David Harris and Jelani Eddington play Louis Moreau Gottschalk - The Grande Tarantelle




Brilliant music to celebrate the Merry Month of May.......

Potpourri

Early this spring Husband pruned the curly willows, and in the process we snipped a number of pruned branches into small lengths, put them in a pot of water for a while, until they began to shoot, and then into a little nursery row where they developed nice, strong roots.



In an endearing act of faith Husband once again started planting trees. A row of wee curly willows to stretch out down the fence that lines the road to home. Each planted with the expectation that we will be here to watch them grow and mature.....

We are getting the occasional day when the air is warm and pleasant, and the chilly winds don't blow. On those days we come in weary and tired at lunchtime, but full of satisfaction with what has been accomplished.

We have new neighbours across the fence.... Baby, with the white socks and shattered star is not yet a week old. His lovely long legs carry him on little bursts of joyous sprints around the pasture. Mother and Uncle Ducky watch over him carefully and all of them are growing sleek and shiny on the lush green pasture.



Yesterday the day was stormy, and we were ready for a break. We took the day off to do errands and shopping in the "City". Everything went so well, and we got finished so quickly Husband suggested that we might go looking for the often contemplated van to replace the sporty red Grand AM that we have, alas, outgrown. Not enough spring left in the knees to enter and leave jauntily, - just getting out of the car casts a pall of old age.

Here is what we found, and we are thrilled and excited as we step in and slide out of this equally sporty vehicle that accommodates our old bones so nicely.


The countryside is awash in blossoms and burgeoning greenery - tender leaves, filmy catkins, the apples are in the pink and the Ramona tulips open each morning to the sun.A tender memorial.

Husband is setting out the cards - time for Caspar and I to make the evening trek.

Gardening in the Slow Lane....

Or else they simply go to seed........

One thing Husband and I are finding is that it's easy to be mindful of what you are doing, because everything gets accomplished so slowly that you can just put your whole heart and soul into it, and time stretches on and on until it's lunch time, and you think "What a pleasant morning".

Be that as it may we have been messing about in the garden most of the week, and this is what we have accomplished.....

Monday we did some outdoor painting , Two bistro chairs, half a wicker high backed seat, a table and the nice structure husband put together to accommodate the climbing roses and whatever annual vines we plant to hurry along the visioned picture. At 84 one does not plant exclusively for far into the future - immediate gratification is more realistic.

Tuesday we picked rock and loaded up an old freezer and a variety of metal cast-offs to make room for backyard garden plans. Late in the morning I went to pick up a piece of rhubarb root so kindly offered by a friend. While there I admired her friendly accommodations for the neighbourhood birds, and vowed to come home and create a lovely little spot in the garden incorporating her design for bird bath, feeding stations and a couple of green lounging spots in nearby trees.

Here are the three hens and the 'rooster that has come into his own' that share the overflow around the feeding station early in the morning, scratching now in the green orchard grass.

Wednesday Husband went singing and I went out for Lunch with the Ladies.

Today we planted the rhubarb, put the water on the garden and cleared a little strip along the bank by the trailer cum loom room to make a spot for a length of embedded flower seeds in an eight foot length of bio degradable tape. (Which I bought at the Bargain Centre for 50 cents and which I can see being a bright light in the back garden achieved at practically no labour cost. Important aspect of any slow lane gardening venture.)


Nice rhubarb, - looks quite healthy and virile.

What will we do tomorrow?

Oh, we have a long list. and we can choose at our leisure. Whatever we do spring will surely keep up with us. Here are some of the exciting things that are happening in the garden.....

The perennial alyssum that found its way from the garden to the side of the house is now in bloom.


A bevy of spring bulbs - the rich blue of the grape hyacinth making a beautiful foil for the narcissus, the half opened tulip and the red maple buds.



In just a few days it will be apple blossom time, and their sweet fragrance will join the cherries and the peach blossoms in celebrating the season.

Life is good, and satisfying, and there are a myriad of wonderful and mysterious things to see if you amble along in the Slow Lane.

Weather Report

I rise early and grope my way into the bathroom with its frosted windows through which you can't see a blessed thing , and so it is only when I come back into the bedroom that I am surprised and somewhat appalled to see a thin layer of snow on the ground and the valley bathed in misty clouds.

Caspar greets me in the hallway, legs crossed, and so we hurry along for our morning walk, and these are some of the scenes that met our eyes. Well, Caspar doesn't see too well, but he does dearly love great gulps of that fresh snow.....
The daffodils huddled together in wet misery, their sweet little heads bowed down with frosty snow....

but the few brave tulips that have had enough courage to face this cold and windy weather were showing their bright colours.

Over yonder, across the valley, the top of K Mountain was lost in clouds.

#1 son reported that the temperature in Fort McMurray was -18C, and the Guru Grandson was off to move snow from parking lots as per contract. The Apricots in full bloom shivered in the chilling breeze.

By late afternoon the snow had disappeared into the green grass, - only the tops of the Cawston hills were still frosty.



But tonight the full moon is brilliant and cold, and there is no cloud protection. Ah April, - you truly are the cruelest month.....

Today, in The Review, there is a sweet picture of a dozen or so little girls. Some are dressed in striped shirts with a bright kerchief. Sparks perhaps, or Brownies. Some may even be Girl Guides out of uniform.

They are selling Girl Guide cookies, - the kind that has to be hidden from Husband if I am generous and buy a number of packages.

Just a few years ago they would arrive on my doorstep, being very entrepreneurial and driven on their rounds by a parent. And it was a joy to have a little conversation as we carried out our trade. For them a few dollars support, and for Husband and me the chance to enjoy the traditional cookies. Separate the layers - eat the one with icing first......

Longer ago than that Daughter #2 canvassed the neighbourhood with cookies, probably accompanied by another small Brownie, and it was a lark and an adventure.

On Saturday the Keremeos Girl Guides will be selling their Girl Guide cookies at Bob and Ev's Custom Framing on 7th Avenue, across from The Review. Will it be fun for them? Oh, probably, - everything is fun for giggly girls. Will it be an adventure, - will it be a contact with the community, - will they be welcomed into a home that is not often visited by young people - well, sadly not. A bitter commentary on the fear that permeates today's society. And unfortunately with good reason.....

When daughter #2 was first a Brownie she was too young to go to camp unaccompanied, and so I went with her, - helped with the cooking and the crafts and enjoyed myself immensely.

When I was first a Brownie I was too young to be an "Official Brownie" and so I spent the time while everyone else was To Whit to Whooing sitting under the Toadstool in the centre of the circle.

Eventually the months passed and Brown Owl accepted me into the Pack as a Sprite - I still have the badge. Did we wear sporty striped shirts with bright kerchiefs? Alas, - no. Did we learn how to tie knots, and cook at campfires, earn badges and become good citizens, - oh yes...



This picture is ca 1931 - probably taken on the day of my induction. Look at that shiny new brown uniform, - those seductive stockings, held up with garters and always a little baggy at the knees. No slacks for these Brownies..... The HAT - and the scarf, tied just so.

Different times, - simpler times. But we played Run Sheep Run and Kick the Can outdoors in the evenings, unencumbered by fear. We were not exposed to the violence of television, - we read books that stirred the imagination and created pictures in our minds and dreams in our hearts.

I guess on Saturday I will go to Ev's and buy enough Girl Guide Cookies so that I will have some to stash in the freezer. These Older Men who are so attractive to us Older Ladies do not have the temerity of children who will raid the freezer and eat the cookies frozen.....I don't think?

If only for the day, Spring was a welcome visitor around these parts. The temperature rose to +20C, - the warm wind blew gently (until late in the afternoon when it got all pumped up and sent great gusts of warm air across the meadow and through the Valley).

Off to the north west the last vestiges of winter capped Apex mountain...



...here in the Valley the clouds were wispy and spoke of summer. In the south the moon was faint against the brilliant blue of the sky.

The curly willow is a delicate golden filagree at the edge of the garden


and down by the river the leaves were tenderly green on small bushes, whilst the buds on the cottonwood still cast a yellow hue to leaves just partly opened.


Before the tulips appear in their delicate spring colours, Spring clothes herself in ravishing yellows and the daffodils and forsythia are bright and glorious....


The buds on the flowering Almond .....so anxious to add a little pink flavour


and driving past the Lost Garden yesterday I noticed the Star Magnolia and the Forsythia were beginning to bloom.

I carry a little picture of them around in my memory....
and sometimes my heart truly aches for the peace and the happiness that garden brought to our lives.

The weatherman does not have kind words about tomorrow's weather......

The term Internet meme (rhymes with dream) is a neologism used to describe a catchphrase or concept that spreads in a faddish way from person to person via the Internet. (Wikipedia)

A neologism is a word, term, or phrase that has been recently created (or "coined"), often to apply to new concepts, to synthesize pre-existing concepts.......etc.

Dictionary.com is even more specific - a meme is a cultural item that is transmitted by repetition in a manner analogous to the biological transmission of genes.

And now that biology has been mentioned - Memes are the basic building blocks of our minds and culture, in the same way that genes are the basic building blocks of biological life.

According to Richard Dawkins this phenomenon is surely a catalyst in an ongoing cultural revolution.

The subject gets deeper and more fascinating, opening up new avenues of understanding, - but on the lighter side this method of transmitting information can be clever, amusing and creative, as well as intellectually challenging. Great entertainment, as witness the many fun memes that pop up like corked bottles while I am out surfing....

I found a "picture meme" on one of my regular visits to Pie in the Sky, which required that you use pictures from Photobucket to answer pre-set questions. When I visited the available pictures on Photobucket I found I was right out of my generational depth....WOW

Pie in the Sky had remarked on the possibility of creating a meme using pictures you had taken yourself, and that seemed to make the whole project more realistic. She issued a general invitation to participate, and I couldn't resist it...

So here goes.....

1, What is your current relationship status?

2. What is your current mood?What is your favourite band/singer


What kind of pets do you have?
Where do you live?

Where do you work?


What do you look like?

What do you drive?



What did you do last night?



What is your favourite T.V. show?
Describe yourself.



What are you doing tomorrow?


What is your name?


What is your favourite movie?

"Truth to tell," sez Husband, "this business of Memes is somewhat beyond my ken"

And I look at the definitions of memes and acknowledge that they are somewhat ponderous and there is a simpler explanation of the concept.

And so I sez " When millions of people huddle over their computers at night they tell stories and exchange information /misinformation through blogs and memes, surfing and stumbling, and in this way contribute to a vast surge in ideas, contacts and influence. The world becomes a village (somewhat raucous at times) and Marshall McLuhan gives a little sigh of contentment and turns over to sleep another 100 years. The building blocks of the mind accumulate and as we absorb and share on such a grand scale our culture gathers it all in, ferments a little - the world quivers slightly and changes its mores and its ways, - in more ways than one, if you will forgive the play on words.

Memes are the sparks from the campfires of ancient days, and the lingering stories of strangers passing through."

Well, this is what I think.

I am driving home from Bell practice tonight, and off to my right a sliver of a moon is lying on its back balancing what looks like a very large beach ball on her tummy. She is skimming the top of the western hills (probably on her way to a strip of sand in Aussie Land) when she slips from view over the top of the mountain as I make the little rise up to our turn-off.


Too many people away for it to be a very productive Handbell practice, but vigorous and fun as we put our best effort into Early One Morning, A Little Wheel A-turning, and a nice Suite for Bells. The level of proficiency we reach remains the same, but the difficulty of the pieces we attempt changes constantly with the shifting of our group from experienced to beginner. So that we play simple pieces with aplomb, and remember when we could play difficult pieces quite elegantly before our more professional musicians drifted away out of this small community.

This is the Jubilation Handbell Choir from the Baptist Church in Birdsville, - but it could be us just as easily........we are not the Raleigh Ringers (sigh)

Monday evenings are always pleasurable, and the moon tonight was just the icing on the cake.

Where are they now???
Books that once we cherished - that sat upon our bookshelves, or under some eager reader's bed. The poems that children snuggled up to hear Daddy read, - or Mummy - or anyone they could capture who was fair game to read aloud. And before they could read, they learned to rhyme along, and woe betide the reader who skipped the smallest word, or tried to finish a verse prematurely...

Where are they now, - these books that were passed along to grandchildren, and now are delicious repasts for the great grands. Do any of the grown up children recognize them?

I search the online book stores and find they can be bought for $192.50 or else they are no longer available..........they are probably terribly out of date for today's parents, - if not for today's children. But I, at least, have fond memories of Robert Louis Stevenson's Child's Garden of Verses, and reading to small boys playing with cars and trucks on the Land of Counterpane, When I was sick and lay a-bed / I had two pillows at my head / and all my toys beside me lay / to keep me company all the day.



And My Shadow, The Swing, The Wind, - all wonderful examples of Robert Louis Stevenson's affinity with children.


And then there were the marvelous poems of Mildred Pews Merryman,. Do you remember Ho - Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee- rollicking language that paints such exciting pictures. What child wouldn't dream of being a romantic pirate after listening to all that lovely rhythmic alliteration.

Ho, for the Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee!
He was as wicked as wicked could be,
But oh, he was perfectly gorgeous to see!

The Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee.


His conscience, of course, was as black as a bat,
But he had a floppety plume on his hat
And when he went walking it jiggled - like that!
The plume of the Pirate Dowdee.

His coat it was handsome and cut with a slash,
And often as ever he twirled his mustache
Deep down in the ocean the mermaids went splash,
Because of Don Durk of Dowdee.


Moreover, Dowdee had a purple tattoo,
And struck in his belt where he buckled it through
Were a dagger, a dirk, and a squizzamaroo,
For fierce was the Pirate Dowdee.


So feaful he was he would shoot at a puff,
And always at sea when the weather grew rough
He drank from a bottle and wrote on his cuff,
Did Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee.


Oh, he had a cutlass that swung at his thigh
And he had a parrot called Pepperkin Pye,
And a zigzaggy scar at the end of his eye
Had Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee.


He kept in a cavern, this buccaneer bold,
A curious chest that was covered with mould,
And all of his pockets were jingly with gold!
Oh jing! went the gold of Dowdee.


His consience, of course it was crook'd like a squash,
But both of his boots made a slickery slosh,
And he went throught the world with a wonderful swash,
Did Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee.


It's true he was wicked as wicked could be,
His sins they outnumbered a hundred and three,
But oh, he was perfectly gorgeous to see,
The Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee.



It makes even a Great Grandma wide-eyed...

And The Moon a beautifully evocative lullaby poem.

Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon--
Over the crinkling sea,
The moon man flings him a silvered net
Fashioned of moonbeams three.

And some folk say when the net lies long
And the midnight hour is ripe;
The moon man fishes for some old song
That fell from a sailor's pipe.

And some folk say that he fishes the bars
Down where the dead ships lie,
Looking for lost little baby stars
That slid from the slippery sky

And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the nodding night wind blows,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.

Zoon, zoon, net of the moon
Rides on the wrinkling sea;
Bright is the fret and shining wet,
Fashioned of moonbeams three.

And some folk say when the great net gleams
And the waves are dusky blue,
The moon man fishes for two little dreams
He lost when the world was new.

And some folk say in the late night hours,
While the long fin-shadows slide,
The moon man fishes for cold sea flowers
Under the tumbling tide.

And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the gray gulls dip and doze,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.

Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon--
Over the crinkling sea,
The moon man flings him a silvered net
Fashioned of moonbeams three.

And some folk say that he follows the flecks
Down where the last light flows,
Fishing for two round gold-rimmed "specs"
That blew from his button-like nose.

And some folk say while the salt sea foams
And the silver net lines snare,
The moon man fishes for carven combs
That float from the mermaids' hair.

And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the nodding night wind blows,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.

Do not let me go without some reference to On the Road to Raffydiddle

On the road to Raffydiddle
Sits a fiddler with a fiddle,
And there beneath the melting of the moon,
Each night he puts his chin
To his cheery violin
And plucks him out a frisky feather tune.

And when as they go down
To Raffydiddle town
The people hear him playing in the dusk,
Beside the crooked stile
They pause a little while
To dance beneath the moon the moneymusk.
...............

But those who come at dawn
Will find the fiddler gone
And all the music melted into musk.

Every Raffydiddle tune
Will be shut up in the moon
And none who seek will find his dark abode,
But where the music thinned
A creepy little wind
Will ripple down the Raffydiddle road.

etc etc - poignant and full of subtle comments.

Will you come and read it to me, - please, please, pulleease....