ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is H and I figure there is nothing better to describe H than Happiness.

Happiness is an inside job...William Arthur Ward

Happiness is not an ideal of reason,

but of imagination.   Immanuel Kant

There are some days when I think I am going

to die from an overdose

of satisfaction.   Salvador Dali

marielliott

Happiness is a conscious choice, not

an automatic response.  Mildred Barthel

The essence of philosophy is that a man should so live

that his happiness shall depend as little as possible

on external things.   Epictetus

Smile........ be Happy

Lots of other great stories about the letter H over here at

ABC Wednesday with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her Happy Band of Helpers.

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Two beautifully benign days, - warm and quiet, drawing us irresistibly out into the soft air.

We poked around, snipped here and there, - Charles did some serious pruning.  I found no bulbs poking through the sodden leaves and black earth, and a couple of inches down there was still a hard core of icy soil that awaits some heavy sunshine before it is pliable and soft in the hand.

Sid came to see us, bearing great long branches of pussy willow, - it was a little like bringing coals to Newcastle as the tree that nestles up against the garden shed finally made known its ancestry......

a gorgeous willow, flinging its pussy-willowed branches high into a blue summery sky

and the clouds, - so soft and promising

Today we were all psyched up to go to see the ophthalmologist, and then discovered our appointment was for next Monday instead, so we have another lovely day to spend in the back yard.

Callie is ecstatic, - she is not allowed in the front yard, not being a street-wise cat!

The Mountain Ash  (The Rowan Tree)

I have not been on intimate terms with the Mountain Ash, - I see them around town, and admire their cheery red berries, but not until we moved here in town have I been able to spend any time with them.

The snow keeps coming, intermittently.  We expect another few centimeters tonight but I think this is just a ruse on the part of spring, - she needs more time to burst forth in all her glory and so she dallies on the path, sending little March messages ahead of her to foil our expectations.

Nevertheless, when I was out in the garden the other day, examining each nook and cranny for bits of greenery or swelling buds, I came upon the Mountain Ash in the back garden, looking quite elegant, its bark displaying that lovely vibrant shade that speaks of rising sap and swelling buds.  There are two narrow, slim Rowans  - one at each end of the raspberry patch, but only one of them had these gorgeous pointy grey-green buds.....

Yesterday morning, when the snow was still on the ground and the trees carried it as garlands, just along

 the street was this lovely Mountain Ash, festooned with scarlet globes.

More snow tonight, says the weatherman, but spring is close enough that the buds will remain and continue to swell, until all is a tender green again.

I am so impatient!!!

ABC Wednesday

G is the letter this week

G is for Gryphon, or if you prefer, Griffin

A mythical creature, part Lion, part Eagle, a combination which imparts great strength, courage and kingship.

In Dante's Divine Comedy Beatrice meets Dante in Earthly Paradise and takes off into the Heavens to begin Dante's journey through paradise, seated on a flying Griffin that moves as fast as lightning.

St. John Mandeville wrote about them in his 14th century book of travels:

"In that country be many griffins, more plenty than in any other country.

Some men say that they have the body upward as an eagle and beneath as a lion,

and truly they say sooth,that they be of that shape.

But one griffin hath the body more great and is more strong than eight lions.

of such lions as be on this half,

and more great and stronger than an hundred eagles

such as we have amongst us.

For one griffen there will bea, flying to his nest, a great horse,

if he may find him at the point, or two oxen yoked together,,

as they go at the plough.

For he hath his talons so long and so large and great uipon his feet,

as though they were horns of great oxen or of bugles or of kine,

so that men make cups of them to drink of.

And of their ribs and of  the pens of their wings, men make bows,

full strong, to shoot with arrows and quarrels.

and OLIVER HERFORD. an American writer and illustrator, writes humorous verses about the Gryphon

It chanced that Allah, looking round,

when he had made his creatures, found

half of an Eagle and a pair

of extra Lion legs to spare.

So, hating waste, he took some glue

and made a Gryphon of the two........

This is about all I can tell you about the Gryphon, but over at Mrs. Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday you can find out lots more about the letter G.  Click here.  And Lewis Carroll has more to say about the Gryphon
and his friend the Mock Turtle, if you care to Google him.

Saturday, February 25th, 2012

Gathering up the ragged edges of winter we sallied forth yesterday morning.   There was a chilly wind, but the sun shone with some determination, and we stopped at the Senior's Centre for a cup of coffee and a look-see as to the condition of the Saturday morning bridge tables.  Did they need a spare?  Were there people hanging around looking for two more out of practice bridge players to make up a table???

There was only one vacant chair, and whoever was dummy was hopping around from table to table, filling in.  We had a cup of coffee.  Charles got into deep conversation with other drop-ins, so I went to take the place of the rotating dummy, feeling a little nervous as it has been many years since bridge was a steady and pleasurable part of our lives, and I did feel a little like a dummy, nervous and hoping that the others at the table were kind bridge players, - not the snippy types who make no bones about it and look down their nose when you bid inadequately, of trump your partner's Ace!  Oh, I have never done that......but it happened to Charles once.  Iris trumped his Ace, and he was such a sweet gentleman about it, - never blinked an eye..but it has gone down in history as one of our bridge stories!

All went well, and I enjoyed the game, but when we came home and were having a little conversation about who did what and why, etc. I began to think of the many Saturday nights we spent with friends, visiting, playing bridge and cementing the bonds of friendship.

A small dish of bridge mix in opposite corners of the table, a drink by your elbow, perhaps an ashtray close by, it being part of the time before smoking became such a dreadfully dirty habit and was instead a few moments of relaxation.

No stress.   Unhurried games, interspersed with friendly discussions, a few laughs, a few taut moments when it came to the opening bid, - they were wonderful times and we played bridge whenever we could, - Saturday nights, Sunday afternoons, impromptu get togethers - a few hands here, a few hands there - marvelous cheap entertainment.  Pickles and crab sandwiches waiting in the fridge for when we reluctantly put the cards away, but still replayed the most memorable hands of the evening and sat around talking, sometimes until the small hours of the morning.  And probably there was further pillow talk if the cut of the cards happened to present one with their spouse for a partner!!!

You know I'm livid, - you went to bed with an Ace

Eventually, as the children grew older and we grew busier, our entertainment grew more sophisticated and the bridge games happened less frequently, but at least once a month there was an invitation to "come to dinner, - I'll make a lemon pie for Charles and we'll play some bridge later".

Time passed, as it is so wont to do, and now we have lost many of those friends we played bridge with, to death or dementia, - we would be hard pressed to put together a foursome of old and dear friends for bridge now.

So we will go back to the Senior's Centre and play bridge with old acquaintances, and strangers, who will in the course of time become friends,  and life in town will continue to present all sorts of lovely surprises.

There is blue sky and sunshine this morning, - after a cup of coffee I think I will go out and pick some pussy willow branches and poke about to see if anybody planted daffodils in this lovely mini garden, and reminisce a little about days gone by and friends who live only in our memories.

ABC Wednesday
February 22nd, 2012

The letter of note this week is F


F is for  Anne Kingsmill Finch, Countess of  Winchilsea

the portrait is by Peter Cross c.1690

at present in the National Portrait Gallery, London

Anne Kingsmill was born in April, 1661, the third child of Sir William Kingsmill and Anne Haslewood.

At the age of 23 she went to the court of Charles II as a maid of honour to the Duchess of York.

She married Heneage Finch, a courtier and soldier appointed Groom of the Bedchamber to 

James, Duke of York,   It was a rewarding marriage for both of them.  Thirty-nine years later Heneage still noted the anniversary of their wedding in his private journal as "Most blessed day."  

Because of their strong loyalty to the Stuarts both she and her husband were

forcibly retired when James II was deposed, and in April 1690, Heneage was arrested on charges of Jacobitism for attempting to join James II in France.  Until November, when the charge was finally discharged, Anne and Heneage were separated and it was a time of great anxiety for them.

The Finches were invited to live at Eastwell, the home of Charles Finch, Earl of Winchilsea (Heneages' eldest brother's son.  There Anne continued to write and received great support from her husband.

In the Kentish countryside and from the safety of a private country house

Finch bravely published a volume of her poetry, despite the mockery

she received as an aristocratic woman writer.

In 1712 Charles, the Earl of Winchilsea, died unexpectedly and without children.  Heneage became the Earl of Winchilsea and Anne Finch the Countess of Wilchilsea.  They were beset by both financial and

political problems.  Anne died in London on August 5th, 1720.

Heneage transcribed an eloquent obituary to her which read, in part,

"To draw her Ladyship's just Character requires a masterly Pen like her own (She being a fine Writer, and an excellent Poet);  we shall only presume to say, she was the most faithful Servant to her Royal Mistress, the best Wife to her Noble Lord, and in every other Relation, publick and private, so illustrious an Example of such extraordinary Endowments, both of Body and Mind, that the Court of England never bred a more accomplished Lady, nor the Church of England a better Christian."

Her poetry 'sparkles with witty commentary and playful humour'.

It is said she wrote with clear conviction of what she saw and experienced 

and with a direct and personal voice.

It has also been suggested that she may be the best woman poet in England prior

to the nineteenth century.

Consolation

See, Phoebus breaking from the willing skies,

See, how the soaring Lark, does with him rise,

And through the air, is such a journy borne

As if she never thought of a return.

Now to his noon, behold him proudly goe,

And look with scorn on all that's great below.

A Monark he, and ruler of the day,

A fav'rite She, that in his beams does play.

Glorious and high, but shall they ever bee,

Glorious, and high, and fixt where now we see?

No, both must fall, nor can their stations keep,

She to the Earth, and he below the Deep.

At night both fall, but the swift hand of time

Renews the morning and again they climb,

Then lett no cloudy change, create my sorrow,

I'll think 'tis night, and I may rise to-morrow.

Anne Kingsmill Finch

For more interesting Fs visit here, at ABC Wednesday, and enjoy the efforts of all who take part in this great meme, sponsored by Mrs. Nesbitt and her fabulous helpers.

A morning of intermittent sunshine, blue sky and pussy willows.....

As we have lunch the sun skims over the top of  K mountain and the witches ball 

glows blue and silver

Yesterday was a grey day, but nonetheless we had such a lovely, satisfying afternoon.

Went for a drive, - out of the house, at last!

Took the camera and found colour in the early spring sap

rising in the willows.

in the bare-boned whiteness of an old barkless stump, home to some of the 

wild creatures that live in Ginty's Pond

and vicinity

the willows and the birch trees anticipate spring, and send sustenance up into their branches

while the ducks at the Pond sail into the stillness of the shoreline

the dried grasses will be glowing today in the sunlight, but

yesterday they were beautiful subtle shades of cream and sand

and naples yellow.

the grass on a newly burned slope  is thick and rich until it reaches

the fading remnants of the fire retardant that extinquished the blaze before it consumed

the whole mountain side.

Charles takes a beautiful wintry picture of Keremeos Creek, and is that a 

flotilla of ducks just at the bend, in the distance?

The Similkameen Valley is also known as Eagles' Valley, not only by the First Nations people

but also by those of us who have lived here long enough to appreciate

that this is a habitant of these beautiful birds.

I have written here before, I believe, of how I saw three great eagles circling

the funeral cortage of one of the elder natives (who was our neighbour) as it wound up the valley,

 in the early years 

when we first came here to farm with other Veterans of WW 2

We stopped to take a picture of the story of Eagle Valley that is located in a little turn out

on Highway 3, that runs through the Lower Similkameen Indian Reserve

and an enlargement of the two members of the Band who are pictured here.

We also photographed some of the older houses in Cawston and in the Lower Similkameen,

and we reminisced about one, in particular, which is now in a sad state of disrepair and 

has been empty for decades, but once housed people that we knew, and who were friends.

We passed by ranches where a sweet new crop of calves are awakening to the

wonders of life in this valley and the hills where the ranchers have

pastured them for a hundred and fifty years and more

Finally we passed by a sign which expresses the feelings of those who live in this valley

about a proposed National Park, which is highly favoured by environmentalists in

California and people in Timbuctoo and Europe and other far-flung spots, but threatens the peace

and livelihood of those who farm, and live here.

The very few who are in favour of this National Park put their signs high  on 

telephone poles to keep them comparatively safe from the locals......

Saturday, February 18th, 2012

I borrowed this from Sir Google - a Sunshine Wallpaper designed to lift your spirits

 and make your computer screen glow!  

I am considering pulling down the window blind and pretending I am in a little capsule of sunshine,

 shutting out the dreary lowering sky.  

 And maybe even blowing up this wonderful summery picture to poster size

 and attaching it to the inside of the blind.....

Here, in town, I thought about 'The Sunny Side of the Street'

and although there isn't any sunny side of the street

these dismal February days

I nevertheless started humming it - cheerily.

Here is Benny Goodman and his Jazz Sextet, with Peggy Lee

recorded on Christmas Eve, 1941

Does it make you smile?

This lovely Jasmine came to live with us on Valentine's Day

I go to check on the wonderful oven odours emanating from the freshly baked bread

and as I pass the Jasmine its glorious summery scent wafts 

me into the kitchen

I think these soulful  smells and  sights will have to suffice

until February decides to play host to blue skies and sunshine again.

I understand there are Robins in the vicinity!!!!!

ABC Wednesday
 February 15th, 2012

...and the letter this week is the Electable E


Goodness only knows we have enough news about U.S. Elections these days, but I'm not going to write about that today.

Today I'm going to tell you about Escargot, a favourite of our younger daughter.

Escargot is a dish of cooked land snails, usually served as an appetizer.  You have to be a little fussy about which land snails you choose to eat.  All species are equally edible, but many are too small to make it worthwhile to prepare and cook them.  Well, probably you aren't going to go out and gather your own snails, and will rely on the expensive can that is often on the top shelf of the canned fish section in the grocery store.

Or displayed on a table in more expensive and exclusive stores featuring fancy cuisine.

People have been eating snails for eons, - they have been found in archaeological excavations and in less primitive times the Romans, in particular, considered escargot to be an elite food, as noted in the writings of Pliny.  This information courtesy of Wikipedia.


You will be glad to hear that Wikipedia also tells me that the snails are purged of the questionable contents of their digestive system, killed, removed from their shells and cooked.  I will tell you about the cooking, but I thought you would be interested in the purging.  It is generally accomplished by a combination of fasting, or simply feeding them on a wholesome replacement, such as ground cereal.

If Escargot appeals to you here is a way of preparing them......

Preheat the oven to 450F.  Smush together some softened butter, - about 1/2 a cup, a smidgin of salt, some minced parsley and a clove of Garlic.

Stuff an escargot (which you are going to retrieve from that expensive can you bought) in a shell, (which can also be fairly expensive if you go to a fancy culinary equipment store to buy as many as you need).

Smother the escargot with garlic butter and splash a little liquor over the shells (whatever you find in the liquor cabinet, within reason, of course).  Put it in the oven for six or seven minutes.  The garlic butter melts and mixes with the liquor.  It is perfect for dipping with some lovely french bread.

Some escargot, a little wine, - perfect for Valentine's Day.

For more interpretations of the letter E visit here, at Mrs. Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday.

Wednesday, February 8th,/February 11th, 2012

I am putting in time before Lang Lang begins to play live at Carnegie Hall, - well, recorded Live, - there is a difference I guess.  Schumann, Haydn, Chopin and Liszt.  I look forward to the Liszt, although I don't think anyone plays his music with the elegance of Horowitz.

Days later, - I did enjoy this wonderful program, and went on to listen to a program of Mozart's Requiem, with glorious music and commentary.

If I listened to the Liszt with my eyes closed I could hear in Lang Lang's interpretation an increased maturity. - perhaps it is only his emotional facial expressions that distract me so, - and his waving hand.  Part of the program was verbal, and I was impressed with Lang Lang's enthusiasm for teaching and his empathy with children, so I opened my mind a little, and my heart, and Horowitz moved over a bit to make room for this new enchanter.

When it was all over and I was awash with music I did the go-to-bed chores, and slid in between the sheets, but alas, only for a short while.  Before I had read even a page of my book my prone position encouraged my cough mechanism, and eventually I had to resort to the reclining chair to sleep.  That has been five nights this week that the Cat and I have slept side by side, - me in the chair, and her on the couch....Charles has had the big king sized bed all to himself!

We had a little sunshine this afternoon, and believe me that has been pretty sparse lately......! Lots of fog, reaching right down to the ground and keeping the hills well hidden, so one could imagine oneself wandering around in a pewter bowl.

For the last few days, as Charles began to cough a little too, falling prey to this February virus, we have been very indolent, indulging ourselves with laziness and entertaining ourselves with the dreams that come with the short naps that overtake us.  Some of the things I think about when I am half awake and resting are about the garden, of course.  How can I move that beautiful clematis that has enfolded the remnants of the Russian Olive tree that we tried unsuccessfully to move from the garden before last to the one on the hill?

And if we do manage to move it, where will we put it?

And can I squeeze one of those seeded mats of wildflowers anywhere so we can enjoy the poppies??

and sometimes I dream of daffodils

They are good thoughts to banish the February Blahs, although some a little daunting.

Tonight I will try the bed again, and tomorrow I will get up and make a Birthday Cake.

Charles will celebrate his 88th Birthday.
WOW!!

ABC Wednesday
for Wednesday, February 8th, 2012

D is for Dancing and for Degas

Edgar Degas

Let us dance in the sun, wearing wildflowers in our hair..

Susan Polis Shutz

If you think of Dancing, and then if you think of painters, who does the

Joy of the Dance better than Degas.

for more interesting posts on the letter D visit here at Mrs. Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday.

Sunny Sunday Morning

February 5th, 2012

Charles is off to the Annual General Meeting at the Church, - I have been coughing all night long, and besides have given up on our supposedly ecumenical ministery which has been taken over by a group of the highly advanced and politically inspired followers of the  Emerging Church, - those who have a tenuous hold on religion by following "Jesus, the political activist", rather than "Jesus, the Son of God".  

I sit here in the sunshine, thankful for the blue sky, the lovely nip in the air as I went to open the gates for Charles to drive out, the little stub of Hellebore I found as my hand swept away the hard, icy snow that covered it, the thoughts of a second, silent cup of coffee!!

Yesterday I finally got the clock on the DVD to stop flashing its little green eyes at us, and figured out how to record straight from the TV - I know this should be easy, but we have made some changes in equipment, and I find that Occam's Razor is the rule to follow when you are trying to read foreign instructions, - if you can just pick the simple basics out of all the warnings and minute detail.  Being somewhat technically challenged this all gave me a really good feeling......

There are so many English shows whose delightful accents pass through my ears and into my brain without being translated, and it will be nice to record these shows and be able to pause them and catch just exactly what the Inspector was saying when he arrested that rummy character out on the moors!!!!!

I am going now to put on some Handel and surround myself with music as I sip my coffee, and then perhaps I will clean out the week's leftovers from the fridge.

Or maybe I'll just read a book!!!!