a wall of shelves and a desk of drawers, filled to overflowing. The things that are important will eventually find the perfect spot, and the rest of the 'stuff' that seems to gradually accumulate, will be gone, gone, gone, and I will feel happy and cleansed.

In the meantime, think of me......

2011-08-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

ABC Wednesday
August 3. 2011

The letter this week is the curly C and first of all the many interpretations of Clementine!

A traditional rendition of the song 'O my darling Clementine' by Pete Seeger

But Clementine is not only a song, - behold the beautiful Mandarin Orange, - the Clementine.

wonderful to eat, - great in salads

There is a NASA mission to the moon that mapped most of the lunar surface, named Clementine;

but also known as the Deep Space Program Science Experiment. This mission was launched from

Vandenberg Air Force Base on January 25th, 1994. Clementine tested a small spacecraft subsytems and

sensors in deep space and returned a vast amount of scientific data from the Moon..

How many of you are old enough to have seen the 1946 movie 'My Darling Clementine'

starring Henry Fonda, Linda Darnell and Victor Mature, (sigh).

(I am, but unfortunately didn't ever see it)

and then, of course, there was the love of Churchill's life......... Clementine (Hosier) Churchill

He wrote to her.....

January 23, 1935

My darling Clemmie,
In your letter from Madras you wrote some word vy dear to me, about my having enriched yr life. I cannot tell you what pleasure this gave me, because I always feel so overwhelmingly in yr debt, if there can be accounts in love. It was sweet of you to write this to me, and I hope and pray I shall be able to make you happy and secure during my remaining years, and cherish you my darling one as you

deserve, and leave you in comfort when my race is run. What it has been to me to live all these years in yr heart and companionship no phrases can convey. Time passes swiftly, but it is not joyous to see how great and growing is the treasure we have gathered together, amid the storms and stresses of so many eventful and to millions tragic and terrible years?...

Your loving husband,

I am sure there must be a Band somewhere named 'The Clementines' - there usually is.

But I wasn't able to find it.....

Do go over to ABC Wednesday to see what other classy C's are there.