In Advance of Spring Greening


Another dismal day to those who await the tender green of newly opened leaves; the mild fragrance of spring wafted on kindly breezes; the young bulbs displaying the treasured colours they have gathered from the winter earth whilst resting under a layer of snow.

In a conversation with our painterly daughter last night she was lamenting the advance of spring and I was awakened to the beauty of this pre-spring world that we are so anxious to leave behind. She is frantically trying to capture the colours that abound in this world, - colours that we are blind to in our anxiety to greet the greening of Spring.

From where I sit at breakfast I can see at the bottom of the mountain a beautiful patch of naples yellow, and below it the golden cast of the weeping willow as the sap rises out to the tips of the branches. As you look over the country side the tops of the willows are like great golden puff pillows, thrown carelessly over the spring landscape.
















The fruit trees reflect the same sap rising, their colours varying from a warm rose to a deep and rusty red.













The red osier still retain their wild scarlet shades of winter.










And the sumac sport bright candles....












This has been a soft and hazy day, with a light rain falling intermittently. The air lends a luminous quality to the colours of the day, and as it changes the colours change with it.










The vivid green moss clinging to a rock face had lost its vibrancy when I came back to photograph it half and hour later, and it's colour against the blue grey rock was more subtle.
















The small talus at the base reflected this steely shade,















as does the sage that dots the hillside, with greeny overtones.
















Tucked into the crevices of the mountains and emblazoned on their rock faces are the golds, the reds and roses, the steely greens and oranges that are found below in the valley, though more subdued.














All of these wonderful colours are accented by the evergreens on hillside and within farm boundaries, surrounding the houses for shade and for windbreak .


Within these same yards the white skeletons of birch trees are haloed by a haze of rusty red falls, and the pussy willows are opening to scatter their pollen on anxious allergy sufferers!
















So little time to capture these colours to canvas, - already the early leaf buds swell pregnantly towards the burst of spring time green that will take precedence over all else.

Spring hesitates and flirts with those who await her coming, but as she vamps us with coy promises Mother Nature beguiles with another kind of beauty that is not overtly apparent except to the watchful eye.

This morning I was listening to a new Ragtime CD I picked up in the grocery store the other day. One piece in particular caught my ear and sent my spirits dancing. It is called Black and White Rag, and was written by George Botsford. In my opinion there is nothing like Ragtime to lighten dark clouds and make the sun shine brightly! When Husband came in to lunch I played it for him, and he liked it, but criticized "the vamping in the bass". He was startled at his choice of words, - the term "vamping" had entered his mind unbidden and from some knowledge from the time when he played the piano "piano roll style".

How fortunate we are to have Google, - immediately looked it up to find that "vamping" is indeed the art of providing rhythm back-up, and that the chick-boom beat is particular to ragtime. Although the right hand melody of this performance had a wonderful lift, and was played at a dizzying speed Husband's great ear picked up a weakness in the bass. Now my ear is not as good as his, and so I will probably continue to enjoy The Black and White Rag with more gusto than he will.

Ragtime is medicinal in this household. It acts like an anti-depressant. The Brand we use by preference is the Scott Joplin product, but any Ragtime is joy to our hearts and causes twinkling toes and racing fingers.

Scott Joplin was not the originator of Ragtime. It was already played by many musicians, and other composers had already published piano rags before Joplin. But the piano rags of Scott Joplin were of such high quality that they were popular for decades. Many of the best-selling rolls for player-piano were ragtime, and this is where Husband learned to play many of the popular 1920's pieces that were in his repertoire, - Alexander's Ragtime Band, You made me Love You, The Dark Town Strutter's Ball, - and many more.

^{Scott Joplin, whose ragtime is classified as "Classical Ragtime" and who was first introduced to me by Husband's Sister. She played his music with great technique and marvelous abandonment. When she sent me a book of his complete music I immediately started practising - much more slowly than she played, but gradually with increasing skill. This book is never far from the piano, and always available as a pick-me-up when we begin to feel weak and aged!!!!}

For a while, beginning in the twenties when jazz was the genre of the day, Ragtime was less popular, but it continued to be performed and recorded and had a major influence on early jazz greats. In the 1940's there was a slow revival until in 1973 the movie "The Sting" reintroduced ragtime to the general public and it has become once again popular with musicians and audiences.(ah, the music and the men in The Sting - Solace, The Entertainer, Robert Redford and Paul Newman (sigh) Ragtime has also "gained respect and recognition as an art that produced works of true genius." And it's so much fun!!!!

The Local Orchard Bar and its Patrons





While coming up the road today I noticed that the Patrons of the Orchard Bar and Pub were having a raucous time, drinking from fermented apples, telling naughty jokes and generally raising hell and putting a prop under it!


Whilst the little birds, - the Finches the Thrushes, the Robins and even the Sparrows - stayed soberly home, the Starlings and the Blackbirds perched high in the apple trees, surveying the world in an inebriated splendour, sweeping down every few minutes to have another sip of the fermented apple cider that kept them in this glorious state!!!


The owner of the Pub was absent, and the wickedly merry birds took advantage of the situation to indulge their serious drinking habits until someone called Time, Gentlemen!


I continued on my way up the road, reminiscing about days when husbands were young and sometimes spent Saturday afternoons in the Local Bar, enjoying themselves in much the same way as our glossy feathered friends! And with much the same results.....

The books I brought home from the library...

One for frivolity - Daily Candy, A to Z. I took this book to bed with me last night, but after having spent a great deal of energy in trying to outsmart Husband at cards I put the book down after the pages on D - is for Do-Gooding, turned off the light and immediately fell asleep. I will read some more tonight, -

D had some interesting observations - "Some say the world is divided into two types: the good who spread love and lend a helping hand; and the bad, who avoid charitable activities, drop-kick puppies and spit on babies".

Two for nostalgia - The Old Dog Barks Backwards by Ogden Nash. The first Ogden Nash books I purchased came through the Book Club I belonged to back in the early forties, - a set of four volumes which have traveled with me for over sixty years, and which I still enjoy as much as ever. They include The Private Dining Room, Good Intentions, Versus and Many Long Years Ago.

From Good Intentions:

Sally Rand
Needs an extra hand.

and - Assorted Chocolates

If some confectioners were willing
To let the shape announce the filling
We'd encounter fewer assorted chocs
Bitten into and returned to the box.

from Versus

"Whatever others may sing of spring,
I wish to sing there is no such thing.
Spring is simply a seasonal gap
When winter and summer overlap,
What kind of a system is it, please,
When in March you parch, and in May you freeze?
Yet give some people a glimpse of a crocus,
And all their perspective gets out of focus.
They lose their rubbers and store their V-necks,
And omit to renew their supply of Kleenex,
They shed their ulsters to walk uphill in,
And forget their sulfa and penicillin.
I suppose it's the same in Patagonia;
Today spring fever, tomorrow pneumonia".

A timely writer, no matter that he has been gone for almost forty years. And that the books I quote from were written in the 1930's.....

I love him, - he is even better than Gooks! And I shall wallow in nostalgia for those days I first read Nash, while I was still single, young and carefree.

Three for entertainment - The Piano Tuner, by Daniel Mason.

The flyleaf tells me the book is rich, atmospheric and evocative of the sights, smells, and textures of nineteenth century Burma - that it is a writing of deep potency and resonance, of beauty and pain and all things in between. That it is an irresistible amalgam of Kipling, Rider Haggard and Conrad at the very best.

It sounds to me as if this is a book I will have to renew, - not one to be skimmed through casually.

Four for nourishment of the Soul- The Measure of a Man - a spiritual autobiography by Sidney Poitier (for whom I always had the greatest admiration, and whose films I found delightful and touching ). I have missed him all these years, without realizing it until I saw his book on the Quick Read shelf. Seven days before it must be returned to the library. Definitely a priority.

As I leaf through the pages I see his comments on the daring of producing "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner" at that particular time, - and the criticism he received for playing an elegant and humane role. He points out that the message the film portrayed was that "black society does - of course - contain individuals of refinement, education, and accomplishment, and that white society - of course- should wake up to that reality?" Unfortunately, the message was sometimes misinterpreted .

The weather forecast doesn't look too great for the next few days, - this is the book I will escape indoors to read.

But now, Husband has stirred from the T.V. - it's Card Game/Cabaret time!!!

As Spring Advances

Husband and I drive along the river bank to check on the current condition of the run-off.

To day we found the ice had disappeared from the sides of the banks, and the river was flowing at a fast pace. In places, as it pounded against a curve in the river, one could almost say it was boiling. Certainly simmering......













And the snow is disappearing from the lower slopes.











Whereas two weeks ago the K on the mountain was dramatically outlined with snow, today there are only outlines of small slides to emphasis the feature which gives the mountain its name.














We are reminded of various spring times over the last twenty years while we were living in the valley bottom that caused a fair amount of anxiety over the threat of flooding. The looms and the piano lived on the lower floor of the old house, and their safety in case of flooding was always of the utmost concern.

This year is particularly tricky, with record snowfalls in the hills and a late spring run-off.

The hope is for continued coolish weather, - warm enough to keep the creeks happily gurgling into the rivers that feed the Similkameen, and the ground water soaking into the hills. No rain or hot weather welcome.....

This valley has been devastated by flooding twice in the last sixty years, and as we drove along the river bank we looked with skepticism at the large, expensive homes that have been built on vulnerable flood plain land.

I did not mention this at Lunch with the Ladies today, as three of them are living on properties that have been inundated with wild water in the past.

Despite the wonderful river bottom land we left behind, we are thankful to be back on the hillside!

We watch spring advance with delight, but also with some trepidation!!

Signs of Spring - Tara la la la

O the green things growing, the green things growing,
The faint sweet smell of the green things growing!
I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve,
Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.
- Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

The Forsythia from the Lost Garden that we brought home and nurtured in the bathtub - blooming its little heart out and brightening up the living room, - and bathroom....







































The sap rising in the peach orchards, and in the willows, turning the trees into candle flames which almost rival the colours of fall.

















A poor misguided farmer who has not yet learned the ways of the valley, - that you leave your prunings and cleared trees to dry for at least six months, so that when you do put fire to tinder it results in a good clean flame, rather than smoke which travels the length and breadth of the valley.














And the river, starting its run-off slowly while the ice clings to the banks in four foot sheets.

In the fields the number of small cavorting calves increases day by day, and up north at Meadowranch the new lambs start to arrive - and the pictures of them cause a great swell of nostalgia. Ah, for days gone by....

Each day a few more bulbs escape the earth, tentatively, and I see the delphinium, the peonies and the Shasta daisies pushing up their first shoots of tender green.

The poplar trees have that unmistakable colour which promises swelling leaf buds - there are pussy willows down in the yard below us, and catkins hang on the hazelnut trees in the Lost Garden.

In the morning the chittering and chattering of small birds is as pleasing to the ear as their most melodious songs. Occasionally great flocks of starlings gather in the apple trees, and the little dog, the Straight Guy, is startled by the sound of a farmer's scare gun which sends the starlings scattering and starts him barking.

The clouds are benign, the sky is blue, and although the wind is sometimes bitter, most times it is mild and wafts the fragrances of spring. We are not yet finished with March - not even half way through. The month has brought surprises before, and nobody is relaxing into Spring, - just enjoying what comes, day by day.

The Pros and Cons of Looking at the World Through Rose Coloured Glasses

Well, this is a subject that has been passing through my mind for the last few days and I have been wondering about the validity of viewing the world with rose tinted glasses.

It causes me some distress to question this way of looking at life, as it disturbs the roots of my philosophy about living life positively.

I have always believed passionately in the theory that a healthy and positive mind has an important and vital effect on our overall wellness, barring the catastrophes that oft times overtake us. With this in mind I endeavour to steer clear of melancholy thoughts, and keep always to the high road, avoiding the Sloughs of Despair as much as possible.

I realize that there is some naivete in viewing the world through a rosy haze, - not facing up to facts, as it were! And so I make a conscious effort to combine my hopefulness and optimism with a strong, and sometimes bitter, dose of realism.
I may never take the rose coloured glasses off, but occasionally I must admit they slip down to the end of my nose and life looks less attractive and pleasant than when they are firmly hooked behind my ears.

I sometimes think that my pleasure in recalling memories of the past, and the pleasant feelings that arise from looking at old pictures, hearing snatches of music from long ago, or catching a whiff of old familiar scents is a direct result of those lovely rose tinted glasses, - and I am grateful for them. The senses they stir make the present seem more worthwhile.

On the other hand, is this nostalgia really valid? Is my memory accentuating the positive, whilst ignoring the negative aspects of life? But then, are the negative aspects really important if they bring unhappiness and dour spirits?

Ann Landers says rose coloured glasses are never made in bifocals, - nobody wants to read the small print in dreams. That gives one pause for thought! Can we ignore the small print and still lead a life that is based on Truth? Or is there such a thing as "Truth"? I am wandering into the world of relativism now, and I have never been a fan of the theory that positives change to suit circumstances.

I don't expect that my questions about the validity of life viewed through rose coloured glasses is going to change the optimism I arise with in the morning and take to bed with me at night. I believe it might be a genetic thing, and not easily dismissed.

Perhaps this questioning might make me more proactive and realistic about many things, but Husband and I are living now in a more confined environment, and our spheres of influences are surely less than they once were.

There is the two of us, (old Darby and Joan) the comforts of our home, the pleasures of those old friends who still inhabit this earth, the things that fulfill us and the joys our family share with us. We live this life day by day and if it takes rose coloured glasses to view each day with optimism and happiness and hope, then so be it!!!!

Up, up with rose coloured glasses! They will sustain us to the end.

What I saw in the old Lost Garden

Rather than stooping to a midnight raid on the awakening forsythia bush, Husband spoke to the new owner, who is only too glad for us to avail ourselves of any of the poor neglected plants in the old Lost Garden.

It crossed my mind that this might perhaps assuage his guilt at the neglect that runs rampant through the garden, but then I thought, - no, he is too honest a man for that. He truly has too much to do and the old Lost Garden is just not one of his priorities. As it would be mine, alas! If I was younger and full of energy I would hire myself out to him as a gardener for a penny a day, just to be able to care for the beautiful plants we left behind.

Husband has been a master pruner all his life, and he kept the shrubs in the Lost Garden according to all the rules of perfect pruning, so that the trees and the bushes were symetrical where they should be symetrical, - flowing, where they should be flowing, and all was in in order to reach the pinnacle of beauty.















Now, as I entered through the gate, the honeysuckle on one side and the trumpet vine on the other reached out to touch me, - overgrown, tangled and confused.

The Star Magnolia and the Tree Peony have not been pruned, - branches crossed each other in awkward directions. The Forsythia is a mass of unpruned suckers, - and further than that I did not venture. I know not how the KoreanVerbenia, the Hibiscus or the Roses fare.





























The forsythia and I communed a bit, and with Husband's shining pruning shears I snipped off a goodly bunch of sticks, - full of buds and promise.

We brought them home and cut them into branches the right size for vases. They are sitting in the bathtub, soaking up the light from the big window, and will soon be golden butterfly blooms. Miss Callie has developed a fascination for this garden in the bathtub, and unless I keep the door closed she is shinnying up the sides of the tub and in amongst these new additions to the tub.














Meanwhile, in the new garden a few bulbs are poking through the ground, but it cries out for attention and I long for a day that is mild enough to go and tackle the old stalks from last year, - to remove them and make room for the tender young shoots that I JUST KNOW are waiting as impatiently as I am on the other side of the bed, for a springtime reunion!

Late Evening Activities

Depending upon what the Boob Tube has to offer, and whether it keeps Husband's attention at the qui vie and his eyes wide open, the time for opening the Card Game/Cabaret around the dining room table varies. It could be 9:00- it could be 10:00 - or it could be even later. Nevertheless, when the curtain goes up and the cards are shuffled all actors are on tip-toe, - ready for the show.

Age has robbed us of all our bridge partners, so Husband and I are reduced to playing Kings in the Corner as a prelude to sleep.

This is a fairly simple game that two can transform into a devious and crafty challenge - as a matter of fact Husband is so devious and crafty that his actions border ever so slightly on cheating. Certainly on ignoring the rules as explained to us by Daughter (who, it must be admitted, was not too sure of the hard and fast rules. Having learned the game from someone equally as devious and crafty as Husband)

In self defense I have had to adopt some of Husband's tactics. It makes for an interesting late evening activity, - designed to soothe one into dreamland.














Not to be outdone, Calico and the Straight Guy spend the early evening snoozing so that they will be in good form to provide the Cabaret act.

The minute the first move is made towards the card table the Straight Guy is there beside me with his neon tennis ball, talking a blue streak in his own inimitable way and indicating it is time to start lobbing it down the hallway towards the bedroom.



















In the meantime Miss Calico has come awake and is honing her claws for her trapeze act, performed on the backs of the dining room chairs and at mid height around the whole area surrounding the scene of the card game. She flys with wild abandon from one perch to the next, startling herself with foolish embarrassment when she lands on the piano keys. Eventually she settles on the back of a straight chair, balanced on all four paws.



















This is the pose which precedes the main act, where she lays across the top of the chair on her tummy, - head on one side and tail on the other. The trick is to insert the paw through the opening in the chair back, clutching at her tail (which just won't stay still) and I think if she could ever manage this movement with success she would then do somersaults around the top of the chair.




















If this has ever happened it has not yet been captured on film. However, even the attempt can keep her amused for a good long while. The Straight Guy looks on with amazement, having given up the Ball Game to indulge himself in watching the Aerial Cat perform.




















Meanwhile, back where the cards are being used as instruments of frustration, the Grown Ups enjoy the show whilst trying to outdo one another in craftiness (a euphemism if ever I heard one!)

Drop in one of these evenings and join the fun - open until all hours!

The Comic Team of Caspar and Calico


featuring Calico, the Aerial Cat
and Caspar, whose main claim to fame is in being the Straight Guy













So here we have Miss Calico, in full flight, landing on the Master's Chair.




She scouts the territory, - perches at the top in watchful attack position and waits, coiled and poised - ready to leap!

Not terribly well camouflaged, but that's of no never mind - the Straight Guy is old and doesn't see too well.




Besides, - his eye is on the ball, which he has inveigled the Master to throw for him.












The leap is made , - the Straight Guy, surprised and confused by this sudden attack, gropes for the ball.

He has it!!!

He has it!!






Drat it, - says Calico, - temporarily grounded.

Another time, another place......














In the meantime a short snooze, back to back, on the love seat.




The objects of our affection, - their performances are spontaneous and entertaining.

They bring laughter to our lives and we just love them all to bits!!! God bless them.

Sharing the beauty of the Hippeastrum Philadelphia Amaryllis. That wot helps to get me through these gloomy days of February.

Enjoy!!

The willow trees are turning golden, but still the wind is bitter and the valley is shrouded with cloud most mornings.

I remember a ditty from my young days on the prairies when Spring was not expected in February, and we didn't get antsy about it until April.

"Spring, forsooth.

It's all a myth. Winter will stay
Rock-bound forever and a day,
Despite what calendars may say.

And if today the air seems mild
I'm not, I swear, one whit bequiled -
Tomorrow new snow will be swirling wild.

I've stopped my wistful wondering
I'm quite convinced there's no such thing
As Spring!"

Not time yet to be so despairing of its late arrival in this desert clime, - but soon! soon!

We planted potatoes on the 4th of March in the spring of 1988, and with great enthusiam.

(sigh...)

How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and colour are their last days.
John Burroughs

I venture to speak today of Light Hearted Aging

Or is that an oxymoron????

No matter, - it is something to set as a goal, albeit one that is a struggle to reach. So many things get in the way. If I were to list them all I would have to include the cheese and the violin in with the whine, so let us look on the bright side - tra la!

My curiousity led me to the pages of quotes on aging that you can find online. The majority were full of wisdom and described situations that I recognize all too well, but not too many of them were particularly light hearted. Which leads me to believe that this may be a fairly serious subject. Especially if you are going to approach if from the light-hearted side!

For instance, - Charles Dickens wrote these heartening and kindly words in a rosy depiction of the aging process.

"Father Time is not always a hard parent, and though he tarries for none of his children, often lays his hand lightly upon those who have used him well; making them old men and women inexorably enough, but leaving their hearts and spirts young and in full vigour. With such people the grey head is but the impression of the old fellow's hand in giving them his blessing, and every wrinkle but a notch in the quiet calendar of a well-spent life"

When the heart and spirit is young and in full vigour, surely it makes it easier to bear the aches and pains, and sometimes the personal discomforts that growing old thrusts upon us.

John Mortimer - he of Rumple fame - tells us that "when you get to my age life seems little more than one long march to and from the lavatory." Well, on the face of it this may seem funny, and perhaps John Mortimer meant it to be funny, but it has just a shade too much truth in it to be accepted as a joke. It strikes the old with just one more of the realities of life that must be taken uncomplainingly and with good humour.

And Leo Rosenburg remarks - "first you forget names, then you forget faces; then you forget to pull your zipper up, then you forget to pull your zipper down". Now this is not a quandry I find myself in, but I can well imagine it if the gender was different, and it's not funny or light hearted - not funny at all!

I read "don't let ageing get you down. It's too hard to get back up" and "I still have a full deck - I just shuffle a little slower now" - witty remarks, but tinged with a little desperation.....

Eugene O'Neill comments on a characteristic of the old that I have often noted.
"The old - like children - talk to themselves, for they have reached that hopeless wisdom of experience which knows that though one were to cry it in the streets to multitudes, or whisper it in the kiss to one's beloved, the only ears that can ever hear one's secrets are one's own." Can truer words ever be spoken and does this not speak to the loneliness of the old?

And what about the poignancy of Shel Silverstein's excerpt:

Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the old man.”
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the old man.
- - - - Shel Silverstein

So where is the light heartedness in growing old, and how do you achieve grace in coping with it. - I ask myself?

Is it in acceptance? Is it in memories? But what if the memories are too painful a reminder of years gone by, of regrets for opportunities missed, of diminishing strength, of things not done that should have been done, and things that were done that should not have been done.

That doesn't speak well for memories, unless by some alchemy we can change them into happy reminders of things accomplished, - of joys and beauty and love experienced. And of sorrows that have strengthened the spirit, and brought a quiet confidence in what can be borne.

So having reached the stage where memories are a comfort and a source of happiness, what about the acceptance of life as it is, here and now, on a day to day basis.- - where each day is the present, - where there are no regrets for the past, and no worries about the future. Come what may, we seize the day and make of it all that circumstances allow!

But wait, - how do we relinguish the sense of responsibility for the whole wide world, and particularly for those things that affect us, and those dear to us???? How do we release the passions for what we consider to be right, and of good commom sense? How do we close our eyes to what we consider to be a general drift down the slippery slope? Can we forget that we are of the opinion that the world is going to hell in a hand basket and there isn't a thing we can do about it at this stage of our lives?

Is this where faith steps in, and we leave the world in the hands of God, - or do we take the greater leap and cultivate faith in the generations that follow us???

I have heard it said that the last years of a worthy life are the first years of immortality. Surely if we can get to the point where we consider our lives to have been worthy, we can accept our venture into immortality with grace.

The night grows late, and I am floundering.....

Off to bed, where perhaps I will dream the answers to my questions.

Amaryllis No. 3

Although the snow has disappeared from the valley bottom, the weather remains dismal and gloomy and nothing stirs one to anticipate a quick arrival of Spring.

However, the last of the amaryllis bulbs is making the big bathroom cheery. Along with a few slowly evolving hyacinths it speaks of the particular beauty that late winter brings.

I think longingly of the forsythia in the Lost Garden, and sometimes consider a midnight raid to snip off a few sticks to force into golden bloom. On the other hand, I could always ask the new owner to oblige with some prunings.... By next year the forsythia in the new garden should have lots of bloom, but this year all the shrubs are too small to provide more than a smidgin.

Patience, patience, - it is a virtue that keeps evading me, no matter how hard I try to cultivate it! The days go by so fast when one ages, and time is of the essence, to the nth degree!! Far too many things still left to do and to experience. I will say nothing about diminishing energy in case it discourages me and the spark falters.

I keep in my mind Longfellow's poem on Enthusiasm, A Psalm of Life:

"Let us then be up and doing,
with a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait."

and his quote on aging, -

"For age is opportunity no less than youth itself, though in another dress, and as the evening twilight fades away, the sky is filled with stars, invisible by day."

Some days I am more enthusiastic about these inspirations than I am on others......(sigh)

Some days I remember another verse of Longfellow's Psalm of Life;

"Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave."

It adds a little expediency to life!

And the sun and mild breezes help, - away, away, O Gloomy Days.