Well our vacation time and the peace and quiet of Yankee Hill came to an end on Sunday and been replaced by the cacophony of tourist central. Two cruises ships were in yesterday and to entertain them it appears the Port Authority booked a Willie Nelson impersonator. He contrived to delight us for over five hours yesterday. Let us sincerely hope that is not the lasting impression our tourist visitors take away with them.
Almost on cue the evening temperatures dipped on our last few days at the cottage but the days remained sunny if a bit cool. Our last full day we took one final stroll on the beach. I know you’ve been presented with these views before but for Laurent and I they never get old.
Here’s to next year at Yankee Hill and French River.
The word for September 7th is: Stroll \ ˈstrōl \: [1.noun2. verb] 1. A leisurely walk. 2.1 To go for a leisurely walk. 2.2 To walk along or through at a leisurely pace. Probably German dialectal strollen, variant of strolchen, from Strolch, fortuneteller, vagabond, perhaps from Italian dialectal strolegh, from Italian astròlogo, astrologer, fortuneteller, from Latin astrologus, astronomer, astrologer, from Greek astrologos.
Perhaps the most famous ostreidae celebrated in story and rhyme are those unfortunate, plump – and let’s be honest stupid – young oysters who accepted the Walrus’s invitation to go for a jog along that great expanse of sand. Even though their Elder wisely refused to join the rather unusual pairing of Tradesman and Marine Mammal on their stroll, the foolish young ones eagerly trotted off hand-in-hand (?) with, or puffing behind, the Walrus and the Carpenter. And their sad fate as a result of that inadvisable course of action is well documented and told to Alice, with perhaps unnecessary glee, by those battling brothers Tweedledum and Tweedledee*.
“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes- and ships- and sealing wax-
Of cabbages- and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot-
And whether pigs have wings.”
Lately I’ve found I am having trouble remembering if it’s Monday or Thursday and relying more and more on my medication box to clear up the question. I am putting this down to finally settling into retirement rather than old age but also we only have one wall calendar in the house. And while we’re on the subject of calendars …… (clever eh?)
I often wonder where my penchant for using four letter words came from? Certainly not from my parents – I don’t think I ever heard my father or mother swear beyond a “darn” or in real stress “damn”.
Sometimes it really is necessary to do complete Beta testing on things.
And sometimes the container has to go too!
You have to wonder, I’m forever cleaning my glasses – how the hell do they ever clean those things.
I hate to discriminate so here’s a canine/feline one.
I always like to end on a philosophical or religious note: this covers them both.
The word for March 20th is: Penchant /ˈpen(t)SH(ə)nt/: [noun] A strong or habitual liking for something or tendency to do something. Late 17th century: from French, ‘leaning, inclining’, present participle of the verb pencher . I don’t say I “like” to use sentence enhancers but …
It will never be as much as the joy or laughter as our canines/felines bring to us in the real world; but let’s try some feline/canine memes to see if we can bring a little joy and laughter into our weary world.
I’m going to challenge this one. No dog I’ve ever owned has ever needed anything more than a cold nose and a stubborn nature.
You have to wonder sometimes where all that food goes to.
Our Nora particularly feels her place is under foot when I’m cooking.
I’m reminded of my dear Vicky’s cat Smokie who’s reaction to everyone of us as we came into the house was a hissy fit. Except for Charlie, she never hissed at Charlie.
The record in our house for desqueakering was our first Dachsie – Bundnie had the squeaker on the floor whezzing its last breath in two minutes. She then ceremoniously dug a hole and buried the remains in the middle of the living room floor. Her surprise when I went over an picked it up was priceless.
Never underestimate the intelligence of a cat:
Watching the news these days you do have to ask the same question.
And the foolish human falls for it every time.
Point of view is everything.
The word for February 28th is: Weary /ˈwirē/: [1.noun2.verb] 1. A feeling or showing tiredness, especially as a result of excessive exertion or lack of sleep. 2. To cause to become tired. Old English wērig, wǣrig, of West Germanic origin.
Yesterday was Robbie Burns day and a goodly number of haggis were addressed and drams drained to honour the man and his work. The only time I attended a Burns Night was in Warsaw in 1998 and it was great fun. I might that the one and only St Patrick’s Day parade I was ever in was also in Warsaw that same year – during a snow storm. Don’t ask!
But I digress. As we listened to the radio last evening – yes there are people that still do that – the Radio Canada classic programme ended with a lovely set of variations on the traditional Scottish air that we know as My Love Is Like a Red, Red Rose. It sent me off to YouTube looking for this lovely ballad.
There are so many versions available but my search led me to two that seemed to me to display the utter simplicity of the piece. Unable to choose between them I am posting both for your – and my – pleasure.
The late Ian Charleson recorded this as part of a TV celebration of Burns Night in 1986.
Charleson, a Scot from Edinburgh, was one of the most brilliant lights of the British theatre in the last quarter of the 20th century. He had appeared in movies, TV drama, musicals, comedies, drama and Shakespeare and won praise from critics, peers and audiences. In 1989 he capped his already brilliant career with a Hamlet that is talked about to this day. Ten days after the final performance he died on January 9th 1990 at the age of 40 from AIDS. He requested that his AIDS status be revealed. This was the first celebrity death in the United Kingdom openly attributed to AIDS, and the announcement helped to promote awareness and acceptance of the disease.
The classical world seems awash with countertenors these days however my favourite has always been Andreas Scholl. He hasn’t restricted himself to the baroque but has branched out into lieder and folk music. His voice has a sweetness and strength that, despite the over-orchestration on this recording, again brings out the simplicity of what is surely one of the great declarations of love in literature.
The word for January 26th is: Haggis /ˈhaɡəs/: [noun] A Scottish dish consisting of a sheep’s or calf’s offal mixed with suet, oatmeal, and seasoning and boiled in a bag, traditionally one made from the animal’s stomach. Late Middle English: probably from earlier hag ‘hack, hew’, from Old Norse hǫggva. The Economist started a bit of a kerfuffle back in 2021 by stating that the origin of Scotland’s national dish was actually of English origin. But then we believes The Economist?
Telling the stories of the history of the port of Charlottetown and the marine heritage of Northumberland Strait on Canada's East Coast. Winner of the Heritage Award from the PEI Museum and Heritage Foundation and a Heritage Preservation Award from the City of Charlottetown