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.

Monday, May 13th, 2012

The whole town is awash with lilacs, 

and up the streets and down the lanes great bushes 

 scent the entire village with this glorious iconic fragrance

that marks the middle of May.

I miss the creamy white blossoms of the Philadelphia Orange. and its sweet, tangy fragrance,

but I am so glad to have lilacs again in this town garden.

They are complemented by the virginal clusters on the Mountain Ash

and it is so lovely to sit in the back garden and listen to the green grass growing

and breath the heady perfume of spring.

Amy Lowell speaks of the universality of  the lilac -
"the great flood of our souls, bursting above the leaf-shape of our hearts,"
In excerpts from her poem "Lilacs" she says

"Your great puffs of flowers
are everywhere in this my New England.
Among your heart-shaped leaves
Orange orioles hop like music box birds and sing
Their little weak soft songs;
In the crooks of your branches
The bright eyes of song sparrows sitting on spotted eggs
Peer restlessly through the light and shadow
of all Springs.
Lilacs in dooryards
Holding quiet conversations with an early moon;
Lilacs watching a deserted house
Settling sideways into the grass of an old road;
Lilacs, wind-beaten, staggering under a lopsided shock of bloom
above a cellar dug unto a hill.
You are everywhere."

and again.......


"Lilacs...
You have forgotten your Eastern origin,
The veiled women with eyes like panthers,
The swollen, aggressive turbans of jeweled pashas.
Now you are a very decent flower,
A curiously clear-cut, candid flower,
Standing beside clean doorways,
Friendly to a house-cat and a pair of spectacles,
Making poetry out of a bit of moonlight
And a hundred or two sharp blossoms."

Beautiful!!!!

What a contented week-end we had, working in the garden.
The sun shone, the breeze was cool, but not chilly,
the bleeding heart and the peonies and coral bells
that came with us into town are catching up to their village buddies
who were well established and quite at home when we came here.

All is right in this small corner of the world...

Apple Blossom Time

May 12th, 1945

We celebrate a quiet anniversary.....happily!

Friday, May 11th, 2012

May and June

Soft syllables, gentle names for the two best months in the garden year:  cool, misty mornings gently burned away with a warming spring sun, followed by breezy afternoons and chilly nights.

The discussion of philosophy is over; it's time for work to begin.

Peter Loewer

Yes, and so this morning I have put some sweet pea seed to soak

 (I know it's late but the the first batch didn't take)

and I will go out and make a nice earthy trough for the sunflower seed, just outside the

fence.  In my mind's eye I can seen them leaning their lovely heads across the top, 

in discourse with we who will enjoy

the privacy that their large leaves bring to the back garden.

I am not impressed with the seed to be planted, - scrawny little things, but hopefully they will grow.  I regret not saving some inventory from the Sunflower Bar and Grill we had in the garden on the hill, but the birds came in such flocks they left contented, with their tummies full and the seed heads bare.

We used to have Seedy Sundays here, where you could go and buy all sorts of exotic and healthy seeds that thrifty people had saved from their garden plants, but that seems to have gone the way of Fall Fairs and other bucolic happening.

I'm not sure where the big seed companies get their inventory, but in these two packages of sunflower seeds it looks as if they swept them off the floor, alas....

Well, now I have complained enough, - it is time to get the poor wee things in the ground and see if they respond and we will have sunflowers such as these below against the bright blue of the sky.

It is very chilly here at nights, and in the late afternoon if the wind

comes up it almost feels like March.  There is still snow on the high hills

and everybody is storing their bedding plants until it all disappears, - the snow, that is.

ABC Wednesday
May the 9th, 2012

The letter this week is Q and I love all the words it stands for, except maybe querulous.......

But quicken and quirky and quack and quiz and quince and quotient are all quite pleasant words.

Here is a picture of the Quince that is blossoming in my garden right now, - as we speak!

And here is a poem written by Salvatore Quasimodo who was born in 1901 of Sicilian parents.  He was an engineer with the Italian Government, but in 1930 he gave up this post and in 1938 he became the editor of the weekly magazine, Tempo and three years later was appointed to the chair of Italian Literature in Milan.

He was the recipient of many literary prizes.  In 1953, together with Dylan Thomas, he was awarded the Etna-Taormina International Prize in Poetry, and in 1959 he won the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Street in Agrigentum

There is still the wind that I remember

firing the manes of horses, racing,

slanting, across the plains,

the wind that stains and scours the sandstone,

and the heart of gloom columns, telamons,

overthrown in the grass.  Spirit of the ancients, grey

with rancour, return on the wind,

breathe in that feather-light moss

that covers those giants, hurled down by heaven.

How alone in the space that's still yours!

And greater, your pain, if you hear, once more,

the sound that moves, far off, towards the sea,

where Hesperus streaks the sky with morning

the jews-harp vibrates

in the waggoner's mouth

as he climbs the hill of moonlight, slow,

in the murmur of Saracen olive trees.

I like the rhythm and the imagery.

For more stories about the letter Q do quicken yourself over here to ABC Wednesday and see what Mrs. Nesbitt and her quirky helpers have for you to enjoy.

Monday, May 7th, 2012

A day of great efficiency for me.  I did the laundry, cut the lawns, shined the floors and dusted, paid the monthly bills online and snipped some rhubarb  - baked a rhubarb crisp for supper and put together a colourful gingery stir fry......

I don't get that much accomplished every day, but I wakened quite energized and one must not let these moments go to waste!!!!

Tomorrow we plan to go to Penticton, where I am going to visit that most dangerous of shops, - the plant nursery at Knapp's Plantland!  I figured if I got the house into ship-shape condition I could spend the rest of the week in the garden, and surely that Rhubarb Crisp will last us most of the week!

May continues to be a perfect sweetheart of a month, and the weatherman's chart shows great sun icons for Thursday, Friday and Saturday.

I will be on the lookout for hillsides golden with Balsam tomorrow, the bridal veil of the Saskatoons and leaves that cling to springtime green, making an aura around the newly awakened trees and shrubs.  I think we will take a thermos and some lunch and have a picnic!!!!

 These last two pictures were taken on Eagle Bluff by Al Tinka,  on May 3rd, 2012, and I am hoping he won't mind me sharing their beauty here.

Sunday, the 6th of May

Is it so small a thing

To have enjoy'd the sun,

To have lived light in the spring,

To have loved,

To have thought,

To have done...

Matthew Arnold

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.