Saturday, January 20th, 2018

Oh, today I ventured outside!!

Lovely......

Finally the snow lies diminished 

and the icy spots are easy to avoid.

I put on my gardening coat

and a pair of clogs, -

grabbed my 'stick'

and slipped through the side garden gate

to where the birdseed is stored.

What a treat!!

Both for me and the birds,

(although my son-in-law has been keeping them well fed, I'm

sure they would be glad to see my familiar face again).

That done I moved along the fence line

to where a small mound of snow lay,

covering the new clematis I planted last summer

and the Lenten Roses!!

A few delicate white blossoms poked

through the snow,

and I used my cane to move more of the broad

green leaves and sweet white petals

into what may possibly be sunshine if the clouds clear away.

Yesterday I was struggling with a difficult linen and fine cotton warp..

Today I might even take a book out into the sunshine

(if the sun deigns to favour us!!)

and dream of spring....

violets, the first crocus, some little white snowdrops!!

and I am awash in memories of chubby hands and bouquets

shyly offered, -

the first yellow spring blooms,

and the years when we were all young and life was still to be lived.

bygone times

I have been going through old pictures today,

looking for one in particular,

but finding many others that bring back memories or stir my curiosity about

days gone by...

One cannot guarantee that recollections and stories told

will be perfectly recalled,

or that they will correspond in every small detail

with the recollections of others dear to me.

I have been reading dire things about the reliability of memory,

and things that have been passed on to me have made the journey

through many a brain, but surely pictures do not lie

and they represent a sweet and common heritage.

Here is a picture taken on my great-grandfather's porch

shortly before my grandparents left Ontario for the West.

Clustered on the porch is a great aunt and her little one,

my grandparents, my father, an aunt and an uncle.

My great grandfather occupies the rocker.

The handsome fellow leaning nonchalantly against the post is another uncle,

and to the far right my two aunts

who died in the 1918 flu epidemic.

If this was a farewell visit I can imagine the poignancy of saying goodbye.

I don't know exactly the relationship of the two young girls sitting on the steps,

but the most interesting thing about the girl who sits on the bottom most step

is that she looks exactly like our granddaughter, at the same age,

born almost a hundred years later.

Our lives are all woven together,

and the pattern repeats itself randomly,

to add richness to the tapestry.

Confined to Barracks

The 10th day of January, 2018

And I am Confined to Barracks!!

Having spent the first forty years of my married life

as a farmer's wife

on a Veteran's Project.

I found my vocabulary changed considerably,

and I adopted many a military phrase, --

like being thoroughly Brassed Off

that I am in the midst of a

SNAFU
(situation normal, all fouled up)
ladies' more elegant interpretation

in that I am Confined to Barracks on account of

the snow and ice that has put my family in a Flap

that I might Fold Up and Hit the Deck!!

This would never have happened Yonks
(a long time ago)

when I was the one who was in a Flap because it was

quite possible the rascals were AWOL

and I had to do Bed Checks every night!!!

Ah well, times change...

but as much as I appreciate their concern

I do yearn for a little freedom to be

out and about......

Small patches of blue sky right now and soon

the sun will be peaking over the mountain top,

and maybe I will take my lunch out to the porch and dream

about what all the little bulbs are doing,

under that ice and snow that limits old ladies

from going sledding and skiing!

Or even to the grocery store....(whinging..)

Sunny Side Up

I had a pancake left over from last night's supper, and for breakfast this morning I decided to have it with an egg, and a rasher of bacon...

and then I decided that I would cook the egg sunny side up, as my mother used to do when I was a child.  

(here is a 'stock image' but you get the picture....nothing lavish)

A foggy morning, and it seemed to call for something that had a little brightness to it!!

As a matter of fact, I am inclined to prefer my whole life, "sunny side up", 

remembering the good things, rather than the sorrowful or agonizing, 

or just plain irritating events

 that continue to pop up along with joy and pleasant times.

It makes life more enjoyable 

to be a Blue bird

rather than an Eeyore

(and I have run into my share of "dark cloud" people

over the years..)

How about you?  How do you greet a gloomy day?

Do you cherish happy memories?

.....or is life full of regrets and annoyances

and melancholy?

Here is Pharrell Williams to help release

your serotonin, your dopamine, and your endorphins!!!!

Be happy!!!

Z for zip

ABC Wednesday
January 2nd, 2018
the letter is Z, for Zip

Today is my 93rd birthday.

It coincides with the ending of the alphabet

and I have chosen Z for Zip

Thinking that it is time I went Zipping along......

as much as I have enjoyed participating in

ABC Wednesday for lo these many years.

I will be reading all your posts,

but only contributing when the spirit moves me.

I will concentrate this year on the letter W

for Weaving!!

and G for Gardening

when the S for snow goes!

in the meantime
lots more Zs here at ABC Wednesday
Thank you Melody....

will see you around!

Yesteryear

ABC Wednesdasy
December 27th, 2017

The letter is Y for Yesteryear

Times gone by........

"That one of the most striking lines of poetry on beauty's impermanence

was written by a priest-killer and a thief, 

is among literary history's many seeming incongruencies".

"Where are the snows of yesteryear"

appears in a ballade in the middle of Francois Villons "Testament"

a long, otherwise irreverent poem 

skewering French noblemen, priests and prostitutes.

Villon wrote the poem in a Paris prison,  and was

never heard from again after being banished from Paris.

But Dante Gabriel Rosetti was one of the first

to translate the famous ballade into English,

coining the word "yesteryear: to capture the sense

of the French word 'anten'

which means 'last year' but also 'once' or 'in the past'.

D.H. Lawrence, in 1928, included in Lady Chatterley's Lover

the haunting question

"Where are the snows of Yesteryear"

Here are the snows of today....

More Ys here at ABC Wednesday

ABC Wednesday
December 20th, 2017

The letter is X 
for The OXEN by Thomas Hardy.

The Oxen

by Thomas Hardy

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on their knees,"
an Elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in the hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years!  Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
"Come, see the oxen kneel,

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

This poem has been with me for a long, long time
and when I was first married,
a city girl, learning to love the farm,
I was tempted on those Christmas Eves,
at midnight,
to slip into the barn
where the cow and the ewes
 and an occasional early lamb dwelt,

"Hoping it might be so"

More Xs here at ABC Wednesday

Oh Well.....blame it on the warp and weft.

ABC Wednesday
December 13th, 2017
The letter this week is evidently W
for Warp and for Weft

It seems I missed a week somehow during the first part of December!!!

How did I do that?

Oh, I know how I did that - 

I was so delighted to have my eight shaft dressed and in harness 

and was too busy throwing the WEFT through the WARP

and making kitchen towels to give away at Christmas.

Just a little short Warp to help balance the loom

while my son  patiently tied

all the cords and the strings and the heddles

to dress Her Ladyship.

More Ws here at ABC Wednesday

now we're back on track.

Vintage Christmas

ABC Wednesday
The letter is V, for Vintage Christmas cards and music
December 13th, 2017

Those Vintage years, 

when Christmas meant more than a rush to get ready......

And each of these cards was accompanied

by a loving Christmas letter......

some lovely Christmas music to waft through the house

while you write those

messages of friendship and love from tender hearts

Dinah Shore

more Vs here at ABC Wednesday

The First Sunday in Advent

December 3rd, 2017

The First Sunday of Advent

I rummage around in a box of old candles

which we have accumulated lo, these many years, -

and I find the stub of a little purple

wax wonder.

I put it in a small brass cup passed down

from my grandmother's house

first putting a bit of wax in the bottom

to make it stand true and sturdy.

Then I set it alight in the middle of the table,

and left it glowing while I breakfasted

and contemplated Advent.

There is Lent

and then there is Advent

and somehow Advent 

has always been for me

the time of soul searching...

busy as it is, with glitter and greenery,

it has always meant for me a time of

small quiet minutes in the midst of baking

or wrapping, or writing cards of love and greeting....

a time of wonder at the reality of our life,

here on earth,

and what it is meant to be.

" Emanuel

You come in silence

to my world of crooked noisy places,

places rough with agendas

that leave me bruised,

spirit light low,

a bare glowing ember.

Emmanuel

I will give you quiet moments,

bits of silence stolen

in the clamor of the streets.

Let my silence straighten

a way for you

to smooth my rough spots,

to heal my bruised spirit,

to fan my faith's faint flame,

to prepare in me a vessel

for your incarnation."

A poem by Lisa Wells Isenhower

for which I have much empathy.

and I am reminded too of Mary Oliver's lovely poem

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good,

you do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

When the children were growing up

Sunday dinner in the Advent season always included

an Advent Wreath

which the children took turns lighting.

There was also a little box of names to draw from,

and to be kept secret throughout the week,

but with the understanding

(and expectation)

that you would do something kind for that person

each day.

I hope this is a memory they have.....

and that it was an opportunity for them

to widen their thoughts beyond

Santa Claus

and the Christmas Pageant.

Post Script
I think that I was rather a naive mother...
as a matter of fact, the older I get and the more they confide 
(or reveal) 
the more I realize that this was surely the case.....

Then and now...

I sit at the breakfast table, lost in thought of bygone days, bygone Christmases and the people who made them so special.

I am waiting for my Daughter-in-law to arrive with cleaning supplies, as it has been deemed that I am too ancient to deal with deep cleaning of dark corners, and such....and she is coming to do those lowly tasks while I weave away merrily, trying to act my age.

I have every reason to be merry about my weaving.  Our youngest son turned the melancholy month of November into thirty days of delightful anticipation.

He came from the Chilcotin to rescue and restore my eight shaft Glimakra, which/who was put into retirement when we downsized and I no longer had a wonderful roomy studio for her to live in.

And when I felt I was no longer able to crawl into her nether parts to change treadles...

But Vince was, and he set her up, dressed her beautifully in new Texsolv lam and treadle cords, and was so meticulous about what he did, and how he did it, that when we pulled the Jack Pin all was in balance and ready for me to start weaving the warp I had put on when he started working.

It is possible that this video will not work, but even the photo gives
one a good idea of the patience and contemplation required!!

Shafts all even  - sheds amazing with no out-of-place threads for the shuttle to catch or run under...perfectly wonderful.  His father's son, no doubt about that!!!!

And I am so grateful......

The Unicorn, along with the Lion

ABC Wednesday
November 29th, 2017
the letter is U for Unicorn

Symbolic of the United Kingdom

Heraldic supporters, appearing

in the full

Royal Coat of Arms

This combination dates back to 1605 

and the accession of

James 1st of England,

who was already

James V1th of Scotland

It followed that this verse below

was written, read to

and recited

by the children of England.

(Did the Scottish children know it too??)

"The Lion and the Unicorn
Were fighting for the crown
The Lion beat the unicorn
All around the town.

Some gave them white bread,
And some gave them brown.
Some gave them plum cake
and drummed them out of town."

It's all terribly political,
both then, and perhaps now.

Lewis Carroll got involved with the Lion and the Unicorn
when he wrote "Alice in Wonderland"
as you might recall....

If it is a long time since you have read
about Alice and her adventures
down the rabbit-hole
now is a good time to refresh yourself....


Lots more Us here at ABC Wednesday
with thanks to all who maintain this meme.

Mr. Toad

ABC Wednesday
November 23rd, 2017

The letter is T for Mr. TOAD

AND HERE IS HIS SONG

FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT!

AMUSEMENT??

Lots more Ts here at ABC Wednesday

The Akond of Swat

ABC Wednesday
November 15th, 3017

The letter is S for the Akhond of Swat

A truly living person who reigned for many peaceful

years in the Country of Swatz..

and upon whose death Edward Lear wrote the following!

Is he wise or foolish, young or old?

Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold,

                                                or HOT?

                                           The Akond of Swat?

Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,

And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk,

                                                or TROT?

                                           The Akond of Swat?

Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?

Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat,

                                                or a COT?

                                           The Akond of Swat?

When he writes a copy in round-hand size,

Does he cross his T's and finish his I's

                                                with a DOT?

                                           The Akond of Swat?

Can he write a letter concisely clear

Without a speck or a smudge or smear

                                                or BLOT?

                                           The Akond of Swat?

Do his people like him extremely well?

Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,

                                                or PLOT?

                                           The Akond of Swat?

If he catches them then, either old or young,

Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung,

                                                or shot?

                                           The Akond of Swat?

Do his people prig in the lanes or park?

Or even at times, when days are dark,

                                                GAROTTE?

                                           O the Akond of Swat?

Does he study the wants of his own dominion?

Or doesn't he care for public opinion

                                                a JOT?

                                           The Akond of Swat?

To amuse his mind do his people show him

Pictures, or any one's last new poem,

                                               or WHAT?

                                           For the Akond of Swat?

At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,

Do they bring him only a few small cakes,

                                               or a LOT?

                                           For the Akond of Swat?

Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe?

Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe,

                                               or a DOT?

                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he like to lie on his back in a boat

Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,

                                              SHALLOTT?

                                         The Akond of Swat?

Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?

Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ,

                                              or a SCOT?

                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave?

Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave,

                                              or a GROTT?

                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?

Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?

                                              or a POT?

                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,

When she lets the gooseberries grow too ripe,

                                              or ROT?

                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends,

And tie it neat in a bow with ends,

                                              or a KNOT?

                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?

When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes,

                                              or NOT?

                                         The Akond of Swat?

Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?

Does he sail about on an inland lake,

                                              in a YACHT?

                                         The Akond of Swat?

Some one, or nobody, knows I wot

Who or which or why or what

                                         Is the Akond of Swat!

More interesting Ss here at ABC Wednesday!!

Remembrance

ABC Wednesday
November 8th, 2017

The letter is R for Remembrance

When you go home

tell them of us, and say,

for their tomorrow 

we gave our today

John Maxwell Edmonds

more Rs here at abc wednesday

A quote by Anna Quindlen

ABC Wednesday
November 1st, 2017

The Letter is Q for Quote and Quindlen

I have just finished reading Miller's Valley

by Anna Quindlen

I have a feeling that I have used Quindlen before

in my search for ABC Wednesday's quirkiest letter

but Miller's Valley did not exist then,

although many of Anna Quindlen's other books

had delighted me.

An American author, journalist and opinion columnist

I first discovered her when I read

"A Short Guide to a Happy Life"

and she says of her writing that it is always about families,

they being the metaphor of all of living.

And it is so with Miller's Valley.

Read it if you can, - you will love it!!

As to one of her quotes...

"Think of Life as a terminal illness,

because if you do you will live

it with joy and passion, 

as it ought to be lived".

More interesting Qs here at ABC Wednesday...

This and that....

October 28th,  2017

Saturday evening, and I wore myself out in the garden today, snipping back spent flowers and plants and preparing the beds for winter.  I am about half way finished, and the wheelbarrow is piled high!!!

A cup of tea, a cookies, and a little nap revived me enough that I was able to start winding the warp  for my new planned project on the loom, having finished the last batch of tea towels. 

as they came from the loom

washed, pressed and awaiting hemming

This warp is delightful, - not as long, nor as wide - prospects of beaming and threading and sleying just eight inches of ends instead of twenty-four.  

The warp is a lovely wheat coloured Bambu and the weft a delicious yellow.....

I can hardly wait, but there are only a few days left to enjoy lovely October sunshine

and brilliant blue October skies

while I fill the wheelbarrow and feed the compost bin.

And then the Melancholy Month of November....

ah well - Christmas comes after and I have lots of weaving plans

for November.

ABC Wednesday
October 25th, 2017
The letter is P for Polliwog

Do you remember,

or did you ever

bring a bucket of frog spawn home with you

from the lake, or the pond???

And then watch it,

day by day, as the eggs developed into tadpoles

and then the tadpoles into

polliwogs.

The word "polliwog" comes from the old English

"polwygle"

Pol meaning head

and Wygle - to wiggle.

And how they do wiggle!!

Here is a nice poem by Albert Garcia

entitled "Frog Eggs'

They started as a small slime

of black dots.  After

wading through the pond

you and the boys,

sloshing a plastic bucket,

poured brackish water

into a clear bowl, and there

they were, a little jelly packet

of lives that grew daily

under our magnifying glass.

They're turning flat,

you tell me as you peer in

this afternoon, and I admit

I'm as caught up in this

as the boys who announce

any wiggle, any sign

of the tail, legs, gills.

But I'm content

to watch you watch the eggs, you

hovering over the bowl,

hair encircling your face

like dark ferns surrounding a pool

before a waterfall,

holding, accentuating the light.


and a light video on the life of a frog
hosted by Kermit!!!

There must be something to be said
for those lazy, hazy
polliwog days!!!

For more Ps visit here at ABC Wednesday
with thanks to those who maintain this meme.

O is for Owl

ABC Wednesday
October 18th, 2017

O is for Owl, and for Mary Oliver

Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard

by Mary Oliver

His beak could open a bottle,

and his eyes - when he lifts their soft lids -

go on reading something

just beyond your shoulder -

Blake maybe,

or the Book of Revelation.

Never mind that he eats only

the black-smocked crickets,

and dragonflies if they happen

to be out late over the ponds, and of course

the occasional festal mouse.

Never mind that he is only a memo 

from the offices of fear -

it's not size but surge that tells us

when we're in touch with something real,

and when I hear him in the orchard

fluttering

down the little aluminum

ladder of his scream -

when I see his wings open, like two black ferns,

a flurry of palpitations

as cold as sleet

rackets across the marshlands

of my heart,

like a wild spring day

Somewhere in the universe,

in the gallery of important things,

the babyish owl, ruffled and rakish,

sits on its pedestal.

Dear, dark dapple of plush!

A message reads the label,

from that mysterious conglomerate:

Oblivion and Co.

The hooked head stares

from its blouse of dark, feathery lace.

It could be a valentine.

Lots more interesting Os here, at ABC Wednesday

with thanks to those who maintain this meme.