Of love, and life, and the passage of time...

On this date forty years ago, November 12, 1969, Julie Andrews and Blake Edwards were married. They have stayed together through some very difficult times as well as through the good times, and to see the way they look into each others eyes, or to hear her talking about him, is just a true and deep joy. She recently talked about him during her appearance on the Rachael Ray show -- even if you're not keen on Rachael Ray, please watch this video to see what I mean (and to hear a delightfully funny poem!)...

This date has an even deeper, more personal meaning for me. On this date, thirty years ago, November 12, 1979, my beloved boyfriend, "G", died of a massive epileptic seizure, after being in a coma for a few days. I can hardly believe that it was thirty years ago. There have certainly been other boyfriends since then, other serious ones, yet I don't remember my first kiss with them the way I remember it with G. It's amazing after so many years that I can still recall so much of our brief time together in so much detail. He was the first (and, so far, only) man to call me 'darling'. His birthday was a few days ago (November 6). He would have been 61. That is so hard to imagine. At this point in life, I have no idea if our relationship would have lasted in the long term the way Blake's and Julie's has -- but he will always have a special place in my heart. Today I'll buy a red rose in his memory -- red roses were his favorite, by far (and yes, it is good to know that bit of seemingly trivial information).

Even if this isn't your style of music, please listen to this lovely song, and if you have a dear one, cherish him or her with all your heart...

Lest We Forget...

This morning, I watched one of the local Remembrance Day services on local cable television -- the service held indoors is always televised, the service held outdoors at the cenotaph isn't. This year seemed even more moving than most, because I knew my Dad was at the service. A busload of veterans, from the veterans unit at the nursing home where Dad now lives, went to the service today.

At the beginning of the service, mention was made of the veterans attending from the veterans unit. Able-bodied veterans marched in to the arena, and I wondered where Dad was, and what he was thinking. After the opening of the service, those veterans marched out again, to take their seats. The service continued, with prayers, and music, and a guest speaker who was a girl from a local high school -- who was just excellent. There was the customary two minutes of silence, and then the veterans marched in again, this time accompanied by the veterans from the nursing home in their wheelchairs. When I saw my Dad being pushed along in his wheelchair, the tears really started to flow. I was so proud of him, and so glad he was there, and so sad, all at the same time. His chair was pushed by an Air Cadet, which was so appropriate, since Dad spent his four years of serving in World War II in the Royal Canadian Air Force.

Everyone in the arena gave the veterans -- including my Dad -- a standing ovation as they filed into the arena. The service continued, and then the veterans received another standing ovation as they marched, or were wheeled, past the reviewing stand and then out of the arena again.

When I was growing up, we always went into town for the Remembrance Day service at the Legion Hall, and Dad always marched with the veterans -- veterans who were much younger in those days (although there are younger ones again now -- we never seem to learn in this world of ours...). He hadn't attended a service since we moved to the city. I was so very grateful to the people who ensured that the veterans in the nursing home could join the others on this very important day.

May we never forget what these men and women did for us.

May we someday learn to live together in peace.

Take Five, people...

Blessings on Wende, who has unleashed five more of her 20 Questions for us to play with. And blessings on my blogfriends, who rallied to my aid, and posted questions on Wende's blog so that we would actually get to the magic number of 20 in the first place. Thank you (again), A.C., BrianSibley, and SharonM.

So, without further ado, here is my take on the second round of questions.


From A.C.

What’s the first movie you remember seeing in a theater? Or what movie reminds you of your childhood?

I knew I could count on A.C. to suggest a film question. A.C. = Film, Film = A.C. The first film I saw in a theater was the Disney animated “Pinocchio”. I learned to spell Pinocchio before I could spell! P-i-n-o-c-c-h-i-o! (I can still sing the tune of that, as well.) According to Wikipedia, Pinocchio was re-released in 1962, so I was 5 when I saw it.

The movies that most remind me of my childhood (notice I changed the question to the plural, because as usual with me, I couldn’t pick just one) – seeing tearjerkers like “Miracle in the Rain” (Van Johnson) or “Song of Bernadette” take me back to watching old movies on TV when I was a kid. I loved tearjerkers, and sighed over Van Johnson...

The in-theater movie that most makes me think of my childhood is “The Sound of Music” Do I really need to put a link for that one? I think you all know the movie I mean... ;-) My grandmother took me to the city (this very city, good ol’ SmallCity) by bus in 1965 to see “The Sound of Music”. We had to have advance tickets, which was quite unusual. It was wonderful, and as soon as it came to a theater nearer us, I insisted that my parents go with me to see it again. (I was 8 in 1965, just so you have a reference point). I didn’t see many movies in the theater, so seeing one twice was quite something. Actually, it became a point of pride for me that I’d seen it three times, but I can’t remember where or when I saw it for the third time. This was before it was on TV every Christmas, and before the advent of video or DVD. I also listened to the soundtrack (on LP!) over and over and over, until I knew every song. This likely does not surprise any of my regular readers.


From Brian Sibley

If you could take a real life holiday to a totally fictional location, where would you go and what would you bring back with you as a souvenir of your visit?

Totally fictional is tricky, because many of the locations I particularly love in books (such as Anne of Green Gables' P.E.I.) are not fictional. The first thing that comes to mind is the Hundred Acre Wood (where somewhere at the top of the Forest, a boy and his bear are still playing, thanks to A.A. Milne), and I’d bring back something written especially for me by Wol. Something that uses a lot of pencil.


From SharonM

Which book has had the biggest impact on you?

Oddly enough, although I have had my nose in a book since I learned to read, I had a hard time answering this question. As Wende said, I suppose I should be answering "The Bible" or some great work of literature, but... after much thought, I've come up with a few titles that have particularly impacted my life.

My Life with Martin Luther King, Jr. by Coretta Scott King. I read this when I was in about Grade 9, not as assigned reading, I chose it myself. I had grown up listening to Pete Seeger singing freedom songs on one of the few records we owned, and although I don't have the iconic memory of "where I was when JFK was shot", I do remember Martin Luther King's death. This book cemented my admiration for Dr. King, and truly opened up the world for me.

In the same vein, a novel about interracial marriage, Five Smooth Stones, by Ann Fairbairn. This book got under my skin, and moved me so powerfully that I have never been able to re-read it, although I still remember much of it vividly (or because I still remember much of it vividly, especially the way I cried so very hard as I read the last part of the book).

The books I re-read the most in my teen years and my early twenties were Karen and With Love from Karen, written by Karen's mother, Marie Killilea. These two books tell the true story of a girl born prematurely in the early 1940s, whose struggle with cerebral palsy shaped her family's life. It shaped my life as well, as I read it over and over, so many times that I wore out my first copies, and I can still quote (and often do quote) many passages from the two books.

One more. 84 Charing Cross Road, by Helene Hanff. This is another book that I can quote reams of, because I identified so closely with Helene, and read the book so very many times. It's also a true story, a collection of letters between Helene in New York City and a bookshop at 84 Charing Cross Road in London, England. I learned of many books through Helene, and yearned as she did to feel the streets of London under my feet. When I was in England, one of the most important "pilgrimages" I made was to Charing Cross Road, where there is a small round plaque indicating that the bookshop made famous in Helene's book once stood there.



From Kerry

Is there a particular place in Phoenix that makes you happy?

Thankfully, Wende has reworded this for the masses. What place in [where you live] gives you joy?

Driving into the city from the north, at night, one suddenly sees the vast spread of the city's lights blanketing the otherwise seemingly empty prairie. That sight tells me I am home. It has to be at night, it's not nearly as powerful during daylight hours.


From Hammie

What is your drag song?

Okay, I might as well be honest. I have no idea what a “drag song” is. I assume it has nothing to do with drag racing. Song sung while wearing drag? That's not my area of expertise, but Le Jazz Hot from Victor/Victoria is definitely a song sung by a woman who is wearing drag while wearing drag, sort of, in a kind of a way... and I like the song, and the performance. That is, no doubt, far far FAR from what Hammie meant.

Beauty in the small things...

This afternoon (after a restorative nap) I was repurposing a small set of plastic drawers that had previously held notecards, receipts, and whatnot of Mum's. They now hold makeup, manicure supplies, and other top-of-the-dresser detritus. The dresser looks much nicer now.

As I dug down through the clutter on the dresser, I unearthed a sweet little 'friend'. You can probably tell from my blog's name, "Where there are Meadowlarks", that birds are special to me. My parents also, are lovers of birds, and of nature in general. When I was in England, way back in 1988 (have I mentioned that I need to go to England again?) I bought a tiny china robin -- an English robin -- for Mum. Now, like most things of Mum's and Dad's, he is in my care. He was sitting on the dresser, waiting patiently for me to remove all the clutter so that he could have some freedom, for robins need to feel free, even china ones.

He's now happily adorning my dining table, next to one of the framed pictures I've placed opposite my place at the table, my 'gladden the heart' pictures. Now a 'gladden the heart' robin has joined them.

He's just under two inches high -- a delicate, lovely thing.

Office week in the Cure, you say?

I've just noticed (because of Alana's post about it) that this is Office Week in the ongoing AT Cure. So I'm feeling quite chuffed, to use the English expression (because I miss Zooza's posts, so I have to put in Anglicisms somehow), because without realizing it was Office Week, I just tidied the top of my desk, and moved the phone from the coffee table to said desk, and put a pad of paper and a pen next to said phone. Now you all are supposed to say "Aren't you the clever one, SCB!"

I didn't find the DVD case which was what precipitated the tidy-up, but it's got to be somewhere...

In other news, I have a bit of a cold, so a nap will be taken this afternoon, rather than visits to nursing homes or to fabric stores. Before the nap happens, a movie will be watched (or at least I will start to watch a movie). I will keep track of the case, I promise.

Later, y'all...

Would you believe...

(you must say the title in a Maxwell Smart voice...)

I just washed my parka so it would be ready when it's needed. Before it's needed. I'm not sure that's ever happened before. I just hope that action doesn't precipitate the sudden onslaught of cold wintry weather. And yes, I used the word 'precipitate' on purpose. That's just how I am.

I've figured out what should be a workable landing strip. I just need to get a friend to help me move a couple of small tables.

I'm making a Control Journal a la FlyLady. Having a Control Journal helps me enormously at work. Perhaps it will do the same at home. It's worth a try. I'm doing it my way, though, and embellishing it with pictures that will make me smile. Smiling's good.

I'm going to go make some Eezy Threezy for lunch. I've been subsisting on bread and cheese too much again. Toast (tm) bad. Eezy Threezy better. Buying chicken and cooking it would be even better. Hmmm. There's a thought.

I've found some fabric (here in SmallCity!) that I really like for my dining chairs, and some other fabric that I really like for my living room chairs. Problem is, they don't play nicely together. The dining chair fabric is too pale and modernistically geometrical. Which got me thinking that pale fabric is perhaps not the way to go for the dining chairs. Darker brown tones would go better with the living room chair fabric, if I still like it when I go to visit it in the store again. (It is changing my imagined color scheme -- the fabric I like for the living room chairs is rose with stylized flowers, brown stems and yellowy gold petals.) Will look through all the swatches of things they can order in before making a final decision.

Having time? Taking time? *Making* time...

"Take time, feel fine, I feel fine when I can take my time ...

...Take a little time and run with it -- Running can be fun, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun..."

by Rolf Harris, from the song "Take Time" (If my memory of the lyrics is correct)

It occurred to me this morning that when I was working, I used the fact that I was working as a way to excuse my lack of time for housecleaning. Um, I'm not working at the moment. Haven't been for months. So what's my excuse?

I have enough time to muck about in stores after I visit my parents. I have enough time to read countless things online. I have enough time to sit mesmerized in front of the Solitaire game on the computer, thinking 'just one more game -- I'll win this one -- okay, just one more game...'.

Time for housework doesn't magically happen. Like every other use of time, it's a choice. It's a choice I need to make more often. Take a little time and run with it. The housework might not be fun, fun, fun, fun... but having a clean house will certainly be pleasant.

Last night, after the post I did about being bored, I did a fair bit toward tidying the kitchen. It was a nice sight to wake up to.

Take a little time and run with it.