When I was seven years old Santa gave me this little accordion. And for a little bit of nostalgia: I was told by my father that during the war he was mostly in the back of a lorry on signals, but whilst in Ancona, Italy he heard many an accordion. Today the factories still exist and museums too. Though I would love to go, I feel I would be filled with sadness, as well as, joy to hear the many sounds and styles of such an instrument that I love to play. It represents freedom for me!
A few days ago, an English lady whom I met 3 years ago arrived for guidance on how to play it. She had bought one exactly the same but darker red! I thought she'd paid rather a lot of money but I would need to research that! It was fun to teach and she made quick progress whilst I made a cup of tea. It's a very limited instrument as it is child-size.
When I was seven years old, it was my French teacher or she was a teacher who was French (possibly Madame Boucher who taught mathematics) ... who gave me lessons. I learned to play Three Blind Mice. She was impressed. It was my earliest recollection that I could be successful at something! After about three after-school lessons, she visited my house and told my mother I needed to have professional lessons more or less immediately. I started studies with Martin Lukins.
I can't wait until my grand-daughter who has already shown interest and ability at the age of 4, is ready to learn to play seriously. It would be nice to think that I could pass on 'heritage tracks' !!!!
At the concert I recently attended where two pianists played a transcription of the orchestral piece Prelude à L'après-midi d'un faune by Claude Debussy 1862-1918), a French Impressionistic composer, we also, beforehand, listened to the poem of Stephane
Mallarmé (1842-1898) L'après-midi d'un faune (1865/7) which had inspired that music. This poem is about a faun who whilst alone in woodlands plays his pan-pipes. Interested in the nymphs and naiads, he follows them, eventually sadly realising that he is rejected, so returns to dream of them whilst asleep.
Whilst the poem was read aloud we watched the following video of Nureyev performing the choreography by Nijinsky who performed the ballet in 1912 which had been inspired by the poetry and the music.
Then of course there was the new modern version by dearest Freddie Mercury of Queen when in 1984 he dances the role of the faun, supported by the Royal Ballet, as he sings I want to Break Free.
For almost 5 years this was my accordion teacher. I knew he was famous but did not know he had produced records. I had regular lessons and used to try and practise scales as well as pieces for often up to 4 hours a day if I could. It was my escape route from the family and television. I sat in the front living room at the age of 10 hardly able to get my nose over the 100 bass instrument that I played today in the French village where I live.
I stopped having lessons when I was 12. It was a shame because I was working on fast Italian pieces, musette style French tunes, classical arrangements such as William Tell and also playing in accordion band which was fun but I was not that keen. Later I joined a theatrical group and performed on stage. Later still I used to play at the outdoor fairs in a mock French costume with sparkles on my face.
I wish I could play as fast as him but I am content with what I do..it is my own style!!!!
... and I am working indoors at a friend's house... popping into the sunshine every now and then to top up the tan which has been peeling since the bare-armed walks on the windswept south and east coast UK.
Even the French lawn (grass) seems to tell me it has stopped growing and I don't know what to do about the Asiatique frelons at the bottom of the garden, which are probably minding their own business, but how many bees have they eaten today?
I posted important UK letters this evening: one to the UK tax office (well.. I have had to choose one of the three that are dealing with my situation!!!!) as I am trying to clear up the double tax conundrum. At last, they have agreed that the state pension can be taxed in France whilst my teachers' pension gets taxed in UK. They are to reimburse me! Good news!
Another letter to complain about my cottage rental... too boring to tell but suffice to say not up to my standard. I understand I am to receive a refund (yet more good news) but nevertheless I told the company that they would receive a letter for the proprietor! Slugs on the kitchen floor and work surface was the end!!!!!!!
I thought the new proprietors of La Presse, that is the post office/shop/bar..... had forgotten all about me but they would like me to play for les anciens (who?... they mean the old boys!!!!!!!) and so we have agreed on Saturday late morning after coffee for the first one and I told them to tell me to stop if it is not liked or it is too loud! So now I have to practise. It's very much a summer instrument. My doors / windows are wide open as it is summer and who knows who hears me because the Fort Knox gates shut out les voyeurs! What am I going to play? L'accordeon!
Yesterday......
PART ONE
oh George, oh Paul, oh John, oh Ringo, oh The Beatles, oh how I used to weep between screams and smiles of joy, of sentiment, of being on the edge of a cliff of musical, magical, majestical mystery.
PART TWO
Yesterday ....... was a stormy day... in more ways than one.
Yesterday, I sat on a bench under the hands of horse chestnut trees, whilst rain penetrating through leaves dropped drips, one by one, onto my blue-grey rain mac and in my hair, as I sat and studied lightning across a river valley, watching rain fall against the backdrop of trees. Birds stopped song and flight as rain fell and when the clouds abated, the feathered friends struck up their tunes and were seen to fly from place to place, for it was not yet 9 o'clock in the evening.
Yesterday, I sat under the leaves of conker trees and smelled the damp bark. I leaned against the tree and wished to hug the strength out of it. I witnessed conkers lying on the ground from last Autumn. I looked up into the canopy of green and felt protected. My wistful melancholy whimpered at my soul like a French nightingale with all the joys and happinesses of Spring and Summer but solitariness seethed towards a wonderment about people and existence.
Yesterday, I sat wishing I had my camera, purse and tissues, for I had nothing except my self and what I wore. Then CLOCK. I see before me a Toyota MR2 sports car with a GB number plate... ah ha .. English people are here. Ah ha, and what is this, as a Porsche Boxster S parks alongside it. "Bonsoir" le monsieur dit a moi. "Bon soir Monsieur" je dit. "Hello". He discusses the weather and who they are visiting and asks me something where I reveal a twist in the day but reveal nothing more than the wistfulness of a stormy day. I ask if he has seen me before, for he is quite friendly! He offers to bring a glass of wine as he clutches his two bottles of red to the place he is going to. Of course he never arrives. Why would anyone in a thunder storm want to return to a wet bench under trees with two glasses of red in his hand when he is the age of my son?
But oh, I dreamed that he would..for a person to talk to and not to talk about me... oh no... for as I have been told I am as mad as a biscuit and I am told that I dream fancifully.
There I am in a film set ... rather as Bathsheba in the storm. I see Troy with Fanny as the rainstorm flooded the earth and spoiled the crops and yet made characters strong to allow love to win through tragedy. Oh such a fanciful imagination in search of company and more than that... normality.
PART THREE
Wishing to maintain privacy, just let me say that the following day I was feeling so good that after almost 3 hours of mowing grass, I walked far into countryside at a pace, descending and climbing a circuit of stone steps, lanes, streets and pavements about the village and its environs. I courageously knocked on a door to see if I could discover this person to explain that I do not normally sit in rain and thunder storms. These English people were so kind and not at all phased...so French really... we showed interest, discussing all manner of things French and English, their lives and mine. They fed me a most amazing 3 course meal followed by coffee. I hope I can return the conviviality.
PART FOUR
Yesterday... I was told by an English person that I look French...oh oh oh... MY MY MY!
J’ai arrivé.
I do actually have ancestors who are from Nîmes et de Nantes. How good do I feel!!!!!!!!
I slept in The Annexe last night. It was so warm I remember wriggling out from under the duvet!!!!! I awoke at a very reasonable hour bearing in mind that shutters on the doors and windows keep the room dark, but I could feel a chink of light waking the day! After breakfast, minor tasks and lighting a fire, I sat with a hot chocolate drink and a small piece of chocolate with fleurs du sel (my favourite!) and started to record government pension net payment dates and state pension gross payment dates even though I have a list somewhere else, backdating for several years.....it's now in one book!!!! Next is to work out how much tax I have paid in UK and France over the years because UK say I owe them!!!!! Drafting letters and checking how to get the tax forms filled is tedious.
After a small salmon and pasta lunch, I chose to drive to a local village event where there was to be Poitou-Limoges dancing. I think it's wonderful that boys and girls are being taught confidence to publically demonstrate their regional heritage. So many establishments in England never celebrate May day or country dancing. Our school used to have country dancing at the school fete, but it was always only two of the four classes. Shame! Still all children could dance when they were in those classes.
I looked at the dam on the River Gartempe and took note that
here was another place where I could come for a picnic and listen to the
rush of water over the weir ... as my tidal water replacement
therapy!!!!!
Now for my surprise which is why I drove half an hour from my village!!!!! Here were the Hook Eagle Morris Men Dancers... all the way from England..... Ooooh, so nice to have some British culture! I think I am experiencing a drought in my own culture, when in the last 7 years I haven't really missed even a can of baked beans ... though proper jacket potatoes I have most definitely missed!!!! The group was amazingly fun and the very, very tall chap I spoke to afterwards was absolutely charming! I was reminded of where I used to live where one Christmas, the Molly Men, danced in the street fair whilst we smelt the chestnuts roasting. Yes...I am missing aspects of English heritage more and more!
BUT the French life and afternoon is and was so unpretentious...lots of elderly, older than me, sitting under the marquees having eaten a fine lunch, now to be entertained by dancing and music....no bawdiness, no drunks, very few young children, no babies, all quite calm, people speaking French and English and did I hear some Belgian or German accents?.... I like the internationalism of communities. It is important though for cultures to celebrate themselves and not to lose their identities and heritage. How fun to share and swap cultural differences. I love that.
Now for some photos:
He's taking a snapshot of dancers on stage between us when I have long range discrete zoom!
The style reminds me of hedgehogs and story fantasy.
Until now I had never heard an uninterrupted performance of 24 Preludes and Fugues Book 2 by JS Bach. I listened to the performer whilst following my Urtext keyboard score. Again this was something I had never done before. It was a good exercise and prevented me from falling asleep as it kept my mind alert. Music can be soporific.
For 20 euros, including a bowl of soup and a glass of wine served during the 30 minute interval, it was stunningly good value. The level of pianistic concentration required was enormous and it was evident that the pianist/harpsichordist was tired when he made a few mistakes towards the end. Yet, he managed an encore. He had played for 3 hours! However, I forgave him because I know how fiendishly difficult these pieces are, even though they sound so simple, delicate and beautiful. The pianist had been to this venue two years ago and although he performed a lot last year he said that this year would be easier. He also taught at a Conservatoire. Oh, how I need to practise!
Oh how I would have loved my son to have continued to play the cello beyond Grade 5 and myself to have even started. The violincello is such an exquisite instrument when played sensitively. I fell in love with this instrument as did I fall in love with Jacqueline du Pré playing Elgar's Cello Concerto.
It makes me cry, and laugh, at the same time with such yearning for I know not what.
I'm doing the best that I can:
with exterior morning temperature more than -9C with a 'feels like' -14C according to the metéo locale. My brand new mercurial thermometer is below the -12C that it shows.
The indoor bedroom temperature is at +9C.
The door is open to another room where the woodburner has almost no red glow and there it is +11C. The next room, the kitchen has +7C.
Outside in the Municipal where I put the electricity heater on to protect the toilet and water pipes from freezing as they nearly did..... it is +13C... not quite warm enough to have a shower but if I were to put the more powerful electrical radiator on perhaps it would be warmer over there! I will measure that another time.
I have to confess that last night I slept with all my layers of clothes on minus coat and scarves, with abandonment of the hat at some time... accompanied by two hot water bottles and with three efficient duvets, feeling cold at 6am but getting up at 7am. All I had to do on waking was to just put coat, hat and scarves on and I was ready for the day, to light the fire and try to get warm. Star jumps are brilliant for raising the body temperature as also is playing the piano.
I never trusted the digital thermometer. My friend and I had three between us and last year we did a quality control on them. They all read differently both for the interior and exterior communication between digital technology. Back to ancient barometers and thermometers it is!
So glad I bought this small device yesterday. It is comforting to know. Where I used to live previous to this house, I used to have the horrors in similar extreme weather conditions when I went to the wetroom or bathroom because both rooms were often less than +10C. One made a quick visit to return to the splendour of the 'too hot living room' where the woodburner warmed the room better than toast and where I felt claustrophobia. I can't complain! We did the best that we could.
I've read that gas connectors can get frozen up so I don't know if that is the case or that I have run out of gas in the cylinder for the gas hob. I have read that it is best not to touch it if at all uncertain. So am I suffering unnecessarily? I am not suffering for I have the electric oven which also has a grill. So the day before yesterday I put the all-metal frying pan under the grill... warmed up the oil, cracked in the eggs, splashed over the oil, and popped it back under the grill and in a jiffy I had fried eggs (instead of an omelette that I wished for) and wedge potatoes (previously cooked) instead of my chips.
Today I popped about 8 small potatoes in the oven whilst I went to La Presse..... where le monsieur has a shop selling newspapers, magazines, food, postal items, and a bar where he needs to be trained that I like HOT chocolate drink, and trained that I like VERY HOT chocolate drink, and after that with a bar of crunchie chocolate bar, I had a coffee and I sat by the fire and read in French the book I purchased which has the definitive historical guide about my village. A pleasant read for almost an hour... where some old boys came in for the apero before lunch plus an Englishman I've seen before who speaks impeccable French. I only knew he was English because he let slip a few English words with English accent. Here I was, the old girl, sitting by the café-bar fireside, with my Haute-Savoie / Nepalese red hat with flowery tassels and my black woollen coat and my brown silk and woollen scarf over all the rest of my attire. So here I am... doing the best that one can! And over there, wherever you are .... you, he, she, they are doing the best that they can.
It is all anyone can ever do.
To be truthful to who we are.
I am trying so hard not to tell lies, not even to my self.
I received someone's irritation and more today, but it was really about someone else and yet it was projected on to me. Later I heard someone else's anger, but not at me, not about me, however, in that context I could help the person because the 'she' was able to do anger management control whereas the 'he' lets it damage himself and everyone and everything that comes in his path. Shame.
As far as I know, I don't get angry anymore and yet I know that in the past I have been angry with my SELF and my family and even my best soulmate.
NOW that I am older and distanced from being a parent and a grandparent because they are far from me, I realise that some of the anger I had was borne out of frustration, having very little constructive and positive ME time, though there were times when I was alone. Usually it was consumed by work or study or poor relationships and having few, if any, people to advise me, support me in a proactive manner. My cousin was always supportive even in the direst of emergencies. She would bring the medicinal Armagnac, give me one small dose, sometimes two, a hug, wise words and disappear to her own family. I had a female friend who took the children to give me space. I have regrets but they have to be released. I was responsible then for my sometimes poor parenting as well as for my good parenting but I am not responsible now for them. I think my children do not hold it against me. I did the best that I could.
What is the purpose of causing pain to one self? One would not wish to hurt another person so why get angry with anyone or the SELF?
Oh how I loved them and still do. Great for dancing and getting warm! Paul is doing the best that he can!
A beautiful pink baby pearl.
ohhhhhh
Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band
It's wonderful to be here
It gives me such a thrill
She's such a lovely audience
and makes me feel so good
I don't really want to stop the show
but I thought you might like to know
I am happy just today to say
a very very Happy birthday.
And so it was that I
started at about 5h in the morning, stage 2 of my special motherly recipe for
making marmalade which involved cutting finely by hand the seville oranges,
sweet oranges and lemons on that second day of making the best marmalade in the world! At about 7h or later in the evening it was jarred. And so, I was free to give birth for I
was elephantine and if I sat down could not get up again. I too was jarred with stirring and
jangled because I was having this baby.
I refused to go to the hospital earlier because of frightful experiences with what happened when I gave birth the
first time with my dearest son, and so I waited until I was sure that those waves of pain were the
real thing. When I arrived at the hospital
at about 20h30 I told the nurses “I am having a baby”. I remember the look on
Matron’s face as she smilingly and kindly spoke “Of course you are”. Why else would I be arriving at a
maternity hospital like a beached whale?
However, I insisted urgently that I WAS HAVING the baby! It was a small cottage hospital. Nonchalantly,
they allowed me to go to the toilet unaided, whereupon the waters broke, I
collapsed on the floor yet had the good sense to pull the alarm cord and so
they came running in their uniforms. Within a few minutes at 8h53pm the darling Felicity was
born! Miss Happiness. I felt that I was lucky to now have one
son and one daughter. It was my wish come true.
She hasn’t always
caused happiness to either herself or others, being a very challenging person, but the worry was well worth
it because I now feel a great affinity with her, and the more we see each other, as we get older, the more
we seem to get on well together. But of course I cannot speak for her. I
praise her for her ability as a mother in coping with a parenting situation that is very different to my experience as a mother, as was my own experience different to the trials of my own mother. I respect daughters. I respect mothers. I respect what supportive father's do too. Being a conscientious parent is not the easiest of jobs and it IS a job, it is a career and as mothers we work hard for the heartache of pain AND joy that sons and daughters bring to us.
My daughter has a wealth of ideas and self confidence. She has
many creative talents and abilities. We come from a family where the women appear to be late developers. I am hoping that in 2012, or whenever, she will find a way to use her skills, interests and talents in a way that brings more confidence,
success and happiness. May doors open for her. Happy Birthday, my lovely one.
28 January 1978 Top of the Pops chart
Number 1 was "Stayin Alive" by the BeeGees
Number 20 was "What's your Name?" by Lynrd Skynrd
I just had to complete my choice for the "Days of the Week" songs!
Queen - Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon - 1975
Who indeed has any answers?
Neither you, nor me
nor the wind, nor the sea
nor the ocean, nor the sun
nor the birds, in the trees
yet to walk outside in the wild
seems to quell the quest
for the search of a nest
where I belong,
with one to share,
to sing my song.
I love the roughness of the voices. There was a group called THEM who played regularly at our Friday night school social club. When we rushed to buy the release of the first 45rpm only to discover that this was not OUR group we were all very disappointed. So our THEM, became THEMSELVES.
GROUTING was achieved today. Then after the day had gone wonky it turned around with beer and galette des rois as an evening apero or supper!
This was an unexpectedly good drink to have with the sweet pastry. I have since read that in medieval times, warmed ale with stewed apples in it (a posset), was enjoyed with the cake.
It is the Feast of the Epiphany today. From English Christmas Pudding, move to French Galette des Rois and within each one win the ceramic model (feve=bean originally {a different narrative} to have the chance to be King or Queen for the day. Although you will wear the crown, the reward for your servants is that you have to supply the next galette!! There are many different types in France as there are in other Catholic countries. I prefer the one with less flaky, flaky pastry, which I think heralds from Normandy but the best are stuffed with a real and goodly amount of almond paste, unless it is a brioche, and so it goes on until we reach Candlemas day on February 2nd when it is traditional to eat pancakes. The French do not wait until Shrove Tuesday!
Well... this is my favourite type of Epiphany cake..all the better as it is from my local baker. I bought it on Monday 8th January and it should last the work force at least 4 days. I had to hide it to prevent someone having second helpings. Waistlines must be thought about!
Best not to think, GET ON AND DO but today I am led to think that:
We are so busy in our lives sometimes making mistakes that we don't make time to correct them.
So, if I find myself thinking in a certain way because I think I've been hurt or upset by an event or person, or probably have hurt them, I attempt to follow the Byron Katie model of enquiry and ask the 4 questions to arrive at a nearer truth or the actual truth and turn around my thoughts. This works well and leads to other enquiry.
I was looking in my collection of thoughts from others
which have inspired me in the last 3 years
and
randomly
came upon thoughtfulness from Jim Morrison - The Doors NB He was also in THEM
“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You
trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act.
You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There
can’t be any large-scale revolution until there’s a personal revolution,
on an individual level. It’s got to happen inside first. You can take
away a man’s political freedom and you won’t hurt him- unless you take
away his freedom to feel. That can destroy him. That kind of freedom
can’t be granted. Nobody can win it for you.”
“Friends can help each other. A true friend is someone who lets you
have total freedom to be yourself – and especially to feel. Or, not
feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them.
That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really
is.”
“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings
most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit.
Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil
and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel?
Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re
wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength
in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what
matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own
reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting
society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel
your pain.”
“People fear death even more than pain. It's strange that they
fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death. At the point of death, the
pain is over. Yeah, I guess it is a friend”
“Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no
power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.”
This album is Emotional. This track, based on a true story, often
makes me cry or feel sentimental. I suppose it's poignant; a girl who
left home when I never had the courage until I transferred to college at
18 yrs of age, officially becoming an independent adult.
Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band alias The Beatles - She's Leaving Home - 1967
Well, today is a wonderful Wednesday because grey floor tiles are laid in the bathroom but not without angst. The packs of 7 tiles are very slightly different in size and we are talking about millimetres, which sounds not a lot until they do not marry up with straight lines! The last one has had to be adjusted and it's lucky not to be in pieces!
Lunch was a fine roast rolled shoulder of lamb from the local fields. I have to say I rather excelled myself without much effort and reminisced about ditches and lunchtime dinners!
Yesterday I sautéed two leeks and threw in the frozen mâche, added the potato stock and seasoning and left to cool for a soup base. However, today, into the covered casserole dish went the soup with the seared lamb, studded with slivers of garlic, on top of it, surrounded by large chunks of butternut squash, 2 onions with their skins on, (laziness create deliciousness) and around the top slightly pre-boiled potatoes (Cherie darling), and into a cold oven at the hottest of temperatures. This is a kind of French roasting. the moisture permeates upwards, tenderising the meat. I roasted for about 1¼ hours and then took out the meat "to rest" before slicing into thick pieces. The potatoes and squash were taken out of the dish and put onto the hot metal tray in the oven to crisp up for about 10 minutes. I made a sauce from the liquid in the casserole dish adding a little flour to thicken and a touch of seasoning. To serve I put a spoonful of the leeks and mâche onto the plate with the slice of lamb on top and around it the squash, potatoes, and one onion which I had removed the skin of.
For dessert... I'd accidentally cooked the Bramley apples for too long in water and no sugar until they were mushy. I'd made a thick batter mixture with flour, egg, milk, sugar (no weighing here!) and then espied a tangerine going 'home' so I cit it in half and chopped up the eatable portion and threw that into the batter, then poured the lot over the apples and baked that in the oven I suppose for about 40 minutes ... but had turned the heat down a wee amount! You can smell when it is ready!
Two beautiful songs to celebrate the first Tuesday moving stone, sand, gravel, garden pots then clearing and sweeping the courtyard now that the drainage solutions are complete.
Another load for the déchetterie.
Another fine lunch: different salads with fresh smoked mackerel from the fishmonger - a whole fish which I skinned and deboned, flaked with aioli and served on toasted 'sweet chestnut and fig' bread from the local bakery.
In French markets and supermarkets, cooked "betterave" is often a long variety. I love the way the crunchy, darkened, brown skin can be pulled off. A favourite salad is to chop beetroots, garlic, leeks, cooking/eating apple, then mix with sultanas or raisins, mayonnaise or aioli, lemon juice/rind and season to taste.
The whistling wind arrived late afternoon and so it was to batten down the hatches, keep warm by the fireside with less physical activity.
First of all, The Moody Blues and Tuesday Afternoon 1967
Reasons to be Cheerful Part 3 buy Ian Dury and the Blockheads 1980
WARNING for sensitive souls: There are expletives in the lyrics.
It's becoming a delight to find the songs and music of words that come into my head when I talk/ write to myself or others. This one, for me, is about being happy with who we are and not striving for perfection. It's very appropriate for me and maybe many people. Ian had an untimely death from cancer of the colon. A loss. Read more here. I'm doing my best to find happiness in music so that I don't get dragged down. GOT TO MUCH TO DO! I like the ending of this video - makes me laugh!
is what I'm a sufferin' from, I reckon, so I've found me some music to cheer up my soul. I accept the need to curl up like a hedgehog and sleep a thousand leagues under my duvet ... for the winter darkened days... trouble is ....I need to get on and my body and mind just don't seem to let me! I just love the music and imagery with the second video. An accomplished guitarist too and the stones and woodland remind me of where I live. Winter Bones and Stones. I miss my Summer Spirit.
Peace is essential for living. Not only do we try to remember those who without dignity died fighting in the most dire conditions that you would not even expect an animal to endure but also we try to remember that they died struggling for peace, understanding and acceptance of the differences between different lands, cultures and peoples. Sometimes perhaps we should try and forget past aggressions and wars so that inner peace within us has an opportunity to develop and bring harmony to the world as well as to our inner soul, our family and friends.
For many years I upheld the Catholic faith to the best of my ability which was never good enough and I knew that. But what is perfect? Before that I had my own beliefs which I continued to believe with modification and despite loving much of the Catholic faith especially the songs and hymns which I used to play every day on the piano, I never became a Catholic in the 23 years that I worked within the Catholic environment. Two more years and I would have been eligible for a Papal medal if the secretary was awarded one after 25 years service to the establishment! I made mistakes but I did my best not to be hypocritical (yet I think I probably was) and I did my best to keep the peace and to teach children that respect between people is a gift and is something to be valued in our attempt to acknowledge that people are very much the same despite differences in appearance, faiths, beliefs and much more.
When my father died this is the song that came spontaneously and which I sang all alone in a Church in Spain where there was no other family member except my daughter. He saw terrible atrocities in the war and told me about some on the very last day I ever met him. It was as if a burden had been lifted for him because he said he had never ever told anyone this part of his story. His only sibling sister was dying and he knew he would never see her again. Tragically, he died soon after from a traffic accident and lost the power of speech. He made his own decision not to burden anyone.
This is the song I sang spontaneously today just after 11am on 11th day of the 11th month of the year 2011 as I sat in my garden listening to the clock strike the hour, as I sat and with my own reflections with hands covered in dirt and imagined those who fought in trenches, those who fought for the Fair Winds of France and England to bring freedom from fighting, to give those who came after Peace. Each verse is repeated but Peace is replaced with Love, Joy, Hope.
Peace is flowing like a river,
Flowing out through you and me,
Spreading out into the desert,
Setting all the captives free.
On another note:
Today I was speaking to a friend about the larger pansies which compared to the diminutive ones seem to have a disappointed attitude as they bow their heads.
