Monday, December 17, 2012
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Christmas Cactus and things...............
I had a Christmas cactus for many years. It got so old and straggly it was woody. I eventually got rid of the poor old thing. I do have a small one now and will probably buy another. The ones I have had before have bloomed at Christmas and also at Easter.
This one is a hot pink.
I will try to do a drawing of one of these, I love the flowers they are so exotic.
Such a pretty thing.
The African violets bloom non stop all year. The secret is to find a spot they will enjoy. These ones have found their nitch.
They seem to take turns blooming. This one is the pale pink and there is a burgundy and two tone and a violet one in the basket. Someone bought me them when Buttons died. So I have tried hard to keep them going.
I brought these little succulents inside in the hope of getting them through the winter. So far they seem to be doing well enough
I did bring in a bunch of Geraniums.They are straggly but I will work with them this time. I somehow lost touch with them the last time I brought some inside for the winter.
It would be nice if they thrived that way I would have some nice starts next Spring
Sharing this with Floral Friday......thank you for visiting
This one is a hot pink.
I will try to do a drawing of one of these, I love the flowers they are so exotic.
Such a pretty thing.
The African violets bloom non stop all year. The secret is to find a spot they will enjoy. These ones have found their nitch.
They seem to take turns blooming. This one is the pale pink and there is a burgundy and two tone and a violet one in the basket. Someone bought me them when Buttons died. So I have tried hard to keep them going.
I brought these little succulents inside in the hope of getting them through the winter. So far they seem to be doing well enough
I did bring in a bunch of Geraniums.They are straggly but I will work with them this time. I somehow lost touch with them the last time I brought some inside for the winter.
It would be nice if they thrived that way I would have some nice starts next Spring
Sharing this with Floral Friday......thank you for visiting
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Monday, December 10, 2012
Brrrrrrr............
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. We have it now and I am not sure that it's going to leave for awhile. I suppose I should just enjoy a White Christmas? It's just such a pain to drive in.
I went outside to see if I could get any good pictures but really........nothing.
The birds feeders had hats on.
The front garden didn't yield anything spectacular either.
So I came inside and was working on some turkey stew. The left over turkey from Thanksgiving usually ends in a stew and it is always so good. I needed the room in the freezer so.........two cartons of Chicken broth. Salt and some onion/garlic salt, some left over soup from yesterday (Bean and bacon) and a large can of chunky mixed vegetables.I also put in two cans of butter beans, I love butter beans. I added some frozen beans that had just a few left in the packet and some frozen peas. I also threw in a can of corn..............I let that cook all day.
By the time it was ready I just had to add a little more salt and it was good to go. Left over crusty bread and yummy creamy butter. It made a great meal for a cold day and enough left for tomorrow
I went outside to see if I could get any good pictures but really........nothing.
The birds feeders had hats on.
The front garden didn't yield anything spectacular either.
So I came inside and was working on some turkey stew. The left over turkey from Thanksgiving usually ends in a stew and it is always so good. I needed the room in the freezer so.........two cartons of Chicken broth. Salt and some onion/garlic salt, some left over soup from yesterday (Bean and bacon) and a large can of chunky mixed vegetables.I also put in two cans of butter beans, I love butter beans. I added some frozen beans that had just a few left in the packet and some frozen peas. I also threw in a can of corn..............I let that cook all day.
By the time it was ready I just had to add a little more salt and it was good to go. Left over crusty bread and yummy creamy butter. It made a great meal for a cold day and enough left for tomorrow
Friday, December 7, 2012
Winter Horses.............
I miss going out to the barn. Even in winter really, that was not my favourite time especially when we were stabled out at Golden Valley. I would go out twice a week and the two days over the weekend. I bought my horse there, she was a riding lesson horse. She stayed there until the owners bought a new place and upgraded to a very expensive establishment. We went with them but were sort of nudged out you might say. It was the best thing I did for Lady. She went to live with a friend that I met at the barn. Her name was Annie and she had rented a small barn very much closer to home for me. Golden Valley was a 20 mile trip and some times in the winter it was hard going. Once we get up the hill out of town the weather is different and this particular night was a blizzard. I think we only stayed long enough to get the horses in and comfortable for the night.
I remember seeing a man out there by the side of the road taking pictures. Well later on I saw his picture in a gallery. I knew it was him because I knew the horses in the picture.
Well Lady flourished at the new barn. She was with horses she knew and had the best of everything. Eventually we moved again to another friends house where she spent the rest of her life living 41 years. One happy horse. This snow picture was in her younger years but she thrived in winter weather and grew a very thick and long coat. She also had two all weather coats on top when it got really cold and she was outside all day most days. She was a healthy girl her entire life and it was old age that eventually got her. She just simply wore out.
The above picture is Lady helping me clean the barn. Actually she is about to open the food chest and help herself to a 2nd breakfast but........well she did as she pleased.
This next picture is not mine and it really looks like her...........and I keep it because its how I think of her when I see the barn now.
I remember seeing a man out there by the side of the road taking pictures. Well later on I saw his picture in a gallery. I knew it was him because I knew the horses in the picture.
Well Lady flourished at the new barn. She was with horses she knew and had the best of everything. Eventually we moved again to another friends house where she spent the rest of her life living 41 years. One happy horse. This snow picture was in her younger years but she thrived in winter weather and grew a very thick and long coat. She also had two all weather coats on top when it got really cold and she was outside all day most days. She was a healthy girl her entire life and it was old age that eventually got her. She just simply wore out.
The above picture is Lady helping me clean the barn. Actually she is about to open the food chest and help herself to a 2nd breakfast but........well she did as she pleased.
This next picture is not mine and it really looks like her...........and I keep it because its how I think of her when I see the barn now.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Elegy written in a country church yard.....
"ELEGY WRITTEN IN
A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD"
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share,
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the Poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour:-
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, --
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn;
'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high.
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
'One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
'The next with dirges due in sad array
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,-
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.'
The Epitaph
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melacholy marked him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
(There they alike in trembling hope repose),
The bosom of his Father and his God.
By Thomas Gray (1716-71).
___________________________
A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD"
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share,
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the Poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour:-
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, --
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn;
'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high.
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
'One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
'The next with dirges due in sad array
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,-
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.'
The Epitaph
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melacholy marked him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
(There they alike in trembling hope repose),
The bosom of his Father and his God.
By Thomas Gray (1716-71).
___________________________
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Ideas for Spring......
Well apart from still needing to prune my roses, there is not a lot going on in my garden. Its so mild for December though. No snow and with rain and thunder expected tonight. strange weather.
So I thought I would do a few posts on some garden ideas. So with that in mind, here are some cool things I found on the web.
I want to find a mirror at a yard sale.
...............a mirror in just the right space makes it look as though there is another whole room in the garden. If you hide it among ivy or some dark corner it will just give it a whole new dimension.
Then there is the use of doors.........old screen doors or glass doors can open into another part of a small garden making it look so much bigger.
I have some old screen doors I would like to try this with. It would be a case of getting my husband to cooperate. I don't think I would be able to manage them on my own. I want them to work like a real door. Mine are pretty open so I may just use them as a base for a vine instead. I just cant wait for Spring so I can get going with some of my ideas.
I am pretty sure I have two screen doors at the back of the garage somewhere, wooden ones. So a coat of paint and some ivy to grow up it, maybe a mirror............Roll on Spring.
So I thought I would do a few posts on some garden ideas. So with that in mind, here are some cool things I found on the web.
I want to find a mirror at a yard sale.
...............a mirror in just the right space makes it look as though there is another whole room in the garden. If you hide it among ivy or some dark corner it will just give it a whole new dimension.
Then there is the use of doors.........old screen doors or glass doors can open into another part of a small garden making it look so much bigger.
I have some old screen doors I would like to try this with. It would be a case of getting my husband to cooperate. I don't think I would be able to manage them on my own. I want them to work like a real door. Mine are pretty open so I may just use them as a base for a vine instead. I just cant wait for Spring so I can get going with some of my ideas.
I am pretty sure I have two screen doors at the back of the garage somewhere, wooden ones. So a coat of paint and some ivy to grow up it, maybe a mirror............Roll on Spring.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
So....on to December.............
I have been sick and so I still have not got out into the garden to work. The weather is always perfect when I have no ability to do it. We have had a dusting of snow. Not enough to stop me doing what I still need to do, but something just keep's popping up. I need to prune the roses. I wonder if they will mind a pruning in the Spring. I must read up on that. I am missing the flowers but we have quite a few berries this year. I must get some more bushes that have berries for the birds. They have been here constantly. I notice on the days that its really cold or windy they stay away and as soon as the sun pops out they are back. The Chickdees today came enmass
As I have nothing prepared for today you are being treated to some pretty pictures. These are the last of my neighbour Buds chrysanthemums. He cut them all back and these were still so nice.
Well I am glad I rescued them because they lasted for quite some time.
Maybe next time I can fill the space with a little more whit and a better subject. For now cherrio or tata for now.
As I have nothing prepared for today you are being treated to some pretty pictures. These are the last of my neighbour Buds chrysanthemums. He cut them all back and these were still so nice.
Well I am glad I rescued them because they lasted for quite some time.
Maybe next time I can fill the space with a little more whit and a better subject. For now cherrio or tata for now.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Missed you..............
To those who normally follow my blogs I am sorry. I have not been on here since Thanksgiving. I have been sick. I am finally beginning to feel better. I am hoping to begin December on a better note.
Thank you for your support and understanding.
Janice
Thank you for your support and understanding.
Janice
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