La Vie en Rose

Here is the background music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZ32WWXHyjg&feature=related

I left the house the last two days after watching the video of Edith Piaf singing this, and felt the music held me together, somehow.
Today I found the above link with the lyrics.  Well, just a few minutes ago, actually.  And I think about practicing the song, learning the French, and absorbing a way to carry myself amidst all the the local stuff, my situation, and now that I have begun to break down, become a loose cannon in heavy seas, and need to start singing a theme song.
I never heard daddy sing this.  Maybe my voice can do it, or at least an internal hum.
Oh, and here is the video where you see Edith actually sing it.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0g4NiHef4Ks

I will publish this for those who need a thread to follow and hang onto for a few minutes.  Swing thru the yardarms, catch daddy's little finger.  and he would toss you up in the air and have one child on his shoulders, and a third in the crook of his left arm.  Three ages, three locations, all juggled thru heavy seas.

I'm back, trying to figure out where I have been these last two months.  Must move backwards.  No other way. I went to Agricultural Extention Center today, which would have been, Thursday, perennials, and indeed it was.  But, they start at 9 a.m., and I had no intention of joining up with Master Gardeners, but, I walked thru the trees and shrubs that were Marcia's domain.  And how amazing.  So much accomplished, especially last year, her choice what to order and to place.  And I didn't get to see her motor her electric wheel chair thru this year, as I searched to be with the buds of the fruits.  No, I was otherwise occupied.  But, the trees and the tree cover, totally open for occupation, all picked up, and I see what is a year old, what is two years old.  What we put the signs on last year, following her map, and this year all is perfection, needing nothing but walking, and seeing, the only tribute she would want.  I found out about her sudden death yesterday, Wednesday, annuals.  La Vie En Rose.  I was priviledged
the two times we went out together last year.  I was so joyous.  A Girl of the Limberlost.  A dream come true.  Thank you Marcia Anne Stefani.  The music is great.  The canopy is fine, the shelter is all it should be.  Thank you.  Thank you, Marcia.  And there was a cool breeze, too.  And I saw the special plant up front.  I will write the name down, next time.  I will practice with my special pencil.  Thank you, Marcia. 

Coup de grâce

Until I looked it up on wikipedia, I thought the spelling was coup de 'grasse.', not 'grace'  I see that it is a kind kill.  Just as Hemingway gave to himself.  My grandfather gave kind kill, I suppose, on the beaches in the Pacific war.  To look into his eyes, and hear the Our Father, is a kind death, along with the tubes of morphine.    A hypnotic angel.  While those who had a chance, were given something to bite on, and pain relief, enough to only moan, so one could be located,  I suppose.  He prayed to St. Joseph, for a kind and happy death.  He had one.  I took his hand from the man with the crash cart, and held it, and let the regulations be damned.  My grandfather's body glowed like a candle.  Amazing to see.

My grandmother was in a room near the nurses station.  As I left the room, the 'relatives' told me not to get her, my grandmother.  I kept walking.  The famous nun of the hospital was with her.  I looked at grandmother and told her.  'But,' she said, 'they said he was getting better."  "I know, I heard them say it to you, grandmother."
She rose and we made our way to the end of the hall, to grandfather's room, across from the elevators.

Grandmother pulled up a chair and talked to her husband in words and ways that no one in that room ever heard or even knew existed.  "Joe, I didn't know.  They didn't tell me...." And a conversation on such a level of regret and love and experience.   She called her only living blood relative, her niece, and said, "He's gone.  Joe is gone.". and talked on an even keel, not what anyone in the room expected either.

Then the 'saints' said  they were taking his body away, etc.  And I understand, from my youngest sister,  I turned my eyes to the Uncle that echoed 'officialdom' and said.  "Tell them to back down."...He babbled on, and I repeated my statement and the nun and priest and the doctor retreated.

Other relatives were called, and made it to see the 'glowing', and there was whispering.  My baby sister took my measure that day, she told me a few months ago.  I told her not to be so sure.  I get beaten up often, curling up in shame. most often for being physically unable to complete a task.  Then I told her how 'fools rush in where angels fear to tread.'  To not waste her life on 'the English', to measure her resources, not 'cast pearls before swine.'

I will carry on later, maybe.

Four days later, the 12th.  I find, 1.1mm lead for old pencil.  Hours later I find staples, and a light blinks, a small magnifying class with a light.  Voila.  And then.....the ColorArt set.  Prang Brush Makers, Charcoal Pencils, Drawing Pencils, Colored pencils, sharpeners, and gum and soft eraser.  Voila!.  Only $3 at thrift store because one brush marker missing.  I will put the small loose stuff in tackle box acquired last month, double sided,Plano Magnum, on the day I got the miraculous fortune in real cookie (Am I the only one who eats fortune cookies") It said: "Some pursue happiness; You create it."  That was the day my friend died.  And the gardener appeared, Jennifer.
Well, I haven't been exactly creating happiness, except for the Little Hellion.  She comes tomorrow, maybe.  At Easter dinner, as I drove off, I called out "See you Friday."  That's tomorrow.  And I need to enter it into the phone.  Dare I ask for a gallon of gas?  Best not to speak.

Oh, and then there is the new 'presence', wearing a hat, my Everlast 'speed ball' in pigskin, on spring with suction cup.  Exactly like a human head, and like a Fig.  Perfection, itself, Leonardo, Albrecht, Franz, Leger. You are all so sweet.

Oh, on Easter, my niece's boyfriend, was playing with Nerf blades, and shields and the two French girls under six were en guard.  I picked up the dagger and gave him the 'coup de grass'  Funny, that the other day, and I can't remember where, someone said, "Ugh.  And the French with their guillotine!"  I stopped the conversation by interjecting, "That is a kind kill.  And everyone under it knew it."  But, I still thought coup de grass meant head on the ground.  Chuckle.   And, Hemingway, he too looks at me, from the Vinca, with the same speed ball on a stand, on his porch.  I should have such a stand.  The first toy I remember was a punching bag, a weighted thing, my height at three and four, that kept getting knocked about by me, my dog, the chiffarobe door, and always came back for more.  Maybe that is why I used to not startle!  Good training for French girls and for Native Americans.  And that Hellion needs some moccasins.  I have orange socks for her.  She hates the shoes.  I always say, each toe is a brain. because it is true.  And truth is beauty.  Beauty is truth.  Oh, and here is a link never to forget a wonderful blog, a new artist who will grab my wrist and swing me to the back of the saddle, Fernand Leger at http://www.kmtspace.com/leger2.htm.  I must depart to check him out on YouTube now.  And you should be grateful I have left the details of these last four days out.

DIMITY

I remember well my fourth grade reader from the Catholic Diocese of Baltimore.  So much colonial stuff, and it was my entry into the literary and the sense of touch and feel evoked,  and the waiting for the unloading of necessities and fripperies to the homesteads on the James River, or any other inhabited river in Colonial Times.  Dimity.  Dimity.  Such a pretty word.  And the young colonial girl was waiting for, and anxious to unpack what was on order for her family.  She was most excited about 'dimity' and ribbons.

When I started this blog, there was an incident or a sighting of the word, and the 'rising up a balloon' feeling of an evoked memory.  Dimity.  Dimity.  And, I had just happened into some ribbon, Vichy Plaid, that I had written a separate blog about .That ribbon seemed to attract me like a point on a compass. And where do I arrive at, but at a fantastic site, Thistle Hill Weavers.  I could follow it all day, but the time is not there today.

Also, I always wanted to work in fabric technology, as a chemist of the christal and organic type.  My life did not work out to that result.  But, I did stop in at Edenton, North Carolina, one day in the early 1970's, and driving around found some single story brick long building, much like brick railroad cars, as I walked around and stretched my legs.  I found an open machine entry area, and called out.  My voice echoed in the silence, but a person eventually appeared.  It was a real, operating cotton mill, taking cotton from the bales to threads.  I couldn't believe it.  He offered me a quick tour and I saw where the bales came in, and actually saw some of it being spun and wound to large cones of thread.  They would be shipped out to a dying facility.  When I left, I headed towards the main street, and a little museum, and my leonine hair was coated with whisps of cotton, as if I had gone prematurely grey, a frosting, if you will.

I loved stopping in at Edenton over the next couple university years, to eat at little place right off the highway.  When hurricane Isabel came thru back about ten years or so ago, Edenton had lost 80 percent of its trees in the little town.  But, I am sure those that were worth it were preserved, and pruning and seeing light thru windows that had formerly been shady had required that steps be taken to protect fabric and rugs.

Anyway, here is the definition of dimity, followed by the Thistle Hill Weavers site, the deserves being explored in every nook and cranny.  

dimity,  (from Greek dimitos, “of double thread”), lightweight, sheer cotton fabric with two or more warp threads thrown into relief, forming fine cords. Originally dimity was made of silk or wool, but since the 18th century it has been woven almost exclusively of cotton.

The name was applied to two types of corded cottons: a heavy material used for bedcovers, drapery, and the like, and a lightweight, almost sheer fabric either corded or made in check effects. Dimity now refers primarily to the latter. (Encyclopedia Britanica on line)

DIMITY SITE:   Thistle Hill Weavers:    CLICK HERE: http://www.thistlehillweavers.com/fabrics.html

A Thread...perhaps a rope, On Good Friday, too!

All will come clear in the reading of this work on line  Click here: http://www.gutenberg.org/catalog/world/readfile?fk_files=1498750
 The book is Balloons, by Princess Bibesco,
Here is the first page of the chapter :HAVEN

[_To CLARENCE DAY, JR._]


"You should only," we are told, "wear white in early youth and old age.
It is very becoming with a fresh complexion or white hair. When you no
longer feel as young as you were, other colours are more flattering.
Also, you should avoid bright lights and worry."

Here, the beauty specialist reminds you of the specialist who says in
winter, "Avoid wet feet and germs." In spite of both, we are still
subjected to sunshine and anxiety and rain and microbes.

But there are risks which the would-be young can and should avoid.
Surely Miss Wilcox ought to have known better than to flop down on the
grass with an effort and a bump, clasping (with some difficulty) her
knees because Vera, who is sixteen, slim and lithe, with the gawky grace
of a young colt, had made such an obvious success of the operation!

It is better not to sit on the grass after thirty when sprawling at all
is difficult, let alone sprawling gracefully.

Poor Miss Wilcox! At seventeen she had been a pretty, bouncing girl with
bright blue eyes, bright pink cheeks and brighter yellow hair. All the
young men of the neighbourhood had kissed her in conservatories or
bushes and to each in turn, she had answered, "Well, I never!"

Then an era of intellectual indifference to the world set in. She read
Milton in a garret and ate very little. When addressed, she gave the
impression of being suddenly dragged down from some sublime pinnacle of
thought. This was the period of absent-mindedness, of untidiness, of
unpunctuality, for she was convinced that these three ingredients
compose the spiritual life. But it was not a success. True, her cheeks
lost their roses, but without attaining an interesting transparent
whiteness and her figure became angular, rather than thin. Cold food,
ugly clothes and enforced isolation began to lose their charms and Miss
Wilcox abandoned the intellectual life.

---

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CLARENCE DAY at wikipedia is HERE http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clarence_Day

And, I got here thanks to this wonderful letter HERE http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/04/i-do-not-like-scolding-people.html

Enough for now.  I must read...

Strange Mourning

My friend and neighbor died the tenth of this month.  I can't believe it has been two weeks.  Maybe it hasn't, I've lost touch with a lot of things.

This past Wednesday, I watched a show we watched together for the last two or three years, Survivor.  And then I watched the other shows that came on afterwards, or rather they were on in the background.

The day he died, a girl was visiting new next door neighbor, and she was 'home alone' and came out, and we started working in the garden.  Turns out she has taken landscaping, not so much horticultural, as drainage, water landscaping, out in California.  So we went back and forth moving things in the small 6 x 4 ft plot.  There were miniature roses left behind in small hanging containers by a family temporarily here, and used to make them feel at home before he either deployed, or was injured.  Of the ten, four lived, and found homes (roses, I am speaking of).  Actually  I now have to separate the roses more or else pull the yarrow elsewhere. Roses need air flow and to not be crowded.

She did a lovely job, and we rambled from topic to topic.  I don't think she necessarily would have shared some of the things she did if she hadn't felt like I would hear.  Thank god she wasn't so overly sensitive that she allowed me to clarify.  It was a day long affair of gardening, eating, smoking, etc.  And, she was perfect for a couple of hats I had that she loved.  She loved the Vagabond one, and I knew no one whose hair color was more perfect, or had that gamin look.  Oh, and she loves cornflower blue, so off went that shawl, a coffee cup, and something else.  I love it, too, but when you have too much of what you love, it is great finding another home.

There is a lot more I could say about the day, and what I heard, and I know it was as 'bad as it gets' for her.  My friend that died had just such an extensive trauma, different, but defining to the personality, and yet with such ways of caring and grace that I know he brought with him from his hometown in western Pennsylvania.  His suffering is over as they say.  There is more I could say about the hospice worker who arrived in the morning, and what happened, and I will say I was awaken by pounding on the door to arrive with a trio of people who had all arrived, and me with no coffee, and two hours sleep,  and it was a 'blow your mind' experience.  I backed right out of there.

But I have been coming and going on limited gas, controlling myself tightly, a list and an itinerary, a reason to be away.  But today I realized how much stress there had been having him see me come and go and knowing he could not go anywhere.  I checked constantly, and made what I could.  We had spent the last two Thanksgivings and Christmases together.  They came out surprisingly well, but that whole experience needs its own blog.

So, less guilty about coming and going, and it wasn't him that put that on me.  I just know I am free.  And because the weather was good, I am grateful for getting the garden set up, as I can't do it after April 1.  Too hot for me and my multiple schlerosis.  I will enjoy the moonflowers this year, to some extent, although my sense of smell hasn't totally come back.  The Amarylis are popping up, and the pansy's have been moved to shade.

I borrowed a neighbors lopper and trimmed out those things that come over the sidewalk and could pierce either me, the little Hellion, or anyone else.  I have to clean up the branches tomorrow.  My neighbors love to see me work, leave the stuff in a pile, and talk about me until it is all cleaned up.  They are turncoats all the way, but soon I will try to join up with the MS group, have other people to talk to, and I will just come and go and nod to the 'noodniks,' as my father would have said.  I need to look up that word now that the computer is back on.

And, a beautiful piece of music to listen to, An Accordion and Duduk on YouTube.  Here is link.  I don't know how to embed.  They are having a fine time making beautiful music. Click Here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cApCiyde0No&feature=related

A Little Ribbon called Vichy Plaid

First things first.  Out today to check my balance in acct.  Enough for 4 gallons of gas and a pack of cigs.  (yes, I know you are disappointed in this news!.  I have cut down to 2 per cent of what I used to smoke.  Progress. Tending to the dying puts one into a 'smoke them if you've got 'em' situation.  Then you pretty yourself up and carry-on.  I take this advice from a book I cherish,  and I don't have it at hand, but it was approximately How to Abandon Ship, by The Merchant Seaman's Assoc. published sometime in the early '40's due to the loss of so many merchant ships off the Virginia and Carolina coasts and elsewhere, during WWII, Atlantic Branch of the World's Big River.  The book has been a guide in my life and I cherished it until I swapped it for a high quality 'blouse' of the expeditionary type that 'breathed' and blocked sun and insects.  I think you can read it on line at some historical site.)

Boy, that was a long parenthetical aside, and I am going to carry-on and maybe correct the spelling later.(I did, and guess what word.)  Oh, forget it.  Tomorrow is another day!.  Anyway, I stopped in, 'up to no good' at a fabric shop to check out the rushing ribbon for the 'little' Hellion.  I perused the ribbons and found lots of options, and settled on the best 'over the moon' option.  Then in my pirouetting to keep my balance, on point, I had rotated to a stop and what did I see before me - a ribbon that looked like 'family.'  I didn't cry out, but I probably did utter something like 'Oh!' and bought one yard.

At home I found a little printed sticker on the ribbon (detail printed out by fancy new computer cash register!) The detail was "ruban vichy plaid ribbon".  And I put that in the computer, and, Voila!, was I surprised.  Click Here:  http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1035804/Sleeping-enemy-New-book-claims-Frenchwomen-started-baby-boom-Nazi-men-Vichy-regime.html

Are you back?  Surprising, huh?  Well, we did not sleep with the enemy, I can assure you.  I kept looking for the actual plaid, and then I found this, and I was stunned at the connection, because we could never handle any elastic near our skin, and all roughness was covered up, with ribbon.   I was just speaking of it to someone the other day. How we 'would have none of that' irritation, and now it seems I come by it in the blood!  Well, actually, if never a rough texture touches you, and each 'redness, or discomfort' must be addressed 'at once', you get this:  Click here: http://www.enotes.com/topic/History_of_fashion_design

I am going hunting for my ribbon, because I would love to use it in my blog, and I enjoy fingering it.  I'll be right back, maybe.....(8:40 - ...Still haven't found it but I feel like I am flying thru time and space.  The 'little' Hellion, when I tied a bow to turn a petite ladies batiste top into a 'ballerina's outfit', said something to me about Minnie Mouse, and Bows.  ...Oh, ...I am just going to make a call and find out.  (Tick tock.  Tick tock.   While we are waiting I found this, http://www.mcssl.com/store/recurrentdreams/tralala-french-ribbon-bow-dress

I found it and tabbed and tabbed, so if it is going to be anywhere, it is here somewhere. http://www.dollsandlace.com/cgi-bin/dalshop.pl?cat=VintageRibbon&view=cat

Well, it is definitely 'Claret" and the quote just came in from 'little' Hellion's mama: "There is no business like Bow Business"  Miss Minnie Mouse.  -  Too much.  I wonder if there is a video on you tube.  Wait a sec....No, Minnie must have just been quoting Ethel Merman in Annie Get Your Gun, click here...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Flz89t5y3cg&feature=related

 I need a rest.  Went to get something from the car, and there is a Walt Disney sky out there with the two planets Venus and Jupiter out doing their amazing dance.  Hasn't been visible for four days.  Now I am going to fall asleep and not spend any time looking up with my eyes open.   Oh, well, later.  Oh, before I forget, check this out:  Tab down to "The Red Swallow" http://element90.wordpress.com/2012/03/05/lyapunov-fractals/
Later.

Wooden Clogs, Turkish Tea, & a Movie

Two days ago I drove to a thrift store  that had a pair of Dutch yellow wooden clogs.  They were still there and $5 less.  A week earlier I had tried to try them on. But, alas, they were a child's size.  The larger adult size, a natural wood, were way too big.
Earlier in the week I had remembered how we always celebrated multiple 'little Christmases', as children. Our father frequently got back from six months at sea the week before Christmas. With all the debriefing, (I am guessing here.) it wasn't until Christmas Eve that we were able to spend time with him.  Always there was a toddler that had no memory of him, and he spent a lot of time with the baby, and we watched. I now realize that destroyers and the submarines they hunted probably went home for Christmas as it was too cold in the Arctic for the  Russian subs to rise and recharge their batteries. So they would head to their home port, Dad would wish them well, and then head home to Norfolk.

So, Dad, being from a poor family, would have known of all the "little" Christmases around the world that would be celebrated after the American Christmas. Therefore, his father probably gave him little Christmases from every nation that he knew of.  In Chicago, there were Christmases of all nations to observe.  So, Daddy insisted we put our shoes by the front door for Dutch Christmas.  We would find a little something in them the next morning, usually some Dutch Chocolate, and a little jewelry pin he had picked up in some port during the deployment.

Maybe it was seeing the yellow clogs that made me understand all the little Christmases we had.  So, later in the week I thought how excited the Little Hellion, my 4 yr old niece whom I babysit on Fridays,   would be to find the Little Rat in a Yellow "Boat', and my little Columbo Monkey in the other 'yellow boat.'  Her father canoes, so she will think they are wooden canoes .She has been on 'still' water with her Daddy.  Then she will ask me to see William and Camo from NeverLand, the Hackney Horses we love on YouTube.  As of a little while ago there have been no recent videos up so we will go back and look at a couple of the early ones so we can both absorb the back story.

I found some Fairy wings and a green sleeveless basketball  T-shirt that a mother who deployed this week had left behind.  Belted,  the green T-shirt is the fairy's dress.  The mother had them in a box as she had sprayed silver glitter on the shirt. I separated the recyclables from the garbage and  I took the fairy outfit home with me.
When Hellie comes on Friday, she will see those Fairy Wings, and I will show her the green shirt and how it becomes the fairy dress.  She will be over the moon.  (There was a Fairy story book with it, too, a story about Hide and Seek)
This week I will be more prepared, and we will have a quiet time while we watch William and Camo on YouTube.  Then I will show her a video about Dutch wooden clogs.  And we will write a story about Rat and Colombo paddling away to safety in their magic yellow shoes.  I will let her take the Fairy outfit, and book home with her.  I will save the wooden shoes for Rat and Columbo to stay in.  She will not object.

Also we will watch a fabulous video a YouTube pal favorited.  It is a wonderful video about the way Turkish people serve and enjoy tea.  Here it is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4xd8UyqqMo

And I can't believe I found something absolutely magic.  A Dutch scientist famous for making boats out of Dutch wooden shoes.  Here is the link: http://www.sciencetoymaker.org/boat/g_e_flogel.htm  If I only knew how to copy the picture of him testing his wooden shoe.

And there is a movie, too!  The Tree of Wooden Clogs, here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksn72gHho_0
I am going to watch it.  Some things must be just for the Great Auntie!  Not everything is for the Hellion!  But, I must be prepared for her visit.  Night Watch coffee!