..and to all a safe and healthy voyage through 2008

My horoscope for 2008 reads in part "People born under your sign have a distinct appreciation of all things beautiful". It says nothing of the effect these beautiful things, people, experiences, sentiments have on my emotional state. Over Christmas my tear-ducts go into over-drive - a kindness, a hug, candlelight and carols, children, fresh snowfall, even Scrooge's "second chance" at life. I melt. It's exhausting. And beautiful. (Maybe it's a Taurus thing too when, hearing of great self-sacrifice or valor or humility, I get all snuffly and choked-up.) Christmas this year for me, with my son and daughter-in-law, was spent quietly and with more emphasis on the spiritual rather than the commercial aspect - even to the extent of ordering, as their gift, a goat for their sponsored wee laddie in Africa, or for his village. Here I must confess I did have a problem. I mean, I didn't enjoy shopping for a goat nearly as much as I would have shopping for, say, a Calvin Klein hoodie or a spa kit. But I certainly ended up feeling more virtuous with the goat. And it was a lovely, warm and meaningful Christmas.

To all, best wishes for a bright and beautiful new year, with hopefully some measure of peace in our increasingly precarious world.

let me rephrase that .....

Flippant turns of phrases come back to haunt one sometimes. Especially in websites. As in mine on Downsizing where, in my zeal with this new toy, I thoughtlessly included my children's school work from 50-odd years ago in with the mountain of Stuff I've accumulated over the years that now has to be whittled down, using the truly awful expression "on the chopping block". In truth I can't even bring myself to let the children have them. Yet. They are miles away and these are my link to their early years, the wondrous years. I love it that I can go through them, and remember, and smile .......

There should be a "grace" period after clicking on Publish, for people like me.

downsizing

A downside of aging is the need to downsize - always difficult, but anathema to packrats like myself (some would call us 'memorabilia cripples). Faced with a move from a 3-bedroom townhouse to a 1-bedroom apartment, on the chopping-block are bundles of greeting cards with messages that can still make the eyes prickly, the kids' school projects circa 1960, magazines - some going back 2 decades, directions for growing everything, and fixing and cleaning everything even if I didn't have the product but you never know ..., diaries that started off with great bursts of enthusiasm but petering out about March, old boarding passes, 7 passports (so handy if you want to see the aging process in action), and don't even ASK about recipes.

Agreed, all the memories associated with these things are stored behind my furrowed brow - ergo, I shouldn't need to hang on to physical reminders. It's a well-known fact that one's memory for remote events becomes sharper with age but eventually, as my witty sister proclaims in one of her voice-of-doom moments, "....and the marbles start rolling away ....." What then? I'll think about that when the time comes. In the meantime - bring on the shredder and the blue box!

I'll just start on the magazines here. Woops - I was looking everywhere for this article. And here's that recipe I wanted ......!!

... those were the days

In the process of browsing through my mom's old albums for a photo of my dad to do a profile on him, I simply HAD to share this old photo of my Aunt Kit taken - when? - before WWI, probably 1913. Of necessity, I've had to base my dating of mom's photos mostly on fashions of the day. That was a defining period, just before "bathing dresses and bonnets" were shed in favour of daring form-fitting woollen ones that - gasp! - exposed the knees!! Talk about liberation!

Just looking at my aunt's waist gives me gas. I can't even stand a tight belt. Imagine bending over with corsets that tight to do up those high boots. However, that being said, I would put up with a lot to wear hats like this. ..... and I'm not even a hat person. Just a romantic -

Koko the Magnificent

testing ...... testing..... Eureka! It worked! Just when I'd all but accepted that I'd reached the limits of my computer-challenged brain. I've uploaded a photo -

This is Koko the Magnificent, my secondary cat who came to me by a circuitous route via my generous neighbor Marni as a thank-you for looking after her cats Kramer and Oliver (sounds like a vaudeville team) because she felt my primary calico Fergie needed a companion ("sure', says Fergie, "like I need a terminal case of ticks")

But it's Koko's origins that fascinate - she was actually bred at the NRC in Ottawa for research purposes. I feel faint to think about it. Rats - great. Mice - why not? Even rabbits - they multiply like - ha-ha - rabbits anyway! But CATS?? Especially this elegant Norwegian Forest Cat. Fortunately for Koko one of the lab techs just fell in love with her (as who would not?) and adopted her. But the tech's primary cat was less than enamored with the new addition and went into instant attack mode with the result that poor Koko was relegated to the Humane Society from whence Marni rescued her. As one can see, she is not wasting away at 19 lbs, even on weight-control food. But she has a disposition that humans would envy, and that defuses irascible felines like my brother's caramel cat Ellwood with the personality of a cut-worm, so that he visibly melts in her presence (Ellwood, not my brother).

'tis the season to be ......

Heading into - it's a Canadian thing - the melancholy season when flowers die off, weeds take off, days shorten and we put the blanket back on the bed. And try not to think about ice and snow, runny noses and blue skin, and cars that go "Ar-r-r-rgh-rgh-rgh" in the morning. Global warming here means it will probably not go below -37C. Seniors don't walk in the winter, they do 'the Canadian Shuffle'. And is there not something obscene about the shops displaying Christmas cards and creches already?

On the bright side, it's not the Arctic. And we don't have floods or drought. So why am I complaining? Because it's good for the soul -

quotations to nourish the soul ...

This is when blogs justify themselves - to be able to share with everyone, or no one, but to preserve for me, a particularly beautiful quotation. This, by Oliver Wendell Holmes:

"Poets are never young, their delicate ears hear the far-off whispers of eternity ..."

Maybe I should take a second look at poets and poetry ...... anything this beautiful should be understood to be fully appreciated.

My daughter would have the perfect photo to compliment these words -

... going back. Way back.

I've been very good. All this time and I haven't mentioned the words "family tree" or "geneology" once. This is mainly because people's eyes tend to glaze over when I start because, on this subject, I seem unable to say anything in 10 words if 50 would do. We all, once we pass 70, tend to 'live in the past', to one degree or another. My tendency is just a little more focused, that's all - but hey, we certainly have a heckuva lot more past than we have future, right?

I have a snapshot of my mother at 104, in her wheelchair, sitting ramrod-straight, such an impressive figure that one doesn't even notice her wrinkled knee-hi's. I'd loaned her my aviation-type sunglasses against the glare. I captioned it "The Female Equivalent of the Godfather". A force always to have been reckoned with, my mom .....

Her ancestry was a formidable one, researched by my cousin, with lyrical-sounding names like Gordon, Herron, Scott and Moore, counties Cavin and Down. Her great-grandmother lived to an astonishing 97 in Ireland, when the living was not easy.

It's not a coincidence, I feel, that my daughter is so gifted with her many cameras, and her grandmother was the only one of her group with a camera, a Brownie box, that she used from 1911 on to such wonderful advantage, leaving a priceless legacy of clear images of "bathing costumes", Gibson-girl style, muffs(!!) and 1920's cars that people used to call "tin lizzies", early Ottawa and WWI laddies on their way to France.


See what I mean? I could go on for another 10 pages! And I haven't even Started on my paternal roots yet!

.... of bulls and bears

All the soothing platitudes of the pundits don't lessen the dread of a capricious "market correction" (read: nosedive). World economies, banking crunches, and now real estate? aside, it's still a crap-shoot out there! I wish I had the market-smarts of my son Stephen and nephew Paco in Spain with his MBA, though I don't think I would sleep any better knowing just HOW they are losing my money!

on student exchanges

A good friend of mine here has just completed the final paper-work for asse Canada (International Student Exchange Programs), after agreeing to accept a high school student from Thailand for her school year. Having participated in a student exchange in the 1970's when we were host family to a student from Baden-Baden in Germany, I envy Bern. Our student, Barbel, was a delight and our lives were enriched by her year with us.There are still 2 Asian students waiting anxiously for host-homes to be found. Japanese, I believe. I have seen their applications, photos, scholastic records and profiles of their families and was totally captivated - their hobbies include calligraphy, tea ceremonies, music, skiing (her father is manager of a ski resort, the other one's father is a buddhist monk). What a learning experience it would be! I wish my situation was different, I would accept one myself. I have the Peterborough phone # of the asse Canada rep, if anyone is interested!! Hmmmmm?

blog etiquette and no-no's

My experience with blogs has been limited to my daughter Lynn's prolific contributions in Holland (also because it's one of the few ways I can keep track of what's going on in her young (never thought I'd see the day when I'd think 57 was young) life). Excuse this last convoluted thought.So that I will keep my faux pas to a minimum in my entries, I'm doing some browsing on bloggers (in the process of which I've discovered some rather - um - earthy blogs using the words "granny" and "renaissance" so I may seek the help of my new mentor Douglas in changing my title to something a tad more mundane! Maybe work in my maiden name of Pickthorne with "Pick-nique" or my present name "Shirell")I have delayed giving my blog address to anyone other than Douglas till I've boned up on this Art of Blogging!

Still grappling with The Wonderful World of Bloggers and the gazillion options available with each new screen. I am not a "quick study", obviously, vis a vis anything technical. But I shall persevere

A bright spot of humor on the weekend: Upon the visit to Washington of France's new president, George dubbya's response when a reporter asked him if he could speak French - a wry "I can hardly speak English". Now if he could just acknowledge a few other moral lapses .......!

My gratitude once again to Doug for taking on my "computer-challenged' intellect at his son-in-law's birthday party!

welcome to my blog!

My name is Shirley and hopefully, novice that I am, I will be able to share ideas, aspirations and opinions on all and sundry with some of you, especially as they concern travel, history, cultures and current affairs.