Amaryllis Wonderland



So amazingly delicate and beautiful. And so magnificently enthusiastic .....

Out in the garden the first little greening of the season - the Hellebore (Lenten Rose).

Do you have the January Blahs???? Me too....

Close your eyes and imagine...
The sky is blue, - a few clouds drift lazily in the south. The sun shines gently, and a small breeze wafts the perfume of the garden your way......

Double Click on the picture below, - come and lose yourself in the mid June garden.... believe it, - it is only five months away. All that wonderful, lush green growth.....



The bees are a-buzzin' and the small birds sing. Would you care for a glass of lemonade?

I find that aging involves a certain alchemy with Time and Memories. What happened three minutes ago when you laid your car keys "somewhere" dissolves into the mists of time, - and yet out of those same "mists of time" come the memories of long ago.

I sometimes imagine a library of memories, with a fairy file clerk wandering the stacks, pulling off a file randomly and bringing it back to present it as the "memory for the day".

Something like the Nene Thomas Memory Fairy.

Today I thought about cooking salmon for supper as a nod towards dietary needs for both Husband and myself.

I immediately remembered the marvelous salmon we used to buy from First Nations People who caught them in the Coastal waters and brought them into the interior to sell. And then I thought of Alex Hold, a good and complex friend from our younger days, who taught me how to prepare a delicious baked salmon dish, along with Cherries Jubilee and Peaches Flambeaux-a-la-Hold. Alex was a Master Chef who plyed his trade in the logging camps of B.C. and in the Canadian Army during World War Two.

We were still quite young when Alex came into our lives, and Husband and I were discussing the things we learned from him, and from other friends.

We were bridge players at that time, but Alex was a Master. We both loved music, but Alex's knowledge of music far surpassed ours, and he was generous about sharing - perhaps a little condescending, but at that point in our lives we were eager to expand our experiences. We were young and eager and confident, and a little condescension was acceptable, especially when we recognized the value of the culture he offered.

It was Alex who advised me to learn just one flamboyant piece of music well, and when asked to play the piano that would be my 'repetoire'. And I did, - I studied Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata and played it with style and aplomb, - and I wish I could still. He eventually married Elizabeth, loved by everyone in the family and his equal in elegance.

Here is Alex's recipe for Baked Salmon.

Select a lemon, or two - depending upon the size of the salmon. Stud it with rows of cloves, so that when the lemon is sliced each slice has little knobs of clove encircling it.

Place the salmon in a well buttered dish, - dot it with butter and sprinkle it with salt and pepper.

Slice an onion with two diced green peppers and one to one and a half cups of celery, one bay leaf, five or six pepper corns and a little garlic and place around the salmon.

Lay lemons on top of the salmon, pour a cup of white wine and juice of one half a lemon over it, and bake in 350 degree oven for forty-five minutes to one hour. Baste every fifteen minutes.

Fillet (a tricky maneuvre which I remember doing with great care) and serve.

When I was thoroughly familiar with Alex's Baked Salmon I felt confident enough to make changes and additions, and used to dice some of our wonderful Similkameen tomatoes and mix them with the onions, green peppers, etc.

Fit for a king - as was his Trout Recipe... Dictated as follows.

Decanter top oil from butter after melting.
Clean trout, leaving head on, and don't take out liver.
Dip in mixture of egg yolk and water, half and half.
Make Melba Toast out of fresh bread, crumb and roll trout in the crumbs.
Fry the Trout until golden brown.
In remaining butter fry almonds and when they are a pale golden pour juice of one half lemon and wine glass of wine into the fry pan. Pour quickly over trout.

Delicious......

On the front page of Elizabeth's own cookbook was the following rhyme...

He May live without books - what is knowledge but grieving?
He may live without hope - what is hope but deceiving?
He may live without love, - what is passion but pining?
But where is the man who can live without dining? Lord Lytton.

The first recipe in this handwritten book was for 'Oeuf Marie Antoinette'

Hard boiled eggs sliced in casserole with butter, chervil, parsley, french mustard, cream, grated cheese over.

As written.....

Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could carry these old friends into these last years with you?

I guess that is what the Memory Fairy is for.

In Consideration of Strawberry Jam




A plaintive message from a Grandson tonight told me of the wonderful fluffy biscuits he had just made, and the fact that he had run out of Grandma's Homemade Strawberry Jam. A disaster of fairly large consequence in the scheme of things.... Especially when Grandma has no jars of Strawberry Jam in her pantry to replenish her own supply........


June is far off, - this blustery January day drives home that fact with great swirls and gusts of southern wind. The closest I could come to comfort food today was Bread Pudding and Meat Loaf, - a far cry from the delicious taste of strawberry jam, the delights of which make you close your eyes, run your tongue around your lips, and sigh - deep sighs.

It calls for a foraging in the freezer, to see if there might be a bag of frozen strawberries, lonely and forlorn and overlooked.. ..... a bag of chilly gems that could end up as soul satisfying jam

Bits and Pieces

As a result of Chapter's After Christmas sale - (oh, much too good to be ignored) the Bedstead Library Shelf has expanded to hold a bit more choice reading material. 'The Gathering' by Anne Enrigh, 'Atonement' by Ian McEwan, 'Divisadero' by Michael Ondaatje, and two books for re-reading by Alexander McCall Smith. I have read them as library books, but now it is a joy to own them and to be free to pass them on....'Lover over Scotland and "Friends, Lovers, Chocolate'.

"Alexander McCall Smith once again proves himself a wry but gentle chronicler of humanity and its foibles." (The Miami Herald) and how comforting and settling it is to read him in these unsettled times. I am thinking that it may be necessary to spend a great deal of my time in bed in order to absorb all these wonderful stories....

And if I were to do that I can see a number of difficulties, not the least of which would be a querulous reaction from Husband.

And another would be a nonchalant disregard of the pressing knitting deadline that an up-coming birthday inflicts upon me. The reason for the Fearless Knitting icon on my Blog is to remind me I have only a limited time to finish a pair of stripey socks, and this is as far as the stripes go on the first sock. (These socks are for a two-legged granddaughter.....)

And the third little 'bit' that delights my day is the result of a curious inspection of the Lenten Roses. Brought about by the fact that Lent arrives in about three weeks, and I am expecting that spring will be aware of this and hurry along with her arrival...... Sure enough, - two lovely green knobs peeking through the ground, - one even showing a smidgin of a little white petal curled tightly within the green sheath.

A great flock of probably 100 small black birds circled the pasture a number of times this afternoon, eventually stringing themselves out in a ribbon on the telephone wires. Husband and I had to admit that they flew like starlings, but hoped that a closer inspection would prove them to be blackbirds. Alas, no opportunity to confirm this, as they flew off to Cawston where the sun was shining!

Yesterday we made the journey over the pass to Penticton. The roads were slushy and the clouds were dour and heavy, but on the way home, as we drew closer to our own favoured valley, the sky lightened and I took some pictures of K mountain in the distance. A feat that required considerable dexterity and cooperation. We were snapping pictures through the window - a truck passes spraying us with slush and water - Husband activates the window washer, momentarily and with great speed - he turns off the wipers - I snap the pictures - another truck comes splashing down the road... and so it goes!

The first of the after Christmas Amaryllis. This is Exotic Star, - a medium size flower, but what is exotic is the length of the sepals. Very pretty, tucked in with the last of the Poinsettias.

Peeking out the window to the south are the remaining Amaryllis, - stretching out tall with lovely, fat buds promising exquisite blooms.

They are keeping the languishing Paper Whites company. Poor Paper Whites, - they were banished to the loom room because their fragrance was just too much for Husband to contend with - but I went in and sat with them whenever the spirit moved me, and they grew tall and elegant. If the room was kept closed I must admit their scent was pretty over-powering on first opening the door.....

Moderation in all things - I must remember that.

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...

Holes

Two "new to me" phrases have popped up in the last couple of days, both concerning "holes".

The first I found in a Blog I really like to frequent - 'Willoboe" -wherein the Blogger speaks of cleaning out a 'ghost hole'. I was immediately intrigued and went googling... Found all sorts of references to 'ghost holes' - some pertaining to fishing, some to radioactivity, and one to Holy Ghost Holes in churches at Whitsuntide.

Well, it was evident that it was none of these that was being referred to, and from the context of the Blog it was apparent to me that it was probably a place like a corner of the garage, or the basement, or the attic - or any other place that accumulates things that have lost their place in our hearts or our lives. In any event it gave great satisfaction to have faced up to the task of sorting and abandoning, and the Blogger then slept the sleep of the righteous. I must try this exercise someday soon - I'm sure I have Ghost Holes aplenty if I did but go and look.

Today I was drawn to an interesting column on losing your past to the "memory hole" (written by George Jonas in the National Post Dec. 28th and I would love to be able to link you to it, but there is a glitch somewhere) This I am even more familiar with. Things that I remembered with some clarity ten years ago may still be available to me now, but that is because I had the wit to write them down, - otherwise they would have joined the blurs that "make up one's recollection of a life'.

Of course there are a lot of things I didn't write down, - there are whole years when our children were growing up that I remember only in scattered moments, - small events that are so unimportant that you could never imagine them being remembered, and returning to consciousness at a phrase of music, a scent or even just the atmosphere of a summer's day or a winter's walk.

Things so recent as the reason for going down the hallway, or up the stairs, are the ones that escape you first. I do get tired of "aging" jokes that have far too much reality attached to them to be even funny..... Don't ever pause on the stairs, or you might forget if you are going up, or coming down.

It's true, there are lots of funny anecdotes about memory and aging, - but there are lots of scary ones, too. My sister tells me that if you can draw a clock and add the hands you are still safe, and that the loss of memory, as well as both mental and physical facilities are not imminent... I cling to this, and draw a lot of clocks at regular intervals. Just checking....

I can remember being amazed at the things that my Grandmother remembered about her childhood, and the early days of her marriage, and thinking then that it was miraculous that she should remember so long. I am now just short a year of the age at which she died, and somehow it doesn't seem so miraculous anymore. Just a fact of life. Not one that I can explain, but one that I am thankful for. Those early memories are precious - the ones that stayed with us. I look at my granddaughters who now are experiencing the wonderful sensation of falling in love, having first babies, moving into new homes and it all comes flooding back. All the endearing emotions that accompany that time of life. The highs, and the lows, the agonies and the ecstasies.

Well, now it's time to go and play cards with Husband, - our nightly time of companionship and stirring up of the brain......just a little insurance. Is it his turn to deal first, or mine???? Or is it the cat's turn?

New Year's Eve day, and in the early morning we were bathed in a lovely translucent pink light as the sun rose. What a sweet way for Old Man Time to say good-bye....


In the evening we went for a birthday dinner to welcome our grandson, David, into his second decade.Husband tinkled the ivories while we waited for dinner....
Then we all retired to the fabricating shop to listen to the band, and see the New Year in. Husband was allowed to sing along with the Lead Singer as he warmed up the revelers .....no bonfire this year to edge up to - and that makes the quail happy. They escaped their usual January 1st eviction from their home in the pruning pile at the bottom of the pasture.....Husband had a great time, - all that great shop to scoot around in and visit with people. It made table hopping (which has always been one of his favourite pastimes) a veritable breeze!

One thing that Husband and I found curious is that not everybody now seems aware of the old customs of Auld Lang Syne - the crossed arms, the circle of friends, the singing and the hugs and kisses, and the tender words whispered in a loved one's ear.

I have a spiffy new Journal to in which to record the events of the New Year - and to keep track of the long list of resolutions and goals that I strive for. Ah well, I have a feeling it's going to be a ho-hum kind of year, given to relaxing and enjoying ourselves........comes with the territory.

For some gorgeous and intriquing pictures of the world in miniature click on my new link - Coyotes Crossing - No. 4 son is taking some fine photos.

P.S. - one of my new resolutions is to find out why, suddenly, and without warning, lines start to appear under the words I am typing. If anybody knows I am here to be enlightened...

I am starting to write this post early, as I'm sure I must have something profound to say about the passage of time, even if it is just a matter of discarding the old and pinning up a new calendar, full of hope and promise and good intentions. A little mundane catalyst.....but one that springs eternally and with great hope.....

"For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning."
~T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"

Profound thoughts do not always come easily, - they float around like vaporous clouds for some time before taking shape and form. And sometimes the end result is not as profound as one would wish.

Memories keep confounding any attempts at serious speculation about 'how times change', 'where are we headed', 'what is truly important as we skid along, day by day' and 'who is in charge of this wild ride'?

New Year's Eve has always been a special time in our lives. Christmas was for the children, but New Year's Eve was for parents, partying and compatriots. With six children we had to make a stand somewhere and strike out on our own.......

When we first came to this valley almost sixty years ago we settled on a DVA project along with forty or fifty other veterans of World War Two. We were all poor, - the fellows had spent the early years of their young manhood in Europe, and by today's standards the compensation was very sparse indeed. But we were rich in friendships and community, and our memories of those years are sweet (well, sometimes bitter sweet - it was an adventure, but also a struggle).

We partied in half built homes, - we organized dances (the old fashioned kind) - we went on scavenger hunts and played bridge at every opportunity. And New Year's Eve was important to us in many ways, - a relaxation, a time of hope that next year would bring good crops and markets (the orchardist's perennial optimism).... Sometimes New Year's Eve extended well into New Year's Day - always it was an expression of friendship and good fun.

In later years New Year's Eve was quieter. A game of bridge, some reminiscing, a drink or two, always crab sandwiches, - and always the same fondness for the dear friends we celebrated with. Time has a way of changing the things we would like to cling to. Death intervenes, and now we have come full circle, and New Year's Eve is usually spent with our children and grandchildren.

Precious moments, but still we are overcome with nostalgia for old friends and Auld Lang Syne. Midnight finds us tender and maybe teary-eyed.

So where are the profound thoughts? Awash in a sea of sentimentality I reach for the words to express the direction the world seems to be taking.

Two poems come to mind... the first one written by Minnie Louise Harkins and quoted by George Sixth in his 1939 Christmas address to a world so recently embroiled in war.

I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year
'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.'

And he replied, 'Go into the darkness and put your hand
into the hand of God
That shall be to you better than light and safer
than a known way!'

So I went forth and finding the Hand of God
Trod gladly into the night
He led me towards the hills
And the breaking of day in the lone east.

So heart be still!
What need our human life to know
If God hath comprehension?

In all the dizzy strife of things
Both high and low,
God hideth his intention."

Words that brought hope and kindled feelings of faith and trust and courage in those dreadful times, but I wonder if today they seem merely 'quaint' (at best) to a majority of society.

The other poem I puzzle over is 'Invictus" by William Henley. "Invictus" I have read, is "...the culmination of a long and torturous struggle for life and truly as an epilogue to all the poems Henley wrote". His life was a struggle, - economically in his younger years and as a result of tuberculosis in his youth he lost one of his legs, and suffered immense pain all during his life. In spite of this he contributed greatly to the lives of young writers in his role as an editor, but I find so many of his poems melancholy and despairing.

Therefore, "Invictus" seems to be a triumph over all the vicissitudes that he bore, and it has been an inspiration to many who suffer hardship. It inspires a stiffening of the spine, a determination to maintain integrity, and to cope with whatever life sends us.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

So why does it puzzle me, when it is clearly an admirable poem?

It is the last two lines.... I know that Henley meant them to express his courage in overcoming adversity and fate, and that in this context they have helped many to deal with despair and seemingly hopeless hardship.

And yet, and yet - they almost seem like a rallying cry for those Darwinian scientists who place their belief in genes and neurons and a natural progression from the slime of the ocean to the art, the music, the culture, the search for knowledge, the altruism and the faith that has, alas, faltered in the last four hundred years. And while they nurture their belief it seems to one who was brought up in a more innocent and moral age that the world is careening on a hand-cart to hell.

It is a paradox, indeed, that Christianity allows mankind the right of self-will and conscience, whereas the modern scientific outlook chains one to a theory of evolution which controls our actions, our thoughts, our mind and our very soul (if they but admitted that the soul exists...)

Then, I have to ask myself, how can those who accept their version of evolution as gene-controlled be "master of their fate" or "Captains of a soul" that they deny, - and I end up more perplexed than ever....

But there, after all these memories and musings I finally wish you all a blessed New Year - keep the faith, whatever it may mean to you, and strive for goodness.......

Another sweeter poem by William Henley...but still with a hint of the inevitable............

O, gather me the rose, the rose,

While yet in flower we find it,

For summer smiles, but summer goes,

And winter waits behind it!

For with the dream foregone, foregone,

The deed forborne for ever,

The worm, regret, will canker on,

And time will turn him never.

So well it were to love, my love,

And cheat of any laughter

The death beneath us and above,

The dark before and after.

The myrtle and the rose, the rose,

The sunshine and the swallow,

The dream that comes, the wish that goes,

The memories that follow!

Christmas Morning Sunrise

and now it's

To me the house is fragrant with the scent of the Paper Whites.....and their beautiful greenery is reflected in the silver which a Grandson has put his heart into "polishing to perfection". Thank you, David.....

To husband, who wrinkled up his nose whilst playing cards tonight, sniffed, and remarked on the strange smell in the house, - to him those lovely, delicate flowers smell something like car exhaust..

To each his own.....if nothing else he was glad to know the source of the odour.

Boxing Day finds us honouring the old traditions, - bah humbug to the scrabbling merchants who seek to fill their stores with frantic buyers and their coffers with still more dollars....

We went visiting with shortbread in hand...

The first blossoms on this year's Paper Whites, which just two weeks ago were little brown bulbs living in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator, almost forgotten. Every year it is a gamble - will they be in bloom for Christmas. Have I planted them too early? Too late? They are one of our cherished Christmas traditions (along with my mother's recipe for shortbread and Oyster Stew on Christmas Eve) You will notice the cunning support that Husband devised for the Paper Whites from tomato cages, - as they mature and the blossoms grow heavy they are inclined to fall into one another, and spread themselves in disarray, This year they are neatly contained , growing straight and true, and filling the room with their beautiful scent.

After many years of trial and error I have a pretty good idea when I should go out and gather gravel, fill the bulb pots half way up, and then place the paper whites in the bowl. However, there is always the possibility they will be overlooked, and not planted on time, - but usually the little dinger goes off in my head and sings "paper whites, paper whites", so they are fragrant and pure at Christmas time. And available for gifts.

About the other traditions? Everybody loves the shortbread. My mother's recipe calls for rice flour and castor sugar, which makes a fine, rich biscuit, and they truly do melt in your mouth. I do remember the care she took in adding just two tablespoons of flour at a time, mixing it carefuly, then adding two more tablespoonsful, until it was a lovely golden mass, ready for kneading.

While Husband was overseas she sent him these delectable shortbreads in Care packages, so he was well initiated into their delights.

As for Oyster Stew, - I brought this custom to our marriage from my own childhood home. Our children grew up with the tradition, and love the Christmas Eve oysters. The in-laws? Well, it is a touch and go situation with some of them. A few will have a little broth, and some will revel in the richness of the oysters, - we always have an alternative for those who would go home hungry, or overstuff themselves with shortbread and other goodies.
It is a magic time, - each year as the grandchildren grow older and their worlds' expand, I think that perhaps it is time to stop having Christmas Eve and Oyster Stew at Grandpa and Grandma's, but each year brings the same old holy sorcery..... The alternatives to the main dish may grow smaller, - the goodies may not be as varied, but the love and the warmth and the traditions remain the same.

And all who are absent from the party are here in our hearts......loved and cherished wherever they are.

More and more these days as I pass the piano I slip sideways on to the bench, consult the sticky notes containing the hymns for Christmas services, and lose myself in the lovely music of Christmas.

Some of my new favourites are not the ones that are old and precious to the congregation, and so it is not easy to introduce them into the Christmas services. I love the old familiar carols too, but I find much beauty in some of the new tunes.

"Silent Night" invariably brings unshed tears as I remember Christmases past, but "Still, Still, Still" arouses feelings of tenderness right down to my fingertips as I play the music.

We sing the John Rutter translation of this old Austrian carol, and I find the words more appropriate and stirring for Christmas Eve than some of the other lullaby oriented versions.

There are other carols in our hymn book that I find particularly beautiful, but which are, alas, not familiar to the congregation. As we don't have a choir to introduce them the organist must bear the brunt of winges from parishioners who "don't know that tune, - can't sing it, - why can't we have Jesus loves Me - everyone knows that!!!"

"In the Bleak Midwinter", and the Divinum Mysterium setting of "Of the Father's Love Begotten" would be wonderful interspersed with "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" and "O Come all ye Faithful". On the other hand, I am thankful that previous organists and popular renditions have introduced our lovers of Christmas music to "The Virgin Mary had a Baby Boy" and "Twas in the Moon of Wintertime" - I love the suggestion of drums in the bass in the Moon of Wintertime.

I look forward to these Christmas Services but am bemused by the small attendance at the beautiful Christmas Eve Communion (which has always been the essence of Christmas to me). I guess it is a sign of the times that the Service of Lessons and Carols draws triple the number of participants.......both pathways to the holiness of Christmas.

And how about Boney M"s "Daughters of Zion", and "A Child is Born".....

Ah bliss, pure bliss....

As we celebrate the Third Sunday in Advent, the tone of the season turns from one of waiting, to one of approach; and the closer we get to Bethlehem the sweeter the preparation for Christmas.

Today the Handbell Ringers with whom I associate every Monday evening, played in both churches that make up the Charge of our Parish. Last Sunday we played in the Roman Catholic Church. We plan our offering so that it is part of the Service, rather than a performance, and today I thought our offering was quite acceptable.

At one time our group consisted of twelve or thirteen experienced ringers, and we tackled fairly sophisticated music, but over the years we have lost ringers and then gained more wannabees (whom we welcome with open arms) Our present membership includes four new ringers, and as they learn so we simplify our repertoire to accommodate them. Nevertheless, bell music can be delicate and simple and still be pleasant and heart warming.

We are NOT the Raleigh Ringers. whose music and athletic dexterity we greatly admire. The music they are playing in the YouTube video below is Wizards of Winter, which seems to be very popular with Handbell Choirs of extreme musical virtuosity and also Christmas Light Shows - (some amazing visuals if you go googling). I hear the sleigh bells ringing and the sound of the horses hooves as they canter down a snowy lane.....

We are just a small group of ringers of all denominations who start to practice in the fall for Christmas performances in Churches and Care Facilities - good friends and lovers of music. And Christmas isn't Christmas until we've spread a little joy around and done our thing.....




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It is a starry, starry night out here in the country.

Just cold enough to make the snow twinkle back at the stars above.

The Little Dog and I have been out walking, - our evening constitutional. He gets such delight out of plunging his little bearded chin into the snow that he forgets to attend to business, and we occasionally have to make two trips down the road, admiring the heavens all the while.....

During the day we try to slow down time so that we can give some clarity and meaning to preparing for Christmas. I am doing less, and yet more involved in what I do, - baking shortbreads, wrapping gifts, putting away clutter to make room for Christmas decorations. The top of the piano is bare, awaiting the nativity scene, and life is good.....

The busy days of December have been starting off with fiery sunrises that come upon me suddenly as I am having breakfast, and shuttle me out the door with the lens set at Landscape.

Here are a few samples of what the sky offered us yesterday, and today. Even before the morning show begins the Little Dog and I are treated to a beautiful duo, - the sliver moon and Venus, riding just above her.




Later in the day the ACW ladies were joined by all the treasured volunteers who help them in the Bargain Centre. Mostly the elderly ladies are ACW members, - the volunteers are the ones with the brightest smiles and the most vitality. They are a precious commodity, - gems of great value, each and every one of them.
Good food, great friends, - a merry way to start the Christmas Season..

Neat Nellies versus Pack Rats

What a lot of enjoyment Neat Nellies miss out on, - oh yes, I know they have the satisfaction of a sparkly, pristine environment. They probably know where everything they own is located, - and that will be the minimum of possessions. (Certainly no books stacked under dining room chairs, or works in progress cluttering up the odd corner - or lovingly handcrafted gifts from grandchildren taking up space on the top of the piano).


On the other hand - has any Neat Nellie you have ever known had the exquisite joy of going through ten years of Christmas cards, - re-reading letters from dear friends, admiring meaningful and magnificent missives that talk to you of the Spirit of True Christmas? What a lovely way to spend a snowy afternoon, on the pretext of looking for addresses and old letters.......


There is nothing better to prepare you for writing A Christmas Letter that expresses the deeper meaning of the celebration, or the depth of love that accompanies the Christmas Season.

I packed up all those heart-felt cards and letters in a nice, large suitcase that I doubt we will ever use for traveling again. What better use could it be put to....? Perhaps I will come across them again in a year or two and they will once again refresh my thoughts and fill another snowy afternoon with love and memories.

Mind you - I have great admiration for Neat Nellies, and perhaps some day I will live the life of simplicity, tidiness and organization. I cannot recreate the circumstances just yet, but it MAY happen....

In the meantime, lets hear it for The Sentimental Pack Rats. (There are two of us who live in this house.....a compounded Pleasure? Problem? Take your pick - whatever your way of life...)

Another dour day, - November waved farewell in sulky fashion, - gone her fleeting sunny smile.

And to make it even dourer I forgot to murmur "White Rabbits" as I arose on this first day of December. As all English people know, this is a sure fire way to ensure a happy month ahead...........

Be that as it may, our first concern today is the roses. The Weatherman predicts very cold weather for a period of about 36 hours, and so we will go out and gather God's natural insulation, - snow and leaves, to pile around the sleeping roots.

Husband spent yesterday morning snipping seed pods from the branches of the Heritage Sweet peas, carefully collecting the seed for sharing. The sunflower heads that we gathered from along the fence were also of concern. He saved seeds for next year's roadside fence display, and what was left will go into the Sunflower Delicatessen along the garden fence, - treats for the little birds that forage in the pile of stalks and berries, along with the puffed up quail that make their daily route march through the meadow and the garden.






At first snow fall their herringbone tracks were bright and distinct in the newly fallen blanket. As the days go buy and their journeys through the garden increase the tracks become blurred and I regret not recording them earlier. I have always found it fascinating to watch the way the quail move, - almost as if they are skimming , but their tracks prove otherwise, - the little legs must move at mega speed to give this illusion of taking off, one after another as they trek along.


The quail spend their nights in the huge pile of brush and prunings at the bottom of the meadow. Tonight they will have company as an outdoor fireside birthday party is planned, and I guess we will all shiver together if the weatherman is on target.......

Ah November...

After being a grinch for all of 27 dreary days November decided to make known the fact that she is really just a capricious flirt at heart.

First thing this morning she greeted us with a fall of pristine snow (not welcomed so warmly by those who have to shovel) that makes the whole world look pure and white. The hills slid behind a curtain of mist and snow, and thus it continued for most of the morning.

But then, this afternoon the clouds cleared away, and a summery sky rumoured that November had turned into July......


Until one saw the hills below, escaping from their gauzy wrapping...

What a lovely departure gift from a wintry minx....The garden was happy too, as the pretty white counterpane tucked in over the bare and frozen ground.