Low Wattage

Wishful Thinking about Easter

I think Easter is all about women
not all that religion and stuff
It’s spring and their hormones are stirring
to me it is all clear enough

It started back in them Dark Ages
With Eostre, a Godesss, who then
blessed the ladies with something
that makes them so different from men

They don’t like the menfolk to know it
so dress it all up rather well
with eggs, and most of all bunnies
which each have their stories to tell

The eggs women keep very private
in wait for some fellow to call
they only need us for a minute
the rest, they handle it all.

The bunnies, we all know what they’re at
whenever they are given a chance
it’s all really about procreation
and nothing to do with romance

To the poor men I offer this moral
enjoy the weekend of bunny and egg.
The rest of the year could be lonely
unless you are willing to beg.

PS I’ll find my own way out.

Oh! Canada

This stared out as a comment on Christopher’s post about his recent visit to La Belle Province, but it got so long and convoluted I decided not to clutter the comments there with its length.

I worked in Canada from mid 1969 to late 1978 living first in Ottawa then nearby across the Ottawa River in the Province of Quebec. I worked for a subsidiary of Bell Canada (the telephone company) and my wife worked, first in the public service (Department of Finance) then on Parliament Hill for a couple of MP’s.

There had been festering discontent in Quebec regarding separation for years, probably ever since Confederation (1867) even the choice of Ottawa as the capital (1857) was flavored by the divide and was one of those many English compromises that almost worked. Choosing Toronto (the largest and a very English city) would have put the capital too close to the US border and memories of “Manifest Destiny” and the unpleasantness of 1812 were still a factor, choosing Montreal would seem to be giving control to the French, also remembered for their recent aggression in Europe, so Queen Victoria herself announced that the capital would henceforth be Ottawa (formerly Bytown, named after Colonel John By who built the Rideau canal system as a defense against the US in 1812). Ottawa was conveniently located almost exactly halfway between Toronto and Montreal and as a wag of the day reported was “a slumbering sub-arctic lumber village”.

Continue reading “Oh! Canada”

Queued Up.

I’m back from another place and have queued a lot in the process of going and coming. Departure tax payment, airport check in, bag drop, passport examination, security check, flight boarding to name just those involving departure and with two changes (one involving a US border entry) and a final wait for my checked bags. I lost the will to count them all.

They have taken all the fun out of queueing. In the old days one would arrive at the queues, (and there were always as many queues as there were servers), and with a practiced eye one could quickly evaluate the options, length of queue, number of families in each line, number of bags per person in line, gender and age of those in line, estimated nationality of those in line and finally, and most importantly, the gender and estimated national origin of the servers. The fastest service could be almost guaranteed by choosing that queue of bored, sober-suited, middle-aged, white gents with small carry-on bags waiting, with paperwork in hand, for the highly efficient oriental lady server with the indestructible work ethic. You could be through and out in seconds, step forward, slap down your docs., two questions, “Did you pack…?” “Did anyone give…?” Machine spits out boarding card and you’re gone. She would be pushing them through about two per minute, easy.

Continue reading “Queued Up.”

March Fantasticks

“Where’s the Fantasticks for March?” I’ve been away but here it is, it’s all right.

Fantasticks is the weird collection of gnomic observation by Nicholas Breton (1554-1626). They are not in print.

Anyway, in March, Breton seems more dream-laden and careless than ever.

MARCH

It is now March, and the Northerne wind dryeth up the Southerne durt: The tender Lippes are now maskt for feare of chapping, and the faire hands must not be ungloved: now riseth the Sunne a pretty step to his faire height, and Saint Valentine calls the birds together, where Nature is pleased in the varietie of love: the Fishes and the Frogs fall to their manner of generation, and the Adder dyes to bring forth her young: the Ayre is is sharpe, but the Sunne is comfortable, and the hay beginnes to lengthen: The forward Gardens give the fine Sallets, and a Nosegay of Violets is a present for a Lady: Now beginneth Nature (as it were) to wake out of her sleepe, and sends the Traveller to survey the walkes of the World: the sucking Rabbit is good for weake stomackes, and the dyet for the Rhume doth many a great Cure: The Farrier now is the horses Physitian, and the fat Dog feeds the Faulcon in the Mew: the Tree begins to bud, and the grasse to peepe abroad, while the Thrush with the Black-bird make a charme in the young Springs: the Milke-mayd with her best beloved, walke away wearinesse to the Market, and in an honest meaning, kind words doe no hurt: the Foot-ball now tryeth the legges of strength, and merry matches continue good fellowship: It is time of much worke, and tedious to discourse of: but in all I find of it, I thus conclude in it: I hold it the Servant of Nature, and the Schole-master of Art: the hope of labour, and the Subject of Reason.

Farewell.

Shipping Out

I’m off on vacation for the next few weeks, starting Monday, heading for sunny Tortola and a little winter warmth, no cell phone, no internet, no worries, should be back about March 6.

In the meantime here is a wee pome for the weather comp.

Shipping Forecast

It’s a comfort to know, when the barometer’s low
That Malin’s expecting a gale
It’s a long way from me, and somewhere at sea
Where the wind is beginning to wail

And in the same blow is expected some snow
For Hebrides, Bailey, Fair Isle
It’s all one to me, I’m Lundy you see
So I listen to this with a smile

The isles of Faeroe, are in an ice floe
Iceland, Viking and Forties – a fright
Cromarty’s sleet, Forth, Tyne, Dogger are beat
By Fisher’s storm in from the bight.

The Humber/Thames rain will cause Dover pain
And Wight will get little sun
Portland, Plymouth they say will be worse than Biscay
And Trafalgar and Fitzroy are done

The Sole chance for me, is the Irish Sea
Which, with Fastnet, may turn it astray
I’ll stay in the house, be quiet as a mouse
And hope that it all goes away.

February 15th Poetry Competition – A Winner

All Rise! Well that’s what they shout here when the judge arrives in the chamber.

All you who entered should be rightfully proud of yourselves.

We had THREE quick entries from Janus, first a muse on the word including some lions, then a brief visit from Jane A. without prejudice and finally a modern bit about football. All as different as chalk and cheese and all well up to his usual high standard. Then Soutie arrived with his pride handing out some summary justice in poetry. Araminta stepped back to Jane’s era also with her tale of the debutante tripping the light fantastic before the inevitable fall. Finally and with minutes to spare John Mackie offers us a personal take on the little enjoyed but undoubted advantages of Scottish Presbyterianism.

I liked them all but I best liked Ara’s take on the coming out (or coming down) of her deb, a finely crafted piece that had just the right flavor of pride before the fall.

So well done Araminta and over to you for the next.

Prideful Poems Please

Scarcely a week left and only one from each Janus so far.

Here’s something to encourage your muse, it’s a Gene Weingarten sonnet again from The Washington Post (you should be able to do better than this). Do so now and post it here.

Pride – the Blonde and the Jigsaw

I knew one time a yellow-headed bawd
And gave to her a puzzle made of wood.
The pieces were in shapes both small and odd
For her to reassemble (if she could).

Set she right down to solve it true and fast
But days of work did no solution bring
Soon fortnights, months and seasons also passed!
And still she labored with the blasted thing.

It took twelve months, but fin’lly it was done
She seemed unbowed — discouraged not, nor sick
I asked her if the puzzle’d brought her fun
She said it had! She felt she’d done it quick.

With pride, she smiled and toss’d her golden locks:
“See – four to six years‚ says it on the box!”

Fantasticks- February

I have been transcribing the strange calendar from the book Fantasticks, by Nicholas Breton (1554-1626). It is out of print, and a modest readership has been following each episode. So here is February.

FEBRUARY

It is now February, & the Sun is gotten up a Cocke-stride of his climbing, the Valleyes now are painted white, and the brookes are full of water: the Frog goes to seeke out the Paddocke, and the Crow and the Rooke begin to mislike their old Makes: forward Connies begin now to kindle, & the fat grounds are not without Lambes; the Gardiner fals to sorting of his seeds, and the Husbandman falls afresh to scowring of his Ploughshare: the Terme travellers make the Shooe-makers Harvest, and the Chaundlers cheese makes the chalke walke apace: The Fishmonger sorts his ware against Lent: and a Lamb-skinne is good for a lame arme: the waters now alter the nature of their softnes and the soft earth is made stony hard: The Ayre is sharp and piercing, and the winds blow cold: the Tavernes and the Innes seldome lack Guests, & the Ostler knows how to gaine by his Hay: the hunting Horse is at the heeles of the Hound, while the ambling Nagge carrieth the Physitian and his footcloth: the blood of Youth begins to spring, and the honour of Art is gotten by Exercise: The trees a little begin to bud, and the sap begins to rise up out of the root: Physic now hath work among weak bodies, and the Apothecaries drugges are very gainfull: There is hope of a better time not farre off, but this in it selfe is little comforte: and for the small pleasure that I find in it, I will this briefly conclude of it: It is the poor mans pick-purse, and the misers cut-throat, the enemy of pleasure, and the time of patience.

Farewell.

Notes

The “makes”, which the crow and rook grow tired of, are mates; but the word here is not a mistake for “mate”. It comes from an Old English word related to “match”.

I am told that the bit about the Chaundlers (Chandlers?) cheese making the chalke walke apace refers to the account of money owing being chalked up on the “Slate”. The Slate was in common use in my youth at my grandfather’s bakery – some entries never got fully erased.

The Great Backyard Bird Count for 2013

Yes, it is a real event, the 2013 count is coming up beginning on February 15^th and this year it is open to submissions world-wide. Sponsored by the Audubon Society and others it is a snapshot record of birds sighted on one weekend, individual counts are submitted on line and are totaled by species and number. Last year there were over 100,000 submissions counting over 17 million birds

There is also a photo competition associated with the event. Now I am no expert at photography, I do have a decent camera and occasionally pull of a decent image but some of the photos in this contest are truly superb. This little gem was the overall winner, I just wish I could get pictures like that.