The phone rings, - a man's pleasant voice gives me his name, tells me his mission, which is gathering the stories of Veterans, and asks me if Charles would be willing to talk to him!

I smile to myself, as I hand the phone to Charles with a short explanation.

When has Charles not been willing to talk and tell stories!!!  It is getting him to write them down that is difficult.

This morning, as we prepared for the gentleman's visit, scrummaging around in drawers, looking for papers and photos, I came across a loose leaf binder upon whose cover I had pasted an article entitled "MAKE TIME TO DO IT NOW" and with the admonishment "take action on your good intentions and live a life without regrets".

I remembered it well, and how it had inspired me, once the children had all left home, to organize my time. my mind, my resources and to seize the day!  "Time plays hard to get, is more precious than jewels and must be used wisely".


I open the cover and find in it just a few pages.

A colourful Mind Map entitled Packing to Move.   This would have been when we moved the accumulation of forty years from the farm to the lovely big house in town, - big enough to accommodate everything we had gathered over the years, alas!  I study the Map and try to remember if I followed it faithfully, - good heavens, was I ever so organized????  I see a lot of 'sorting' circles, and discards, and 'to thrift shop' - it was all such a long time ago, and I was so much younger and so full of energy and enthusiasm.......

Oh, here is another mind map, - this one's main purpose is cleaning, and it is not nearly as colourful, but just as necessary.

And another one entitled 'Christmas Presents".  I see names on it of people once beloved and now long gone. And here are grandchildren to whom I planned to give baby dolls and toy trucks who are now grown and have their own babies and big trucks, - and missing are some grandchildren who hadn't even made it to the Mind Map Circle..

I turn to the next page and find my busy mind had been organizing the boxes of snapshots and putting them in chronological order.  An album for the years from 1945 to 1950  that included our wedding and honeymoon, and after that a new album every five years, with treasure map reminders of what pictures each one should contain.  What a Grand Idea!

Too bad it didn't ever see fruition, but nevertheless to have it all laid out like this is a wonderful record of the years and a wellspring of memories.

There are a few more Mind Maps dealing with the early months after we moved to town, when my enthusiasm was probably nine miles high, - plans for the garden,  - I see a happy entry for The Trailer, culminating in a smiling sun and the inspired word 'GO'!  Those were the Golden Years of retirement, when Caspar was a pup and we all traveled together, and fished and camped and made memories galore.

The gentleman to whom Charles is telling his stories is coming back next Friday to hear more, but I have to bake that day for the Christmas Sale the next day, so I won't be running into any more precious treasures.

I wish I knew how to turn those mind maps around to landscape mode, but I don't and I'm sure you aren't interested in the details of our moving, or our 25 year old Christmas plans, or what I was planning to do with the boxes and boxes of pictures that never did get into albums but are instead organized in shoe boxes!

(thanks to a tip from a kind reader pictures are now right side up!  Thanks Dimple)

Late in the afternoon I followed the advice of the article and wrote two quick letters that I had procrastinated over, - we took them down to the post office and mailed them, and now I can live a life "without regret'!!!!

ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is the Sensuous S

S is for the Sunflower that Springs up in the Summer in Such Surprising Spots and Speaks to our Souls of the Spirit of the Sun which So delights us and helps to Sprout the Seeds, So that next Summer we will have even more Sensational Sunflowers!!

Van Gogh  

Sunflowers and Pears

For more interesting takes on the letter S click here and visit ABC Wednesday

with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her Sunny crew of helpers.

The wild November come at last

Beneath a veil of rain;

The night winds blow its folds aside,

Her face is full of pain.

The latest of her race, she takes

The Autumn's vacant throne;

She has but one short moon to live,

And she must live alone.

Richard Henry Stoddart   November

I am restless these days.  I think it is the change of seasons, – ten days ago the valley was filled with glorious light and colour, and now the wind is raw and cold, the sky is grey and dour, the sun just slides above the hills, and goes immediately into hiding.  A few days ago there were interesting rolling clouds, some of them reaching half way down the the mountains,  but now there is a pewter lid on the sky, and here we are, worrying about whether the roses are well enough protected from this early winter weather, blown by the wind when we do go outdoors, getting out scarves and boots and hats and warm coat,  and just being generally at sixes and sevens….

In a few more days surely the Christmas spirit will appear, – or at least a realization that there are dozens of things that will require doing in the next six weeks, and that they will all delight me in the doing.

Today, in fits and starts, I have been refurbishing the computer with music, and many of the CD’s I have ripped have been carols and beautiful Christmas music.  I left them on long enough to transfer them, and then went on to the next disc, but the Schubert I saved for last and have been listening to The Trout this evening while I knit around and around on a handsome pair of green socks with white stripes.  Two more pair after this one is finished, and then I will look elsewhere for knitting to absorb me in January.

This morning, looking for some comfort food to jolly up the day, I made a nice puffy golden bread pudding and we had it with yesterday’s clam chowder, (which I made for the same reason)!

Maybe I will make Christmas lists tomorrow to stir my heart a little into bearing with this sorrowful weather.  Or perhaps it will snow, solving the rose problem and making the world beautiful and delicate and pure again.  Which reminds me of a hymn I love…..

All beautiful the march of days as seasons come and go

the hand that shaped the rose has wrought the crystal of the snow

has sent the silvery frost of heaven, the flowing waters sealed,

and laid a silent loveliness on hill and wood and field.

O’er white expanses sparkling pure the radiant morns unfold,

the solemn splendours of the night burn brighter through the cold,

life mounts in every throbbing vein, love deepens round the hearth,

and clearer sounds the angel hymn, good will to all on earth.

Frances Whitmarsh Wile, 1911

the melody is Forest Green by Ralph Vaughan Williams.

William Wordsworth said it first,

'The world is too much with us;

late and soon, getting and spending,

we lay waste our powers:

Little we see in Nature that is ours.'

I take my book to bed with me.

'Life is a Miracle, an essay against modern superstition' by Wendell Berry and I come to the sixth chapter.

This is a library book, but someone has been here before me, underlying very faintly Berry's comments on Science and Art in which he observes that these disciplines are neither fundamental nor immutable, but are instead the  'cultural tools' of our society.

'Science cannot replace art or religion for the same reason that you cannot loosen a nut with a saw or cut a board in two with a wrench.'

Wendell Berry is writing about the lack of conversation between the disciplines in higher education, and he goes on to point out the necessity for these tools to be used in collaboration in order to 'build and maintain our dwelling here on earth.'

The further I read the more my head nods in agreement.

When we ask if Science and Art  are at odds with each other and think constructively about this question we see that science means knowing and art means doing and that 'the one is meaningless without the other.'

I go on to the next chapter where Wendell Berry observes that at one time these disciplines were thought of as ways of being useful to ourselves and to each other, to help us to be self-sustaining and useful members of a community, and to see that this way of living survived the 'passing of the generations.

But then along came Professionalism, rather than Vocations and professional education became mere job training or career preparation, abandoning the ideals of service and good work, citizenship and membership in a community.  To quote Wendell Berry, 'the context of professionalism is not a place or a community but a career, and this explains the phenomenon of 'social mobility'..........'the religion of professionalism is progress......professionalism forsakes both past and present in favor of the future' and 'is always offering up the past and the present as sacrifices to the future, in which all our problems will be solved and our tears wiped away - and which, being the future, never arrives.'

'The present is ever diminished by this buying and selling of shares in the future that

 rightfully are owned by the unborn'

This is the answer, but what is the question?

Wendell Berry is a writer of immense imagination, but what drives him is his passion for the land and for a way of life that protects the earth and inspires a reverence among people that is mirrored in

their stewardship, their awareness, their fidelity, their commitment and their place in 'community'.

He questions the collaboration of a 'pillage and run' science with the same type of industrial corporations which has imposed a virtual total economy where everything has its price and materialism reigns supreme.

He laments the corporate freedom to pollute and exterminate and what he feels is the dominant tendency of our age, -' the breaking of faith and the making of divisions among things that once were joined.'

'Suppose', says Berry,' that we could change the standards....  Suppose that the ultimate standard of our work were to be, not professionalism and profitability, but the health and durability of human and natural communities.  Suppose we learned to ask of any proposed innovation the question that so far only the Amish have been wise enough to ask.  What will this do to our community?

Do you agree that not all the contributions of science in the last one hundred years have  been of benefit to society and that many of them have caused  regretful changes to our morality?

'Suppose we attempted the authentic multiculturalism of adapting our ways of life to the nature of the places where we live.  Suppose, in short, that we should take seriously the proposition that our arts and sciences have the power to help us adapt and survive.  What then?'

I cannot possibly impart here all of what I deem to be the wisdom contained in these few pages, but I will take the book to bed with me again tonight and re-read them in hopes that the ideals they espouse will be recognized  and the future for our children and their children will not be as bleak and lacking in the richness of  reverence (that word again) and appreciation for the sublime gifts of nature and the strengths of community; the neighbourliness; the building of trust; a return to simplicity and an understanding of the benefits of minimalism and kindly awareness.

"The best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love"

William Wordsworth

ABC Wednesday

The letter R

R is for ROSE

'Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone

All her lovely companions are faded and gone

No flower of her kindred, no rosebus is nigh

To reflect back her blushes and give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, to pine on the stem

Since the lovely are sleeping, go sleep thou with them

Thus kindly I scatter thy leaves o'er the bed

Where thy mates of the garden lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow when friendships decay

And from love's shining circle the gems drop away

When true hearts lie withered and fond ones are flown

Oh who would inhabit this bleak world alone?

This bleak world alone.

Poignant words by the Irish poet, Thomas Moore in 1805.

The melody composed by George Alexander Osborne from Limerick City

Here is the last rose of summer in our garden, before the first snowfall

and a sweet rendition of the song 

For more interpretations of the letter R visit here at ABC Wednesday,
 with thanks to Mrs. Nesbit, her helpers and all participants.

November Morn

It was frosty on the pasture early this morning, as November roused himself to pay a visit and remind us all that paradise doesn't last forever.

For a little while the roses in the garden glittered with an icy frosting

I have made a little Mind Map of the things I have to do today to get ready for Remembrance Day.

A ham to bake, and a pot of chili in the slow cooker.

Stacks of laundry from my foray into the linen closet yesterday

(and which today only requires ribbons tied around the stacks of towels and bedding

to make it look like the perfect Martha Stewart Cupboard!)

A new loaf of bread to set in the bread machine,

where it can mumble and grumble and come out

smelling delicious, square and crusty and inviting.

I put in a load of laundry, I start some music and then the Chili.

As I add the last of the onions to the meat and the peppers and the mushrooms

and the beans I see Charles getting the SUV out of the garage.

A honk, and then an invitation to go for a drive!

The chili will cook while I'm gone.  I will make the bread in the afternoon.

I put on a jacket and am off with the camera;  oh, careless of

all responsibilities, but the merry-go-round only goes

around once with the brass ring.....

The clouds are moody, but the valley still glows with a muted gold, - the grasses

range from a beautiful naples yellow to russet and greens

and down at Ginty's Pond a few ducks mess about in the far reaches amongst

the logs and bullrushes.

The birch trees are barren of leaves but their trunks have a silvery glow

Old familiar spots, - you've been here before, but have you ever seen them looking so 

lovely, so rich, so jewel-like????

ABC Wednesday

Q is the querulous letter for the week

Q is for QUEST

Sir Parsifal on the greatest Quest of all,  the Quest for the Holy Grail.

For other Q's Q up over at ABC Wednesday, here.

Making a Movie

I don't get to sit in The Director's Chair with a bullhorn by my side and dark shades and a beret that make me look like a Jazzy VIP. - or is it a celluloid visor they wear?  No, that's for poker players....

I do get to confine myself in the computer room though, - oblivious to what is going on around me and to the swift passage of time as the clock mechanism outraces the gears in my thinking apparatus and I am lost in puzzling creativity.

My elbows are getting all rough and chafed from leaning them on the computer desk, supporting my head on my hands as I try to locate directions and follow them meticulously so that I don't, by mistake, hit the wrong key and have everything disappear on me (as sometimes happens....)  I have some nice Planet Spa elbow cream that I rub in faithfully every night so that I won't be deterred by rough elbows from continuing with my movie making project.

Charles says I take far too many pictures, - ten, where one would do.  But one has to take advantage of the scenery when one is out 'on location'!  When I start trying to choose pictures for this wonderful movie I am making (which I am calling Indian Summer) I am inclined to agree with him.

I bring up the days' pictures on the screen and study them, - this one?  Or is that one (taken a smidgen of a second later) better?  Or the same?  Eventually I have made my choices and I turn to Movie Maker, the program, and request that they all be displayed in the media box.  Sometimes Movie Maker is in a good mood and humours me, but sometimes only a couple are sent, and I have to go back and retrieve the rest.

Then I drag them to the Timeline, and pretty soon I have a long line of cloud pictures, sky pictures, garden pictures, - all mixed up because I'm doing this project chronologically.  That's O.K., - I tell myself they will look just fine.

When all the pictures are in place it is time to insert a little transition between each one, - do we want to 'pan'?  (Oh, that word makes me feel quite professional) .  And should the picture flip, or fade or dissolve while the next one appears?  I discover that if I make the right choices I can Select All, and presto, there is a transition between each slide.  Wonderful....

Now to choose the music to go with the movie, in case someone who is watching gets bored and closes his eyes, the music will still soothe him!  Shall we have something lively, or a more classic concert?

I go through every last album I have that is even remotely suitable, - and finally I make my choice.  A little Chopin and the music will last the length of the movie, as long as I remember to click the little box that tells whoever runs this show to do this.

Done!  I am so pleased with the wonderful way the valley has cooperated in providing beautiful scenes that have produced the makings of a movie that is over an hour long!!

Now to save it, and burn it on to a DVD - a long process, I discover, that causes me to stay up long past my bedtime.  The moment of truth is when I slip the disc into the DVD player, fingers crossed, praying audibly.   Yes, yes yes!!  It works.  While we have breakfast the music of Chopin wafts through the house, - there are scenes of sunsets and sunrises;  glorious autumn colours of scarlet and gold and russet shades; lakes and streams, mountains and rills; the wedding, the shower, people who come to visit, dear Caspar and Callie and I am so pleased I think I might go out and invest in a beret and a pair of snazzy shades - and a bullhorn.

I would play this creation for you, but as I said, it goes on and on and on for over an hour, so you will have to come and visit and have tea while we watch.......

ABC Wednesday

and the letter is P

Hope you enjoy this wonderful rendition of PERFIDIA by Nat King Cole



For other interpretations of the letter F pop on over to ABC Wednesday, here.

White Rabbits, White Rabbits, - scouting out shelter on the 1st of November.

But before we welcome the Melancholy Month a fond farewell to Glorious October.

The last day of the month gave little promise of the pleasures to come, - damp and misty, and the clouds hung low as we went to church.  We came out of the church doors to a pelting rainstorm, but two hours later the sky was blue, the clouds were summery and the sun was in and out, playing hide and seek with first one grove of golden trees, and then spotlighting another lone light shimmering beacon.

Before the after lunch nap I went for a short walk, down through the orchard

The newly picked apple trees extended a cool and shadowy invitation to linger

The arching boughs made a dim tunnel that stretched into the distance and 

as they flickered through the golden branches a half a dozen

woodpeckers searched for gleaners apples

The subdued colours in the garden glowed in the sunlight

and on the deck an inquisitive ghost hung from the ceiling,

anticipating Halloween visitors

A few of these seen on the streets of town

But the ones who delighted our hearts most were the two little

pumpkin great grandsons who came to entertain

us with a tune and fill their little pumpkin pails

with goodies.

At midnight, precisely, November sent swirling winds amongst

the trees, and this morning the ground was

covered with gold and russet leaves.

But still, on the way to Penticton  the hills were alive with the most

beautiful shades of yellow, and I wished for 

wings to fly over the countryside and follow the creek that flows down from 

 Yellow lake, lined with golden Aspen and Poplars and beautifully shaded shrubs

A lovely day and I came home with some paper whites and three new Amaryllis! 

Melancholy

On Tuesday we buried our dear Caspar, down along the fence line next to Miss Roo, whose grave is now covered with Meadow Rue.  What will we plant to remember this wonderful companion who has given us so much joy these last fifteen years?

Lately he spent much of his time sleeping, as many elderly gentlemen are wont to do.  His little boney spine reminded us that quite possibly he was suffering arthritic pain, and sometimes his back legs collapsed under him.  He was blind and deaf, so that we were careful not to move anything out of its accustomed place. He gave up begging for treats, sitting up ramrod straight and waving his paws in the air, all eagerness and happy anticipation.  When Dot, the dispenser of biccies, came for coffee in the morning he often slept through her visit, and when Frank cut the Thanksgiving Turkey there was no little dog at his feet, impatiently awaiting whatever might drop to the floor or be handed down surreptitiously.

 He hadn't bitten our grandson's toes for some years, and the toys he used to run for and retrieve sat in their basket, forlorn and lonely for his attention.  Life had lost its glow.....

As his needs grew I spent more time with him, - very aware of his bladder, walking him half a dozen times a day, with our first outside visit at five a.m. and the last at bedtime.  We learned to move quietly and not to make any sudden noises that seemed to startle and frighten him.  And now our freedom from these concerns are little darts that remind us he has left us.....

A few years ago we stopped taking him with us when we were out in the car, as he whined and was uncomfortable, but for all the rest of his life he was Charles' companion in the truck, - his little paws up on the dash, watching the road and any stray animals along the side that merited his barking attention.  Charles built a little platform behind the back window of the truck, inside the canopy, at just the right height to sit in the Commodore's Chair and direct operations through the open sliding window.

We have always loved dogs, and never been without their loving companionship, but they were outside farm dogs.  Charles had a special relationship with Candy, his precious Border Collie partner and keeper of the sheep, but we had never had a small, indoor dog before, and I had misgivings when Charles brought him home, - the runt of the litter who had not sold and was beginning to challenge his father's authority!

He stole our hearts immediately, and kept them to the end, so that now they are temporarily shattered and we miss him dreadfully.

As does Miss Callie, as she searches through doorways, up and down halls, and finally
lies on the couch to sleep - alone.

ABC Wednesday

OOOH the letter this week is a nice, round fat O

O is for the Onion pie we had for supper last night.

Here is the recipe......

Melt 3 tsps of butter in a large skillet.  

Fry over medium heat until golden 3 cups of onions, peeled and thinly sliced.

Beat 3 eggs with 3 tbsps of sour cream.

Add to the Onion rings with salt and pepper to taste

and just a smidgen of sugar.

Spread into an unbaked pie shell and bake at 350F

for 20 minutes.

Remove from oven and sprinkle with grated cheese.

Then bake for another 10 minutes.

Serve  hOt

The Onion is always delicious but baked in this pie it is Oh so good.

For more interpretations of the letter O visit here, at ABC Wednesday.