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Albinoni's Adagio

Here from Wikipedia is the tale of what appears to be a beautiful musical hoax. Supposedly a piece of music written by Giazzotto, based on a fragment of a composition by Albinoni, Sonata in G. Minor found in the ruins of a fire bombed building during World War 11, it now appears to be an original composition by Giazzotto.

Shall we disregard its history and enjoy the lovely melody as interpreted by Laura Sullivan on the Synthesizer.....

Albinonis Secret Smile: Albinoni Adagio - Laura Sullivan

Mothers' Day

I listened in church this morning to the usual kind words spoken about mothers, but none of them were as dramatic as the Mothers' Day sermon I heard the second Sunday of each May, growing up in the Anglican Church. The Reverend Canon Charles Frederick Arthur Clough was the shepherd who saw us through those depression years, caring with tenderness and kindness and a great generosity, both spiritual and material.

He was never known as anything but "The Canon" in our house.




He came to Canada as a young English Curate to serve in the Canadian West, early in the last century.

He was a Judge in Juvenile Court; he was for many years the President of the Red Cross; he was a great proponent of the Boy Scouts, and at St. Faiths he and Henry White provided one of the best Scouting organizations in the West.

With all of these great attributes he was prone on special occasions to preach the same sermon, and his Mothers' Day sermon always ended with great flair as he quoted this poem by Rudyard Kipling.

Mother o' Mine

If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know whose love would follow me still,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know whose tears would come down to me,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

If I were damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

Rudyard Kipling

In the back row of the junior choir some of the more irreverent girls said it softly along with him!!!

Sky Watch Friday




A somewhat elegant sky, I think.

Not too flamboyant, - a little understated.

Lovely smudged clouds reminiscent of

a child's crayoning.

ABC Wednesday

P is for Pearly Everlasting and the Painted Butterfly




The Pearly Everlasting, a wildflower which does well on poor soils, but is somewhat toxic to cattle and shunned by them. In addition to the natural aversion to a plant that might have dire consequences, I can imagine the woolly covering on the stems of the Pearly Everlasting would make it somewhat akin to trying to eat cotton batting, and not something a cow would prefer to graze on. The plant has few juices, and hoards what it does have with the help of the soft woolly covering. Not a successful grazing plant....

But adopted as a perennial in borders or cutting gardens it is a gem.

The Pearly Everlasting grows about two feet tall, and spreads liberally. I can attest to that, having enjoyed it in the garden, but found it required constant vigilance to keep it in its place.

The silvery grey leaves lend a quietness to the garden border, and the clusters of
small papery white flowers with egg yolk yellow centres make a welcome addition to a dried bouquet. They should be picked for drying before the yellow centres are visible, to prevent them from fluffing out later.

If the cow disdains the Pearl the Painted Butterfly adores it, and makes it her host plant for laying eggs in the early summer. As the larvae emerge they feed on the foliage, but as the summer advances the foliage renews itself and there is little damage.





And it has such a romantic name......

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Django Reinhardt Plays Dark Eyes



I listened to all the modern versions of Django's Dark Eyes, and only Django has the lightness, the rhythm and the lilt. (IMHO)

Sunday Morning and a Summery Sky

When I came home from church Charles called to look at the cloud formation in the north-east, - funny bars of cloud that gradually expanded and divided.





I looked around at a sweet blue sky full of woolly clouds, and they made me smile. So soft and inviting, I felt they could be carded and spun into the most delicious wool.

Already there were spots where the wispy skeins could be stretched into rolags and guided through the spindle....





It was a momentary pleasure, - by mid afternoon they have darkened and look heavy with rain. But then, most pleasures are transitory and more precious because of their fleeting nature.

When Caspar and I took our last little saunter of the evening I stood on the deck for a few minutes before coming in, listening to the pulse of May, - the frogs at the foot of the pasture, singing the celebration of spring in their deep bass voices, with the rhythm of life, abundance, fertility and the powerful green energy of renewal.

And I thought about ancient days, and the mythology of the old civilizations of Rome and Greece - the gods and the goddesses and how involved they were with the lives of humans; the stories and fables of the various seasons.

Here is a beautiful tapestry. Edward Burns-Jones designed the figure, and William Morris designed the background. It depicts Flora, the goddess of abundance, standing barefoot in flowing garments with a wreath in her hair, personifying summer,. She holds fresh flowers in her hand, and we can see the intricate floral background inspired by the Medieval decorative technique known as Mille Fleur's (thousand flowers). In these times copies of the design are woven in Belgium and available online.




The piece is also inscribed with the following verse, beautifully rendered in Gothic type.

"I am the handmaid of the Earth
I broider fair her glorious gown;
Deck her on her days of mirth
with many a garland of renoun.
And while the earth's little ones are fain
And play about the mother's hem,
I scatter every gift I gain
From sun and wind to gladden them"

In Roman mythology Flora was a goddess of flowers and the season of spring, being one of several fertility goddesses and a relatively minor figure. Her association with spring gave her particular importance in late April and early May, the time of her festival, the Floralia. It was a lusty affair, symbolizing the renewal of the circle of life and marked with dancing, drinking, and flowers.

Flora was married to Favonius, the wind god, and her companion was Hercules. She achieved more prominence in the neo-pagan revival of Antiquity among Renaissance humanists than she had ever enjoyed in ancient Rome. - (extracted from Wikipedia).

From Ovid, Fasti 5, 193
"I, Flora, enjoy perpetual spring: the year always shines, trees are leafing, the solid always fodders. I have a fruitful garden in my dowered fields, fanned by breezes, fed by limpid fountains. My husband filled it with well-bred flowers, saying: 'Have jurisdiction of the flower, goddess'. I often wanted to number the colors displayed, but could not: their abundance defied measure. As soon as the dewy frost is cast from the leaves and sunbeams warm the dappled blossom, the Horae (Seasons) assemble, hitch up their colored dresses and collect these gifts of mine in light tubs. Suddenly the Charities (Graces) burst in, and weave chaplets and crowns to entwine the hair of gods."

It sounds like a lovely party, with great potential.



Although not a goddess, I too can relate to her enjoyment of her flowers and fountains, having an equally kind husband who has worked with me to make a beautifully diverse and joyful garden.

Thinking of Flora, the gods and goddesses, the renewal and cycle of life, the lovely month of May, and all it has meant in our lives, and time.. when I came across this poem it struck a haunting minor chord, and reminded me of how I felt when we first started this sweet little garden in our 'latter' years.

"'Established' is a good word, much used in garden books,
'the plant, when established'...
Oh, become established quickly, quickly, garden!
For I am fugitive, I am very fugitive

Those that come after me will gather these roses,
And watch, as I do now, the white wisteria
Burst in the sunshine, from its pale green sheath.

Planned. Planted. Established. Then neglected,
Till at last the loiterer by the gate will wonder
At the old, old cottage, the old wooden cottage,
And say, 'One might build here, the view is glorious;
This must have been a pretty garden once."

Well, I am not as 'fugitive' as Mary Ursula Bethell, who wrote this poem in 1929.

Nevertheless the words touched me, and the realization that Nature and the Goddess Flora persist in beauty and renewal, and May comes every year!!!!

Enticing Summer Skies in the Similkameen

A Silent Post

























Does anything here say "Come to me...Come see"?

Here is a posting from bygone days to fill in the time while Charles and I regain a semblance of health. He is home from the hospital, and looking fairly chipper, but still with a fragile chest.

And I sound like nothing on earth, - unless I am face to face with people they think they are exchanging words with a gravelly fog horn.

Here are a few gravelly words on Greed and Generosity.

There are two books tucked into the sideboard of our bed, - two books about widely divergent subjects, and I am reading them in tandem. This serves to keep me in a constant state of flux, as I try to determine just where I lie in relation to each subject (well, I lie on the bed, but that's beside the point...)

Phyllis Tickle has written the book entitled 'Greed' as part of a series on the Seven Deadly Sins. The reviews state that it is an elegant little book, and I can't disagree with that. Its contents send me scrambling to a dictionary (and beyond) as I am woefully unfamiliar with some of the literary and historical references. But the facts of the matter are well understood, and I am familiar with greed and all its many disguises, - avarice, miserliness, covetousness, acquisitiveness, - and even, in its more noble aspect, thrift.....

The book refers to Greed as the Mother of all Sins - or to put it more elegantly 'Greed, by any name, is the mother and matrix, root and consort of all the other sins'. It is not only western civilization that recognizes this primacy of Greed, - it is equally abhorred by Buddhists, Judaism, Hinduism and hopefully, by Secularism in this day and age. In that it leads to all other 'Sins' (or activities that damage the moral fibre of civilization) should we not be aware of its presence in each of our lives?

Which, of course, leads me to poke around in every nook and cranny of my own life, looking for symptoms of unacknowledged Sin. I think I am not Lustful, - nor can I be accused of Gluttony. I am not Envious, being greatly contented with my life - but I do suspect there may be some Greed lurking. Not for material things, but I must admit to being greedy for approval. I think it is one of the pistons that drives my engine, and results in slavery to Ego! A vice I am desperately trying to bury deep. It keeps popping up, and I keep pushing it down, but there... (sigh) I still strive to achieve.

The other book I am reading is "Being Generous (The Art of Right Living) by Lucinda Vardey and John Dalla Costa. A simpler and more comforting book. It caught my eye in a book store while I was shopping for Christmas gifts, and I thought of any number of people I could give it to, but it is still with me. I will give it away, but in the meantime if it is the night I read about the Art of Right Living, that is the night that I am inspired.

I quote from Chapter Seven - 'Generosity embraced becomes the defining aspect of one's character, permeating and unifying all that we are, all that we do, think, speak and feel. Integrity lives within our generosity, a wholeness that is consistent, reliable and humble;...'

I hope that I strive to be generous. I try to be conscious and mindful, without the ego 'being the head of my ( personal) household...' I know that I am not always successful, but to be generous with time, with love, with grace, with patience and service, - that surely is the true achievement.

And to be humble...

I must confess I am still hoarding the book on Generosity, - not yet prepared to part with it. Could that be Greed????

I was going to tell you everything I knew about Spotted Lake, and even more that I planned to research, but alas...

We are a House of Sickies, Charles with an impertinent flu and me with a hacking sinus.

So here is a small video composed of pictures taken from the front deck and down the lane a little.

Accompanied by the Japanese Sandman, welcome visitor here tonight, seeing as how neither of us slept a wink last night..

Forgive him leaving abruptly, - he was anxious to be about his duties spreading Japanese Sand.

More about Spotted Lake soon.

Some Spring time Pictures and The Common Cold, Disguised.

It seems that you can turn any corner, unawares, and be floored by the Common Cold, disguised as a slight headache and a scratchy throat. Once it has you in its throes it diabolically expands into a full blown sinus event, with all the symptoms....headache, sore throat, achy ears - and then everyone whispers at you to make life even more miserable.

This has been a busy week during which I held the cold at bay, but when we came home last night and I relaxed it moved in for the kill....

We have been traveling, - once to the south-east over the Richter Pass to Osoyoos, to have a delightful lunch with our friend, who turned 101 at the end of December.

And yesterday we took a different route into the Okanagan Valley, over the Yellow Lake Pass to Penticton to attend the funeral of a dear friend, and later to have a glass of wine with other old friends from Charles' school days.

Let me share with you some of the pictures we took on Tuesday from the moving car as we went whizzing through the countryside, late leaving and hurrying like the White Rabbit.

As we passed through the Valley far off in the west the peaks of the Cathedral mountains poked their head inquisitively over the shoulders of the Similkameen Hills.



And Chapaka, off to the south and still topped with snow, straddled the border with the U.S.A.



We skirted the river, around the cliffs high above it, and then turned to the east, up the winding Richter Pass road.



The road cuts through the Elkink Ranch, - green grass dotted with hundreds of contented cows and calves. They have built ingenious corrals from old tires, - sturdy and ecologically friendly.



The Ranch lies in a lovely narrow valley, and within the circle of slightly lower land if the water level is high, some years there is a small pond.



The road gets steeper as we continue up, and I am delighted to see on the hillsides great swathes of black eyed susans....lovely to look at, but a danger to pick in the spring because of the ticks who find them delicious too.



We come to a small benchland, and off to the right is Spotted Lake, long valued by First Nations for its healing qualities. Its colours vary, - sometimes it is shimmering and rainbow hued, but today the circles are quite a lovely shade of green and grey.



Here are the two sweet gentlemen I lunched with.



And on the way home we confined our picture taking to capturing the hillsides of Olalla (Saskatoon) bushes, more interesting snaps of Chapaka (where the snow makes slightly menacing primitive faces) and a nice country view of the farms closer to home.




_


From yesterday I can only offer a picture of the gorgeous blue of Skaha Lake, lying to the south of Penticton.



Well, I am off now to steam my poor head, have some hot water, honey and lemon, and perhaps a dash of rum........

SkyWatch Friday




Late afternoon clouds over the Cawston hills.

ABC Wednesday

N is for Nosegay

My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
- Song of Solomon 2:10




Edouard Manet A Bouquet of Violets

A bouquet, a nosegay, a tussie-mussie - by any name a posey of violets is probably one of the sweetest things about spring.

Later in the season the roses and carnations and the lilies and other fragrant flowers call to be gathered and made into beautiful small bouquets for brides or as gifts that will fit into a tea cup and send messages of love and friendship.

But in the spring, the violets and the lily of the valley waft their fragrance and beguile the garden visitor into picking a few small stems to tuck into a sleeve or a neckline, - somewhere where the scent will delight as they go about their business.

Indeed, having existed since medieval times, 'they were once carried or worn around the head or bodice to mask the unpleasant smells of the times' (from Wikipedia).

And in Victorian times no lady would go out into the streets without carrying a small tussie-mussie to keep the sensitive nose content, (or gay). The more elegant bouquets would be carried in a silver holder, the better to keep the stems moist and the blooms fresh.



What a wonderfully romantic way to convey the language of love. A red rose for 'I love you' - a yellow rose for 'friendship' the lily of the valley for 'sweetness' and the violet for 'faithfulness'. And always the fern for magic and fascination.

Can you picture in your mind's eye a dashing gentleman, stopping on the street to buy violets from this small girl; tucking them into his own lapel and whistling on his way, off to see his love.....



I will bring you the lily that laughs,
I will twine with soft narcissus
the myrtle, sweet crocus, white violet
the purple hyacinth, and last,
the rose, loved of love.
Hilda Dolittle 1886-1961

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Organist Jelani Eddington and pianist David Harris play Louis Moreau Gottschalk's "Grand Tarantelle" live in concert at Grace Baptist Church, Sarasota, Florida



What grand entertainment!