Saturday, May 5th, 2012

In anticipation of the SuperMoon
  The full moon rises behind Statue of Liberty replica atop a hotel in Kosovo's capital Pristina on Saturday, May 5th 2012  (AP photo Visae Kryeziu)

Here the sun still lingers close to the horizon and it will be an hour before the moon 

rises into a clear blue sky.

I think I will not frustrate myself with trying to take a picture without a tripod, but instead will just enjoy the beauty of the night sky, and the fullness of the porcelain moon and Walter de la Mare's

poem about its silvery qualities that I remember so well from my childhood.

Slowly, silently now the moon

Walks the night in her silver shoon;

This way and that she peers and sees

Silver fruit upon silver trees;

One by one the casements catch

Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;

Couched in his kennel like a log

With paws of silver sleeps the dog;

From their shadowy coat the white breasts peep

Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep

A harvest mouse goes scampering by

With silver claws and silver eye;

And moveless fish in the water gleam

By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Silver by Walter de la Mare

It has been a long and emotional day.  I was up picking scarlet and yellow tulips

 for the church, just after six this morning, before they had opened their glorious petals.

At the funeral we sang the hymn 'Those Hearts that we have Treasured".  The tune is rather prosaic, but the words are beautiful and mindful of  abiding love.

Our older daughter brought us some deliciously scented lilacs.

After I had put them into water and placed the vase on the table

Callie, the cat, climbed up to sniff that wonderful odour.....

Our younger daughter came around with some tender pork cutlets

to use in a stir-fry, but Callie wasn't interested in them!

We will have them for supper tomorrow night.

But now, tonight I think I will go to bed  and when the moon finishes its journey

across the sky it will be shining into our bedroom window from the west

and we will have a silvery sleep-in.

Friday, May 4th, 2012

The storm clouds have fled.  The sky looks peaceful - palest blue and serenest clouds.

When the rain quit about four o'clock I put supper in the oven, gave Charles his dram of scotch for happy hour and went out to pick anemones. When I had gathered them, and a little greenery from the willow tree and some small closed tulips I took them all to the church to decorate the tea tables for the reception to follow my dearest friend's funeral tomorrow.

When she died twelve days ago I could not cry for her.  I was so relieved that her hours of waiting were over and her precious spirit was released from the frustrations of five years of Altzheimers and the gradual depletion of her body and of her mind and the long wait for death to claim her, tenderly..

She never lost her smile.  And she never lost the ability to make people smile with her.  And she didn't lose her long term memory.  We reminisced about times when we were young and when our children were young;  the parties we had, and the quiet moments we enjoyed together. 

 And she could still laugh about the silly things that we did, and that the young ones did, and the times we would gather for dinner and a game of bridge, and the lemon pies she used to make for Charles..  Just a few things at a time, and. towards the end. only for a few minutes at a time before she became tired and confused and distracted.  It was enough to sit and hold her hand.

Now I can cry grateful tears for this friendship I was so blessed with, and for all the happy years.

Tomorrow Charles and I will go to say goodbye, as we said goodbye to her husband, ten years ago, and our hearts will be full.  And if our eyes are bright it will not only be with unshed tears, but also with the pleasure of being with her family, and celebrating a beautiful life and knowing that somewhere, in some form, she is again a living and vibrant part of the universe.

Say not in grief that she is no more, 

but say in thankfulness that she was.

A death is not the extinguishing of a light 

but the putting out of the lamp

because the dawn has come.

Life is eternal and love is immortal

and death is only a horizon

and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.

Rossiter Worthington Raymond

Thursday, May 3rd

Oh May, - she fled to the hills today, cavorting with the blooming Olalla bushes and the yellow balsom root, and sent in her place grey skies, rain and chilly winds. She copies April's fickle ways....

I cannot tell you how it was,

But this I know; it came to pass

Upon a bright and sunny day

When May was young; ah, pleasant May!

As yet the poppies were not born

Between the blades of tender corn;

The last egg had not hatched as yet,

Nor any bird foregone its mate.

I cannot tell you what it was,

But this I know; it did but pass.

It passed away with sunny May,

Like all sweet things it passed away,

And left me old, and cold, and gray

Christina Georgina Rossetti,  MAY, 1880

Wednesday, May 3rd, 2012

I have been putting away the things of winter; warm garments, the decorations of  house-bound days that make the home seem cosy. Pillows and throws get thrust into cupboards, and all the plants have found a new conservatory in the little sunroom at the back of the house.  In order to not be too rash I leave the pilot light on in the electric fireplace, having learned over the years that even May evenings can be chilly

 and a little heat is welcome.

The doors stand wide open to the spring breezes, and the house bares itself to their caresses (good heavens, that sounds a bit exotic and over the top,,,,)  Anyway, if I were Martha Stewart I would get out the white linen slip covers and fill creamy vases with spring flowers and go and read a good book, but I notice as I dream about such things that all the pictures on the walls need to be polished (maybe I should put them away for the summer) and the woodwork could do with a good washing, and the side lawn needs to be cut - and if I DID take all the pictures down I would leave little gold picture hangers decorating the walls, and I would have to take THEM all down, and put them all back again in the fall when the house needs to look cosy once more.  

Far too much for an ancient lady, but it's nice to think of simple, clean, crisp surroundings, with light music and birds at the fountain.

I will just post another bit of spring poetry, - this one The Enkindled Spring by D.H. Lawrence,  1916

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,

Wild puffing of emerald trees, and game-filled bushes,

Thorn blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between

Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration

Of Green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze

Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,

Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among

This leaping combustion of spring?  My spirit is tossed

About like a shadow buffeted in the throng

Of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost. 

Tuesday, the first day of May

The tulips open their lovely petals to the sun, and to any fairies who might still be around after their merry May Day celebration under the pretty moon that flooded the bedroom window early this morning..... Charles told me about it, - (the moon, I mean - he's not one inclined to fairyland).  I didn't see it myself, being fast asleep enjoying a pleasant dream which I can't remember now, but when I wakened I did remember it quite happily as it seemed that whatever was happening  was better than what usually happens in real life.  Wistful dreaming I guess.....

I'm not sure if whoever ordered up the weather for the first of May realized we had flipped over the calendar, as it still seemed like a typical fickle April day, - sunny one moment, cloudy the next, and a chilly wind came down occasionally from the very tops of the highest mountains where the snow still sparkles in the sunlight.

I'm not sure why Labour picked the first of May to broadcast their discontent, or why the media makes such a big thing of it.  Down at the other end of the country,  in Montreal, some of the students from the University have been causing  a great deal of annoyance to everyone else who lives there; marching in the streets, masked and arrogant, protesting a raise of $300.00 in tuition fees over the next five years (or is it seven) when they already enjoy tuition fees which are half of the average of those in other Provinces.

Only some of the students are striking, - those who are passionate about Entitlements and the Student Union.  Those who are passionate about obtaining a degree are back in their engineering, law, medical, mathematical and science classes being diligent and mature and sensible.

What I find particularly sad and puzzling is the involvement of some of the more leftist faculty members in this meaningless student strike; and what makes me particularly angry is the financial support which the Student Unions are obtaining from Canadian Public Unions.

I watched one of the students camped out in a city park twirling around in a hoola hoop, and I know I rolled my eyes!!!

Well, never mind, - it is the first day of May and through all the ages poets have written fair words about the beauty of the month.  I'm sure I could find one for each day of May, - and perhaps I will.....

A delicate fabric of bird song

Floats in the air,

The smell of wet wild earth

Is everywhere.

O I must pass nothing by

Without loving it much,

The raindrop try with my lips,

The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure

I shall see again

The world on the first of May

Shining after the rain?

Sara Teasdale  MAY DAY

We have a friend who sends wonderful pictures of treks in the mountains and the woods, and here are some of the earliest spring flowers on the mountains

and some anemones from the little bed outside the picket fence at the front of the house

As you can see I have been messing about with Photoshop again!

and a P.S.

this is post # 901 for Daybyday

Happy May Day!!!

ABC Wednesday
May 2nd, 2012

P is the letter for this week, and it stands for one of my favourite old time pieces, Peg o' my Heart written in 1913 by Alfred Bryan and Fred Fisher.

Here is this lovely song played tenderly by Jerry Murad's Harmonicats.

Enjoy, and visit here at ABC Wednesday  to find out what else P stands for.