Saturday, the 16th of June, 2012

The House of Falling Canes...

Charles has a great variety of canes.  Probably if you counted them all up, - the ones in use, the ones that looked elegant but weren't very practical, the old discarded ones and the home made sticks - well, there must be at least a dozen!!!

I have now accumulated two.  The Butterfly cane and the one that folds up and disappears into my purse.

Charles feels quite proprietory about the business of canes, having had a much wider experience than I and being much more dextrous with them, both walking and picking them up....because alas, each and every cane has a mind of its own, and when it doesn't feel like resting in the spot you placed it when you sat down it promptly falls over, lying lengthwise on the floor, or, if it is feeling particularly mischievous it can sometimes manage to slide under a couch or chair, in some unreachable spot.

Unreachable, that is, unless you have had the experience and expertise that Charles has accumulated.  Besides the canes he also has a number of picker-uppers, and if they aren't at hand he has developed a trick of picking up the recalcitrant cane with the other one he uses by pressing down on the end and bringing it to an upright position.

This damp and miserable weather we have been having for the last few weeks has caused my left hip to seize up when I sit.  It wasn't too bad at first.  I could stand alright, and then if I stayed in one spot and looked around at the pictures or continued talking to someone I was eventually able to get the whole operation in motion and glide off, albeit somewhat awkwardly.

Now, however, I require a cane to get up, and I cannot quite cover my distress at getting underway!

Charles' great experience puts him in a position of somewhat smug authority, and I am receiving all sorts of instructions and advice, - even to the point this morning when he suggested I might use a walker in the house...  A WALKER!!  I promised him I would try it :(

In the meantime if you hear a clatter, followed by a mild oath, you will know another cane has bit the dust.  I have considered storing them as a wind chime!

On a more cheerful note the delphiniums have started to bloom in the midst of the beautiful pink climbers that David so kindly untangled and put in their proper place yesterday..  I take this picture through the den window, - it rained all night and I don't want the canes out in the cold damp grass,  and besides they might trip me up going down the stairs.

A bouquet of flowers from the garden

ABC Wednesday

June 13th, 2012

The letter this week is the Valiant V

In this post V stands for Suzanne Valadon, who was born Marie-Clementine Valadon to an unmarried laundress, Madeleine Valadron.  Her father was probably a young man who worked at a nearby mill in Bessines-sur-Gartempe, Haute-Vienne, France, and he was killed shortly after Marie-Clementine's birth.

Madeleine moved with her baby to Montmartre where she worked as a charwoman, and Marie-Clementine grew up very much on her own.  In her early teens she joined an acrobatic group but following a serious accident that nearly killed her she left the group and at 15 she went to the Place Pigalle in order to become an artist's model.

She was a beautiful young girl with 'cognac coloured' hair and stunning blue eyes, and she soon came to the attention of many of the artists of the day, including Purvis de Chavannes and Auguste Renoir.  It seemed the relationship between model and artist was a condition of life in Montmartre at that time, and Madeleine, at 17, became pregnant.

As a model for Renoir

Soon after the birth of her baby (Maurice) Valadon began to model for Toulouse-Lautrec who saw her drawings and encouraged her to change her name to Suzanne, a name that could be respected and remembered.  Lautrec advised her to take her drawings to Degas, who immediately recognized her talent, bought 17 of these drawings and hung them among his Cezannes, Gauguins and Van Goghs.

Suzanne Valadon - self portrait

Suzanne Valadon had a complicated life.  Her son, Maurice Utrillo (of whom I wrote last week) caused her much sorrow and anxiety.  She was perhaps not the best of mothers, but she was a truly gifted artist who formed a style all her own.

She is only now beginning to gain the respect she deserves as one of the great painters of the twentieth century and her work is exhibited in many of the finest museums and galleries throughout the world.

Information gleaned from 'The Art World Online".

For more interesting Vs click here and visit ABC Wednesday with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her valiant volunteers.

Monday,  June 11th, 2012

Hello sun in my face

Hello you who made

the morning and spread it

over the fields.

Watch, now, how I start 

the day in happiness, in kindness.

Mary Oliver

I wake at five and turn over to look at the far hills we see through our wide bedroom window.

Too often,  lately,  there has been a fresh fall of snow lying in the crevasses and gently on the bosom of the hills (how's that for poetic!)

This morning the sun is shining brightly.  The shadows are long and the day is full of promise...

I rise to put the coffee on; stop at the computer and start this little post.  But the open door beckons to both me and Callie, the cat.  When I open it she will whizz through my legs and out the small cat door, immediately turning into a slinking sleuth, creeping along the length of the garden shed in the protection of the lilac tree on her quest to find out what creatures have invaded her garden during the night.

I will go and put the sprinkler on spots that have been under eves or protected from the rain and are even now dry, after all that cloudy weather last week.  Being in town we must abide by the watering regulations, - no sprinkling after 10 a.m., but that's alright.  I am likely to be seconded as apprentice carpenter, as Charles continues his ramp project in the back garden, and my gardening will be limited.  Well, it's limited anyway.  Easy to keep up to this small garden which I have refrained from turning into a domesticated jungle and which we can enjoy with a certain amount of serenity, - although I did see a small track portion of the Chinese Lantern Underground has followed us down and is busy establishing a new station, a new village branch line.  Such opportunities for expansion!!!!

I see that the Canterbury Bell has started to bloom,  - not the vivid blue, as it was last year in the garden on the hill, but a pristine white - hidden amongst the bachelor's buttons that have grown to an incredible height.  For bachelor's buttons, that is.....

I check the progress of the sunflowers planted along the outside of the back fence, and note with approval that they are beginning to spring up towards the heavens, - and the barn flower I transplanted beside the compost bin has taken nicely.

There are a few quail trekking their way to Flo's place - the neighbour who feeds them kindly each morning.

The scout who watches over the contingent sits on the fence, but ignores Callie quite pointedly......

All's well and morning's at seven when Dorothy comes for coffee, so I will go to the kitchen and look forward today to the arrival of David and Nicola, come for a visit!!  Hugs all around......

Saturday, June 9th, 2012

Perfectly devoid....  a whinge

I look at the blank page and I am perfectly devoid of any inspiration.  Perhaps if I was to use the Omm writer that I recently downloaded I would be suffused with ideas ........  Oh, it has very nice fonts, and  meditative music  along with the clicking of keys, like an old fashioned typewriter.  It reminds me of when I worked for the City and typed 12 copies of minutes for the Town Planning Commission  on onion skin! This was before we were married,  when Charles was still in England with the RAF when he wasn't flying over Europe and I was both dexterous and young enough to cope with twelve sheets of onion skin and an old manual Remington typewriter.... when I try to copy and paste I just get the same old humdrum font here on Blogger.  Oh well...

It is still raining......

Yesterday afternoon the clouds decided just to hover, rather than spill their deluge on all and sundry, and late in the day I was able to cut the hankie lawn at the back, and what passes for a lawn at the front of the house.  Such a sad little bit of grass, but it has the lovely willow at one end, and a newly painted table and bench where I think about spending a quiet afternoon with a book, in the shade....

Charles is talking about going outside to finish a little ramp project he has been working on, and I peer out the window to see if the rain has perhaps stopped for a wee while, - just a smidgin would be nice.  I see  that despite the dampness the climbing roses are in full bloom, (though a little ragged)  and a few pink poppies are hiding amongst them, shielding themselves from the stormy weather.  I go out to take pictures, - the sun comes out momentarily, but it is still raining.  I look for a rainbow - in vain.  Nobody is making any promises today, except the weatherman who says that tomorrow will be sunny.  Can he be trusted?

The clematis had fallen over in the blustery rain,  so I picked them up and put them in their rightful places around the trellis

Delphinium growing, straight and true and ready to bloom amongst the roses.

Last evening we had a wonderful visit from Ashley and Ryan.  She is our second youngest granddaughter and came seeking photographs from early days when the house had a room just for grandchildren, with toys and books and they were all great company for the Grandparents and we all went camping together and had lovely times. 

I promised to copy and print the ones she chose and I think that would be a good project for the afternoon; to gather all those memories together and to remember what a joyful life it has been and how lucky we are.

http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=oXvJ8UquYoo&vq=large    

a smile guarantee even if it's been raining for a week...

Green Hills

Wednesday, June 6th, 2012

Yesterday we went over the pass to Penticton.  It rained all the way, 

and the clouds hugged the mountain tops.

But the hills were green!

and the reflection of the bright foliage around the waters of the lake at the top of the pass
suggested  it be designated Green, rather than Yellow Lake

Soon summer will turn the hills sere and dry and so we hold these damp days precious, and are thankful for the protection the rain gives when the hills are under threat of wild fires.

We had a small fire on Saturday, running along the bottom of the mountain that overlooks our back garden.

The big bombers with fire retardant and helicopters with buckets of water scooped up from the river came and provided a great show for all the village residents, and in the process put out the fire.

It is still raining today, and nobody saw Venus in her journey across the Sun, alas.

ABC Wednesday
June 6, 2012  (D Day)

The letter this week is the less than ubiquitous U

The U is a little sparse on the ground, but I did find a classic one that stands for Utrillo

Maurice Utrillo, the illegitimate son of Suzanne Valadon, born on Christmas Day, 1883 in Montmartre, Paris.

Often drunk, struggling with alcoholism and mental illness, ignored by the art world for many years, but now known as an admired post-impressionist painter along with artists such as Monet and Renoir.  A recent auction of Utrillo's paintings raised over $7 million dollars....

la rue tholoze a Montmartre

Such crisp clean lines and pleasing perspective

and here a more romanticized painting of the streets of Paris,

full of light and softer lines

I would hang this very happily somewhere where I could look at it for hours at a time

and lose myself  along the street, among the shops and flowered windowsills.

Next week I will post for V and tell the story of

Utrillo's mother, Suzanne Valadron.

In the meantime do go here to see what other U's are at ABC Wednesday.

Sunday, June 3rd

My English Empathy

Although my Canadian Loyalist ancestry begins with a Palatine gun maker who fled to Holland and eventually  found refuge in New York State through the good graces of Queen Anne of England, somehow I have always been closer to my mother's English heritage, and I feel a great empathy for both the island and its people.

This afternoon Charles and I watched with delight the Royal Procession down the Thames, the flags, the crowds of people, the happy faces, and we were once again impressed by the faithfulness with which Elizabeth has fulfilled her vow to 'serve' the people of England and the Commonwealth.  She and Philip are of our generation, and have seen the great changes in society's mores that have sometimes brought turmoil to our lives, but she soldiers on, adapting and changing with the times, keeping the monarchy relevant and steady.

Listening to Prince Andrew speak about the allotment of royal duties among the family, and the way that they spread themselves amongst the people, sponsoring this charity, being benefactor of that organization, engagements they keep (was it 4000 a year or 8000?) I was struck by how very hard they work.  He spoke about  losses in the family, and was asked how the particular duties that these family members have attended to are now covered, and he said with a wry smile, well, we just get the card tables out and shuffle them around, and I thought 'yes, of course, - what a homey way to speak of it, although I imagine reality would paint a somewhat different picture.

Well, it was all very exciting, and the Queen looked so happy, and Philip as distinguished as ever and so protective of her.

Here is the Gloriana, the Royal Barge

and above a 1747 painting by Caneletto of a Thames celebration

and below it a more modern procession on the Lord Mayor's Day (I believe)

Here is the Queen, with a lovely smile, and one of her subjects looking equally happy!

photos from The National Post

I will look forward to tomorrow's Diamond Jubilee Concert......

The last day of May......

And here is a beautiful May Hummingbird who visited

 David and Nicola and Vincent on the Meadow in the Chilcotin

and allowed David to take his picture, and David in turn has

allowed me to show you this wonderful colourful fellow

so bright eyed and golden throated, - his pale pastel feathery body

so indicative of  a glorious spring

He is only one of many hundreds who visit the meadow folk.

Here is the breakfast bar at 4:30 a.m. a few mornings ago

and I have seen photos of over two dozen customers

on David and Nicola's blog at the Homestone

http://thehomestone.blogspot.ca/

Their latest posting is of wildflowers in the Chilcotin

very beautiful, very delicate.

sweetly captured.

My work is the world

.  Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird -

equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums..."

Mary Oliver, Thirst 

ABC Wednesday
May 30th, 2012

The letter we are considering this week is T

and T might stand for Troubadour

one of a class of medieval lyric poets

who frequented parts of Southern France from about the 11th to the 13th centuries.

They wrote songs and poems of a complex metrical form

chiefly about love and courtliness.

They were very popular with the ladies!

and led a rather transient life.

For more intriguing Ts trip on over to ABC Wednesday, here,

with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt.

Sunday, May 27th, 2012

I am sweeping the bits of lilac, the detritus from the beautiful creamy mountain ash blossoms, something else that resembles a little brown caterpillar, but is in truth a bit of vegetation that having done its fertility job is now cast off to lie on the paved roadway leading into the garage.

Charles comes wheeling down the lane on his big blue electric cart, having been over town to get his hair  cut and  to chat to all and sundry on the main street.  I have heard stories about  the style and speed with which he 'wheels' around town, but now, in his hand, he bears a clutch of beautiful orange poppies.

He reminds me of the children, coming down off the hill to the kitchen door, bouquets of buttercups and daisies in their little fists, and the same sweet smile on their little faces!!

He found these gorgeous plants, laden with bloom and buds, along the lane outside the 

neighbour's back fence.

Two different kinds - one with shaggy petals fanning out from a modest centre

The other a more traditional poppy shape, layer upon layer of  delicate crumpled leaves

We put them in a little vase in the middle of the table, but they soon began to droop, and so I laid them water-lily fashion on their backs, in a wide bowl.  They were definitely out-door poppies, yearning for the breezes that wafted through their cut leaf greenery and cooled their hot orange petals

Just now, as I write about them, I am reminded of the long streamers that floated through the vaults of the Washington National Episcopalian Cathedral  today as I watched on my PC the Pentecost procession approach the altar, the flame coloured streamers attached to the ends of a thirty (?) foot pole,
circling above  the 

line of choir and priests and intercessors and out over the congregation.  

Tongues of flame and rushing winds!

Such marvelous theatre to celebrate the Day of Pentecost.

Later I came across this poem by Sandra McPherson, a modern Amercan poet...

Poppies

Orange is the single-hearted color.  I remember

How I found them in a vein beside the railroad,

A bumble bee fumbling for a foothold

While the poppies petals flagged beneath his boot.

I brought three poppies home and two buds atill sheathed.

I amputated them above the root.  They lived on artlessly

Beside the window for a while, blazing orange, bearing me

No malice.  Each four fanned surface opened

to the light.  They were bright as any orange grove,

I watched them day and night stretch open and tuck shut

With no roots to grip, like laboratory frogs' legs twitching

or like red beheaded hens still hopping on sheer nerves.

On the third afternoon one bud tore off its green glove

And burst out brazen as Baby New Year.

Two other poppies dropped their petals, leaving four

scribbly yellow streamers on a purple brimmed and green

conical cadaver like a New Year's hat.

I'd meant to celebrate with them, but they seemed

So suddenly tired, these aging ladies in crocheted

Shawl leaves.  They'd once been golden as the streets

Of heaven, now they were as hollow,

They couldn't pull together for a last good-bye.

I had outlived them and had only their letters to read,

Fallen around the vase, saying they were sorry.

ABC Wednesday
May 23rd, 2012

The letter this week is the Slinky S

and S does stand for Slinky

Did you ever play with a Slinky?

Did your children?

Or perhaps your grandchildren?

Wasn't it fun!!!!

The Slinky's inventor, Richard James ( a naval engineer) decided to demonstrate his new toy at Gimbels Department Store in Philadelphia in the the early 1940s though he really didn't think anyone would buy it because it was so simple.

Contrary to his expectations it was a great success

and remains the same today, as it did at Gimbels.

"The Slinky, like all objects, tends to resist change in its motion.  

Because of this inertia if it were placed at the top of the stairs it would stay at rest, without moving at all.

At this point it has potential or stored energy.

But once it is started down the stairs and gravity affects it, the potential energy

is created to kinetic energy, and the Slinky gracefully tumbles coil by coil down the stairs".

As the slinky moves down the steps energy is transferred along its length

in a longitudinal wave, rather like a sound wave that travels

through a substance by transferring a pulse of energy to the next molecule.

How quickly the wave moves depends on the spring constant and the mass of the metal

(I read that online!)

James had developed the Slinky for the Navy as an anti-vibration device for ship instruments.

When it failed to work for the Navy it became the successful toy it still is,

mesmerizing and amazing!

For more interesting S words sneak on over to ABC Wednesday,

here.http://abcwednesday-mrsnesbitt.blogspot.ca/

Sunday, the 20th of May,  2012

What we knew as 'Victoria Day' in honour of the Queen's birthday, when we went to the lake and had fireworks and a picnic and waved flags, has now become May Longweekend!!!!!  Everyone takes to the road to go hither and yon to various celebrations and early summer fetes and I doubt if many remember Queen Victoria's birthday is the cause celebre.  It is twittered about and there is great excitement on Facebook

What we have here in the village is the 74th  Annual Elk's Rodeo, with bulls and bareback riding and steer wrestling and barrel races.  We have the Firemen's Pancake Breakfast, a Cowboy's Church service under canvas, a Big Parade, a Children's Chicken Run, an all day Beer Garden and although the same events are probably firing up a dozen communities in British Columbia, we also have  thousands of visitors wearing cowboy hats.  Well, it seems like thousands.

What we were most excited about this week-end was the Centennial Celebrations at Charles' High School - Pen High.  O.k., we were mildly excited - as excited as those in their late eighties allow themselves to get about a great crowd of people, tremendously noisy and hiding quite effectively in their midst the very people you would like to visit with - your OWN old classmates.

So at the last minute we arranged a nice quiet luncheon at the Frog City Cafe in the middle of Linden Gardens in Kaledan; an especially lovely day - sunny, but not too warm, with just the faintest breeze and the very best of company.  The gatherings diminish somewhat as one by one people are wafted off to that great classroom in the sky, but that makes those who are left even more precious.  

Braving the wicked traffic we picked up our old and dear friend, Jill, - not yet easy with her widowed state and newly released from hospital but looking surprisingly fit, abandoning her walker for just a cane!  

We turned in at the Gardens and joined the remnants of the Class of '42, sitting around the patio, sheltered by the lovely greenery that surrounds Frog City and off in the distance flashes of colour where the azalea hold centre stage now the spring bulbs have all faded.

We had a great lunch, - Charles and I had a nice borscht and a Hippie Hobo sandwich made out of twenty grain bread and avocado, cheese, ham, tomato and various other goodies.  The ones who were game took a little turn around the gardens and were in awe of the marvelous colours and the shady pathways.

Eventually we had to move on, but we drove home, contented, happy, full of the satisfaction of having touched the lives of dear and familiar friends once again.

Please ignore the video

below, - it is

recalcitrant

won't work, and won't disappear.......

ABC Wednesday
and the letter this week is the Royal R

R is for Roses

My favourites are the Abraham Darby for colour, form and fragrance

the Mister Lincoln for its amazing deep red velvet colour and texture, and the wonderful scent that fills the air as you brush past it

and the Prairie Princess for its lovely icy pink hardiness.

For more delightful R's. or perhaps some not as delightful, click here
to visit ABC Wednesday with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her Rowdy crew.