For this Arty Farty Friday, I've chosen a handful of paintings featuring poppies:
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| By Georgia O'Keeffe |
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| By Fred Stead |
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| By Monet |
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| By Mary Cassatt |
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| By Chris Chapman |
Showing posts with label Remembrance Day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Remembrance Day. Show all posts
Friday, November 09, 2018
Arty Farty Friday ~ Poppies
For this Arty Farty Friday, I've chosen a handful of paintings featuring poppies:
Saturday, November 11, 2017
Eleventh Month, Eleventh Day, Eleventh Hour...
“If one were to stand on a street corner at 9 A.M. and watch the spirits of the British dead march by four abreast, the column would be 97 miles long and would take twenty hours, or until five the next morning, to pass. The French dead would take an additional fifty-one hours and the Germans another fifty-nine hours. Considering all the dead on the western front, this parade would last from 9 A.M. Monday to 4 P.M. Saturday and stretch 386 miles, roughly the distance from Paris halfway through Switzerland or from New York to Cleveland.”
~Joseph E. Persico, Eleventh Month, Eleventh Day, Eleventh Hour: Armistice Day, 1918.
“The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.”
~ Czesław Miłosz, The Issa Valley.
"As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them."
~ Joseph Campbell.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Thoughts for Armistice Day 11/11
In the beginning...
Lines from The People, Yes by Carl Sandburg (1936)
Some thoughts of my own (21st century):
What if a nuclear conflagration were to take place on Earth resulting, eventually, in the complete annihilation of the human race? The planet would be left devastated for many thousands of years. What if, eventually, after a minor hit from a small asteroid which carried spores from outer space, a form of life began to take root, mingling with whatever remained among the formerly radioactive rubble? Several more millennia would pass with lifeforms becoming more sophisticated and intelligent, though in no way similar in form to the human race. Would the sensibilities of these beings still be governed by the same planets, Sun and Moon, seasons and cycles as we are, we the human race ? Would the same astrological imprints still endow similar benefits and drawbacks. Would there still be that tiny seed of hatred embedded, that same seed which we all carry within us? Are we, as a race, warts and all, simply as we are because of our particular physical place in the universe? And would any other developed race spawned on this planet have the same problems because of the planetary setup?
The price we pay for the beauty of the Earth and its benefits is that its human inhabitants carry a mix of characteristics capable, at worst, of destroying themselves. If, as astrologers believe, these characteristics are governed (in part) by the physical situation of our planet Earth, and how it relates to celestial bodies surrounding it, then nothing will ever change fundamentally - only superficially. Wars and hatred will always be a part of life on Earth, the features of its inhabitants, uniforms and figureheads may change, but the core drive of hatred (and greed) will remain, always.
If this is so, then the only way for a better world would be to find another planet capable of supporting life. A different planetary configuration would surround it. A different planetary configuration would not necessarily be a better one. Humans born on such a planet, if travel and full-scale emigration to it were possible, might have less, or even none, of our Earth-born good traits and more bad ones (traits worse than we could even imagine). We carry on playing with the hand destiny has dealt the human race. It's a gamble. Gamblers do very occasionally win, even with the odds stacked against them.
"And it came about when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother and killed him."
(The Bible, Genesis 4:8)
And They Obey by Carl Sandburg (1916).
Smash down the cities.
Knock the walls to pieces.
Break the factories and cathedrals, warehouses
and homes
Into loose piles of stone and lumber and black
burnt wood:
You are the soldiers and we command you.
Build up the cities.
Set up the walls again.
Put together once more the factories and cathedrals,
warehouses and homes
Into buildings for life and labor:
You are workmen and citizens all: We
command you.
Lines from The People, Yes by Carl Sandburg (1936)
The little girl saw her first troop parade and asked,
"What are those?"
"Soldiers."
"What are soldiers?"
"They are for war. They fight and each tries to kill as many of the other side as he can."
The girl held still and studied.
"Do you know . . . I know something?"
"Yes, what is it you know?"
"Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come."
Some thoughts of my own (21st century):
What if a nuclear conflagration were to take place on Earth resulting, eventually, in the complete annihilation of the human race? The planet would be left devastated for many thousands of years. What if, eventually, after a minor hit from a small asteroid which carried spores from outer space, a form of life began to take root, mingling with whatever remained among the formerly radioactive rubble? Several more millennia would pass with lifeforms becoming more sophisticated and intelligent, though in no way similar in form to the human race. Would the sensibilities of these beings still be governed by the same planets, Sun and Moon, seasons and cycles as we are, we the human race ? Would the same astrological imprints still endow similar benefits and drawbacks. Would there still be that tiny seed of hatred embedded, that same seed which we all carry within us? Are we, as a race, warts and all, simply as we are because of our particular physical place in the universe? And would any other developed race spawned on this planet have the same problems because of the planetary setup?
The price we pay for the beauty of the Earth and its benefits is that its human inhabitants carry a mix of characteristics capable, at worst, of destroying themselves. If, as astrologers believe, these characteristics are governed (in part) by the physical situation of our planet Earth, and how it relates to celestial bodies surrounding it, then nothing will ever change fundamentally - only superficially. Wars and hatred will always be a part of life on Earth, the features of its inhabitants, uniforms and figureheads may change, but the core drive of hatred (and greed) will remain, always.
If this is so, then the only way for a better world would be to find another planet capable of supporting life. A different planetary configuration would surround it. A different planetary configuration would not necessarily be a better one. Humans born on such a planet, if travel and full-scale emigration to it were possible, might have less, or even none, of our Earth-born good traits and more bad ones (traits worse than we could even imagine). We carry on playing with the hand destiny has dealt the human race. It's a gamble. Gamblers do very occasionally win, even with the odds stacked against them.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
POPPY DAY
It is Armistice Day (also known as Remembrance Day and, in the USA Veterans' Day). In England 11 November is marked by 2 minutes of silence at 11 am; sombrely dressed dignitaries lay poppy wreaths on Cenotaphs in cities throughout the land to honour the dead of two world wars, 1914-1918 and 1939-1945.
Traditionally today commemorates the armistice signed between the Allies of World War I and Germany at Compiègne, France, for the cessation of hostilities on the Western Front of World War I. It took effect at eleven o'clock in the morning—the "eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month" of 1918.
Back in England, I always wore a poppy in my lapel in early November, as did millions of others. I almost certainly owe my own life to those who died to win World War 2. What makes me sad (and lately very angry) is that the world hasn't learned the lesson those many courageous men died to teach us.
This year The Tower of London's moat has been filled with nearly 900,000 ceramic poppies, to commemorate the First World War's start one century ago, and the number of British and colonial troops who gave their lives in the course of the war, 1914-1918.
On our last visit to an antique-cum-junk store I noticed this pretty poppy display on sale for for a couple of dollars and bought it for just this occasion- instead of wearing a poppy, I can display a bunch of 'em.
THE INQUISITIVE MIND OF A CHILD (Author unknown)
Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?
Selling poppies in town today.
The poppies, child, are flowers of love.
For the men who marched away.
But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died
In the fields where the poppies grow.
But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?
Why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child.
The blood that our soldiers shed.
The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.
Why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.
For the men who never came back.
But why, Mummy are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you my child.
For the world is forgetting again.
Traditionally today commemorates the armistice signed between the Allies of World War I and Germany at Compiègne, France, for the cessation of hostilities on the Western Front of World War I. It took effect at eleven o'clock in the morning—the "eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month" of 1918.
Back in England, I always wore a poppy in my lapel in early November, as did millions of others. I almost certainly owe my own life to those who died to win World War 2. What makes me sad (and lately very angry) is that the world hasn't learned the lesson those many courageous men died to teach us.
This year The Tower of London's moat has been filled with nearly 900,000 ceramic poppies, to commemorate the First World War's start one century ago, and the number of British and colonial troops who gave their lives in the course of the war, 1914-1918.
THE INQUISITIVE MIND OF A CHILD (Author unknown)
Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?
Selling poppies in town today.
The poppies, child, are flowers of love.
For the men who marched away.
But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died
In the fields where the poppies grow.
But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?
Why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child.
The blood that our soldiers shed.
The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.
Why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.
For the men who never came back.
But why, Mummy are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you my child.
For the world is forgetting again.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
11-11-11
Back in England in the 1950s I attended an all-girls grammar school (very roughly equivalent to US High Schools). All our teachers were female, many of them older ladies, probably born in the early 1900s, all unmarried. It didn't strike me until many years later exactly why they were all unmarried. A whole generation of young men who might have been their husbands were slaughtered in World War One. Our English Literature mistress, Miss Milvain, led our study of the work of World War One poets. She was a tall, slender lady, with long, pure white hair loosely pulled back into a big "bun". She must have been a stunner as a young woman. I wonder if the poems she put before us held extra poignancy for her, and for her colleagues. She didn't tell us. We didn't ask. I think we should have asked, but we were young and gauche and unthinking.
This was one of the poems.
Anthem for Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
--Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
By Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Friday, November 11, 2011
Armistice Day ~ Alan Seeger ~ Rendezvous
Although today's date, 11:11:11, has mystical connection for some people, I'm sticking with tradition. It is Armistice Day (also known as Remembrance Day and, in the USA Veterans Day). Traditionally today commemorates the armistice signed between the Allies of World War I and Germany at Compiègne, France, for the cessation of hostilities on the Western Front of World War I. It took effect at eleven o'clock in the morning—the "eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month" of 1918.
The total number of military and civilian casualties in World War I was over 35 million. There were over 15 million deaths and 20 million wounded ranking it among the deadliest conflicts in human history. The total number of deaths includes about 10 million military personnel and about 7 million civilians. Almost a whole generation of the young men of Britain and Europe were wiped out.
Alan Seeger, poet, was born in New York on 22 June 1888. He was killed, aged 28, on the fourth day of the Battle of the Somme, 4 July 1916, while serving in the French Foreign Legion. His brother Charles Seeger, a noted musicologist, was the father of the American folk singer, Pete Seeger.
Alan Seeger's natal Sun was at 1.37 Cancer, he died with Pluto (planet of darkness transformation and death)conjoining it at 3.04 Cancer.
I Have a Rendezvous with Death is one of Alan Seeger's poems, published posthumously. It is said to have been one of John F. Kennedy's favorites, and that he often asked his wife to recite it.
The total number of military and civilian casualties in World War I was over 35 million. There were over 15 million deaths and 20 million wounded ranking it among the deadliest conflicts in human history. The total number of deaths includes about 10 million military personnel and about 7 million civilians. Almost a whole generation of the young men of Britain and Europe were wiped out.
11th November 1919
The First Two Minute Silence in London:
The first stroke of eleven produced a magical effect. The tram cars glided into stillness, motors ceased to cough and fume, and stopped dead, and the mighty-limbed dray horses hunched back upon their loads and stopped also, seeming to do it of their own volition. Someone took off his hat, and with a nervous hesitancy the rest of the men bowed their heads also. Here and there an old soldier could be detected slipping unconsciously into the posture of 'attention'. An elderly woman, not far away, wiped her eyes, and the man beside her looked white and stern. Everyone stood very still ... The hush deepened. It had spread over the whole city and become so pronounced as to impress one with a sense of audibility. It was a silence which was almost pain ... And the spirit of memory brooded over it all.
~~From the Manchester Guardian, 12th November 1919.
Alan Seeger, poet, was born in New York on 22 June 1888. He was killed, aged 28, on the fourth day of the Battle of the Somme, 4 July 1916, while serving in the French Foreign Legion. His brother Charles Seeger, a noted musicologist, was the father of the American folk singer, Pete Seeger.Alan Seeger's natal Sun was at 1.37 Cancer, he died with Pluto (planet of darkness transformation and death)conjoining it at 3.04 Cancer.
I Have a Rendezvous with Death is one of Alan Seeger's poems, published posthumously. It is said to have been one of John F. Kennedy's favorites, and that he often asked his wife to recite it.
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air--
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath--
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear . . .
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
LOCAL COLOUR/COLOR (No astro today)
Back in the saddle again after a gentle motorized waltz around East Texas. We looked for whatever autumn/fall colour there was, nosed around a few Texas towns, and some antique and junk stores, of which the Lone Star State has many thousands.
Autumn colour is trickier to pin down than antique stores. So much depends on unpredictable variables of local climate, timing of cold snaps, how much moisture the summer months offered, etc. Texas isn't known for large expanses of fall colour, but there's opportunity for splashes of it, especially in the lusher eastern section of such a vast state. Texas is, actually, much like a country unto itself, and many of its natives tend to see it as such.
I picked Nacogdoches as being a likely farthest point we'd aim for. It's said to be the oldest town in Texas, sits on the site of a 10,000 year old settlement of the Nacogdoche tribe of Caddo Indians. The route we took is marked on the map below.
Autumn colour wasn't especially prominent on the route, but there were hints that it was about to burst forth during the next day or two in the densely wooded areas all around the East Texas countryside, and in the heavily wooded margins of some very pretty highways. This part of Texas is known for its pine woods, but scattered among them are trees which will "turn".
It was Sunday, so little was open en route by way of distraction. Himself (my husband) drove for 7 hours straight, with one pee stop. We arrived in Nacogdoches just as darkness fell and checked in for two nights at the first motel we encountered.
Exploring the well-preserved old downtown area next day, we had our attention drawn to one of the town's claims to fame, apart from its history(recorded around the town square via informative plaques), and its fine architecture largely designed by German architect and immigrant Diedrich Rulfs. That extra claim to fame involves The Marx Brothers who came to town in 1912 with their (then) singing act to perform at the old Opera House.
The story goes, according to The Marx Brothers Encyclopedia by Glenn Mitchell, that their performance was interrupted by a man who came inside shouting, “Runaway mule!” Most of the audience left the building, apparently thinking a runaway mule would provide better entertainment. When they filed back in, Julius (later known as Groucho) began insulting them, saying “Nacogdoches is full of roaches!” and “The jackass is the flower of Tex-ass!” Instead of becoming angry, audience members laughed. Soon afterward, Julius and his brothers decided to try their hand at comedy instead of singing, at which they had barely managed to scrape together a living. So, in Nacogdoches, Texas their singing act became what is now a legendary comedy act. A historic plaque commemorating the event is posted in the downtown area.
After a second night in Nacogdoches, where we'd enjoyed some perfect glisteningly sunny, but not too hot, weather we were in two minds whether to drive east into Louisiana. There was a very nice "feel" to Nacogdoches. The people we came across in stores and cafes were so sweet, even more friendly and kindly than Oklahomans and other Texans. I liked it a lot - my husband reminded me that we were close there to "the real south", where people truly do have lots of "southern charm". A short hop into Louisiana was a great temptation, but on balance we decided to keep that pleasure for another time.
We moseyed on down 20 miles south of Nacogdoches to take a quick look at Lufkin. Traffic congestion there soon had us heading back north. We got as far as Sulphur Springs, through the Davy Crockett National Forest. Leaf colour was still in early-turning stages there. Onward through small towns called Palestine and Athens (tiny burgs, nothing like their namesakes), to Sulphur Springs.
(Above: the pink granite and red sandstone Hopkins County Court House in Sulphur Springs)
I remember little about Sulphur Springs other than its ornate court house, nice town square, and.... the diner, aptly called The Pitt, where we ate breakfast on Wednesday morning (our car is under the sign). It must be one of the few eating places in the USA where smoking is still allowed. Normally we'd have hightailed it out as soon as the smell of smoke enraged our nostrils. Breakfast was hard to find in Sulphur Springs, however, and a bit of local colour adds to the fun. Our waitress, early 20s, 5 foot nothing and under 100 lbs of pure energy, after only two words from me, with rapid fire delivery demanded:
"Where's your accent from?"
"England"
"Ahhh! Do you know Jack Haley? He's from England - I used to work for him "
Somewhat taken aback, and probably still half-asleep I asked, "Who?" (As though I might possibly have known the guy!) Aware that Himself was trying unsuccessfully not to giggle, I managed to splutter, "No, sorry, don't know him", whilst trying not to rudely burst into laughter myself before she whizzed off on her way.
Next overnight stop: Greenville, with some very heavy Interstate traffic, but once in the quiet of "historic downtown" we found a few junk shops and antiques stores. One item I saw there has remained in memory: a framed photograph of the town square during some kind of festival, back in the 1950s, or perhaps early 1960s. A big black and white banner strung across the main street proclaimed "Greenville - The land is all black - The people are all white!" Himself glanced at it and sighed. "We've come a long way since then", he said and moved along. In stage whisper I responded, "Some of you have; others not far enough".
In the motel in Greenville I managed to somehow pull our laptop off a table. On its rapid downward trajectory a corner of it jabbed the un-shoed toes of my left foot, causing some fairly serious pain which was to dog me for the next couple of days. I confirm, though, that no serious harm was done to laptop or toes during the making of this trip.
Thursday, 11 November: Veteran's Day. We left Greenville folk busy adding rows of flags to an already plentiful supply around town. Headed north for a look at the dual city of Sherman-Denison, then decided to carry on westward to Gainesville, leaving our last homeward leg on Friday short enough to allow for some further antiquey stop-offs.
We booked in to a motel just as the sun had set, then went looking for food. It was almost dark. The good people of Gainsville were gathering for a fireworks display in the park, in honor of Veterans' day. (NOTE ~ Fireworks? Really?
In England 11 November is marked by 2 minutes of silence at 11 am, and sombrely dressed dignitaries laying poppy wreaths on Cenotaphs in cities throughout the land to honour the dead of two world wars. Fireworks? No way! They'd remind Brits too much of the real flashes, crashes and destruction of World War 2 with its deadly blitzes on British cities.)
Fireworks though? Very odd. Is it something to do with those lines in the US National anthem "And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there"?
Anyway - I digress.
Sections of Gainesville highways and Interstate access routes had been closed off due to the fireworks display, with traffic diverted. On the Interstate through town, always busy anyway, it became well nigh impossible to negotiate a route to reach the town's eateries. It took us more than an hour, and goodness knows how many miles of driving in ever decreasing circles, to reach an IHOP (International House of Pancakes) which lay a very short distance from the motel. Only the fireworks lighting the sky kept us semi-oriented on our laughable but frustrating hour long not-so-merry-go-round. If I never see Gainesville again it'll be soon enough!
Friday's last leg of the trip brought us home via Muenster, a Germanic little town, then tiny St. Jo, and Nocona, once famous for its boot factory. Autumn colour, all the way back from Nacogdoches northward had developed rather nicely in the few days since our journey south. The best of the colour, roadside, happened to be in places where we couldn't safely stop and take photographs, so the gorgeous golds, mustards, oranges and occasional reds we spotted will have to remain undocumented, but in memory.
We arrived home with a goodly pile of used VCR tapes, old photographs for the collection of Himself, some odds and ends for me, and from our last stop, at a Nocona antique/junk store, a well-framed print. This last item, found on the floor in a very grubby state, glass coated with thick dirt and what looked like dried beer splashes. What I could see underneath the dirt intrigued me. I showed it to Himself who said, "That looks like a......." (a name unknown to me). I bought it anyway, for $15. More on this item on Arty Farty Friday.....she wrote, trying one of those annoying cliff-hangery things.
Photos by Himself (apart from the Marx Bros - he's old - but not that old), poppies and firework from Google Image
Autumn colour is trickier to pin down than antique stores. So much depends on unpredictable variables of local climate, timing of cold snaps, how much moisture the summer months offered, etc. Texas isn't known for large expanses of fall colour, but there's opportunity for splashes of it, especially in the lusher eastern section of such a vast state. Texas is, actually, much like a country unto itself, and many of its natives tend to see it as such.
I picked Nacogdoches as being a likely farthest point we'd aim for. It's said to be the oldest town in Texas, sits on the site of a 10,000 year old settlement of the Nacogdoche tribe of Caddo Indians. The route we took is marked on the map below.
Autumn colour wasn't especially prominent on the route, but there were hints that it was about to burst forth during the next day or two in the densely wooded areas all around the East Texas countryside, and in the heavily wooded margins of some very pretty highways. This part of Texas is known for its pine woods, but scattered among them are trees which will "turn".
It was Sunday, so little was open en route by way of distraction. Himself (my husband) drove for 7 hours straight, with one pee stop. We arrived in Nacogdoches just as darkness fell and checked in for two nights at the first motel we encountered.
Exploring the well-preserved old downtown area next day, we had our attention drawn to one of the town's claims to fame, apart from its history(recorded around the town square via informative plaques), and its fine architecture largely designed by German architect and immigrant Diedrich Rulfs. That extra claim to fame involves The Marx Brothers who came to town in 1912 with their (then) singing act to perform at the old Opera House.
The story goes, according to The Marx Brothers Encyclopedia by Glenn Mitchell, that their performance was interrupted by a man who came inside shouting, “Runaway mule!” Most of the audience left the building, apparently thinking a runaway mule would provide better entertainment. When they filed back in, Julius (later known as Groucho) began insulting them, saying “Nacogdoches is full of roaches!” and “The jackass is the flower of Tex-ass!” Instead of becoming angry, audience members laughed. Soon afterward, Julius and his brothers decided to try their hand at comedy instead of singing, at which they had barely managed to scrape together a living. So, in Nacogdoches, Texas their singing act became what is now a legendary comedy act. A historic plaque commemorating the event is posted in the downtown area.
After a second night in Nacogdoches, where we'd enjoyed some perfect glisteningly sunny, but not too hot, weather we were in two minds whether to drive east into Louisiana. There was a very nice "feel" to Nacogdoches. The people we came across in stores and cafes were so sweet, even more friendly and kindly than Oklahomans and other Texans. I liked it a lot - my husband reminded me that we were close there to "the real south", where people truly do have lots of "southern charm". A short hop into Louisiana was a great temptation, but on balance we decided to keep that pleasure for another time.
We moseyed on down 20 miles south of Nacogdoches to take a quick look at Lufkin. Traffic congestion there soon had us heading back north. We got as far as Sulphur Springs, through the Davy Crockett National Forest. Leaf colour was still in early-turning stages there. Onward through small towns called Palestine and Athens (tiny burgs, nothing like their namesakes), to Sulphur Springs.
(Above: the pink granite and red sandstone Hopkins County Court House in Sulphur Springs)
I remember little about Sulphur Springs other than its ornate court house, nice town square, and.... the diner, aptly called The Pitt, where we ate breakfast on Wednesday morning (our car is under the sign). It must be one of the few eating places in the USA where smoking is still allowed. Normally we'd have hightailed it out as soon as the smell of smoke enraged our nostrils. Breakfast was hard to find in Sulphur Springs, however, and a bit of local colour adds to the fun. Our waitress, early 20s, 5 foot nothing and under 100 lbs of pure energy, after only two words from me, with rapid fire delivery demanded:"Where's your accent from?"
"England"
"Ahhh! Do you know Jack Haley? He's from England - I used to work for him "
Somewhat taken aback, and probably still half-asleep I asked, "Who?" (As though I might possibly have known the guy!) Aware that Himself was trying unsuccessfully not to giggle, I managed to splutter, "No, sorry, don't know him", whilst trying not to rudely burst into laughter myself before she whizzed off on her way.
Next overnight stop: Greenville, with some very heavy Interstate traffic, but once in the quiet of "historic downtown" we found a few junk shops and antiques stores. One item I saw there has remained in memory: a framed photograph of the town square during some kind of festival, back in the 1950s, or perhaps early 1960s. A big black and white banner strung across the main street proclaimed "Greenville - The land is all black - The people are all white!" Himself glanced at it and sighed. "We've come a long way since then", he said and moved along. In stage whisper I responded, "Some of you have; others not far enough".
In the motel in Greenville I managed to somehow pull our laptop off a table. On its rapid downward trajectory a corner of it jabbed the un-shoed toes of my left foot, causing some fairly serious pain which was to dog me for the next couple of days. I confirm, though, that no serious harm was done to laptop or toes during the making of this trip.
Thursday, 11 November: Veteran's Day. We left Greenville folk busy adding rows of flags to an already plentiful supply around town. Headed north for a look at the dual city of Sherman-Denison, then decided to carry on westward to Gainesville, leaving our last homeward leg on Friday short enough to allow for some further antiquey stop-offs.
We booked in to a motel just as the sun had set, then went looking for food. It was almost dark. The good people of Gainsville were gathering for a fireworks display in the park, in honor of Veterans' day. (NOTE ~ Fireworks? Really?
In England 11 November is marked by 2 minutes of silence at 11 am, and sombrely dressed dignitaries laying poppy wreaths on Cenotaphs in cities throughout the land to honour the dead of two world wars. Fireworks? No way! They'd remind Brits too much of the real flashes, crashes and destruction of World War 2 with its deadly blitzes on British cities.)
Fireworks though? Very odd. Is it something to do with those lines in the US National anthem "And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there"?
Anyway - I digress.
Sections of Gainesville highways and Interstate access routes had been closed off due to the fireworks display, with traffic diverted. On the Interstate through town, always busy anyway, it became well nigh impossible to negotiate a route to reach the town's eateries. It took us more than an hour, and goodness knows how many miles of driving in ever decreasing circles, to reach an IHOP (International House of Pancakes) which lay a very short distance from the motel. Only the fireworks lighting the sky kept us semi-oriented on our laughable but frustrating hour long not-so-merry-go-round. If I never see Gainesville again it'll be soon enough!
Friday's last leg of the trip brought us home via Muenster, a Germanic little town, then tiny St. Jo, and Nocona, once famous for its boot factory. Autumn colour, all the way back from Nacogdoches northward had developed rather nicely in the few days since our journey south. The best of the colour, roadside, happened to be in places where we couldn't safely stop and take photographs, so the gorgeous golds, mustards, oranges and occasional reds we spotted will have to remain undocumented, but in memory.
We arrived home with a goodly pile of used VCR tapes, old photographs for the collection of Himself, some odds and ends for me, and from our last stop, at a Nocona antique/junk store, a well-framed print. This last item, found on the floor in a very grubby state, glass coated with thick dirt and what looked like dried beer splashes. What I could see underneath the dirt intrigued me. I showed it to Himself who said, "That looks like a......." (a name unknown to me). I bought it anyway, for $15. More on this item on Arty Farty Friday.....she wrote, trying one of those annoying cliff-hangery things.
Photos by Himself (apart from the Marx Bros - he's old - but not that old), poppies and firework from Google Image
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Remembrance 11/11. (No astrology)
Back in England in the 1950s I attended an all-girls grammar school(very roughly equivalent to US High Schools). All our teachers were female, many of them older ladies, probably born in the early 1900s, all unmarried. It didn't strike me until many years later exactly why they were all unmarried. A whole generation of young men who might have been their husbands were slaughtered in World War One. Thinking back, our English Literature mistress, Miss Milvain, led our study of the work of World War One poets. Miss Milvain was a tall, slender lady, with long, pure white hair loosely pulled back into a big "bun" at the back. She must have been a stunner as a young woman. I wonder if the poems she put before us held extra poignancy for her, and for her colleagues. She didn't tell us. We didn't ask. I think we should have asked, but we were young and gauche and unthinking.
Here's one of those poems:
AFTERMATH
by Seigfried Sassoon (March 1919)
Have you forgotten yet? ...
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
But the past is just the same - and War's a bloody game ...
Have you forgotten yet? ...
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.
Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz -
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
Do you remember the rats; and the stench
of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench -
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
Do you ever stop and ask, "Is it all going to happen again?"
Do you remember the hour of din before the attack -
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you
As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
With dying eyes and lolling heads - those ashen-grey
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?
Have you forgotten yet? ...
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget.
Here's one of those poems:
AFTERMATH
by Seigfried Sassoon (March 1919)
Have you forgotten yet? ...
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
But the past is just the same - and War's a bloody game ...
Have you forgotten yet? ...
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.
Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz -
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
Do you remember the rats; and the stench
of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench -
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
Do you ever stop and ask, "Is it all going to happen again?"
Do you remember the hour of din before the attack -
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you
As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
With dying eyes and lolling heads - those ashen-grey
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?
Have you forgotten yet? ...
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Light Cartoons, Weighty Recollections.
A cartoon or two, a spoonful of poetry, a pertinent photograph - all bring to mind something astrological or something significant.
I raided the husband's bookshelves for the cartoons: "Cartoon Cavalcade" (1943), "Crazy Cartoons" by Vip" (1956), and "Cartoon Treasury" (1955).
(SAGITTARIUS - of course!)
Cartoon by T.S. Sullivant
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Ought to be MERCURY but it's Jupiter, or maybe Zeus - crossed lines again!)
"It's that man from the telephone office."
Cartoon by John Frazer in The Texas Ranger.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(ARIES & LEO ?)
Cartoon by Vip.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And on a very serious note - 11th hour of 11th day of 11th month:
WE REMEMBER
I raided the husband's bookshelves for the cartoons: "Cartoon Cavalcade" (1943), "Crazy Cartoons" by Vip" (1956), and "Cartoon Treasury" (1955).
(SAGITTARIUS - of course!)
Cartoon by T.S. Sullivant
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Ought to be MERCURY but it's Jupiter, or maybe Zeus - crossed lines again!)
"It's that man from the telephone office."
Cartoon by John Frazer in The Texas Ranger.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(ARIES & LEO ?)
Cartoon by Vip.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And on a very serious note - 11th hour of 11th day of 11th month:
WE REMEMBER
WE SHALL REMEMBER THEM ~ by Sheila Parry
No visit to a gracious Queen,
no presentation honouring the dead.
The day his medal came
her fingers fumbled with the padded envelope;
ribbon and steel dropped from her hand,
another piece rolled out of sight.
When they came home they found her there,
tears falling on the polished floor,
trying to fit the fragments of her son,
to make sense of the scattered jigsaw
of his life.
Home-assembly decoration kits
by order of a grateful Government,
broken like the bodies
they were made to celebrate.
But then he was, at seventeen, hardly a soldier.
Just a name and number in the power game.
Mail-order hero of a battle scene.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Poppies
I feel certain that it has been said many times over the years, by astrologers, that 11 November is an astrologically appropriate date on which to remember those who fell in both World Wars. 11 November lies within the zodiac sign of Scorpio. In modern astrology Scorpio is ruled by Pluto, traditional astrologers had Mars as Scorpio's ruling planet. Scorpio represents, among other things, death. Mars rules war, Pluto represents transformation - death is the greatest of all transformations, apart from birth.
Whether we call 11th November Remembrance Day, Armistice Day, Veterans' Day or, Einherjar (the name given to 11/11 by followers of Asatru, Norse Heathenism), we remember and honour those killed in, or as a result of battle.
In the UK poppy emblems, symbol of remembrance, are sold for people to wear in their lapels, the funds collected go towards support of ex-servicemen. I don't know if this happens in the USA to the same extent, I haven't seen any evidence of it so far.
I "blog peace", the peace emblem remains here at all times, but equally I always used to wear a poppy around the time of Remembrance Day. I almost certainly owe my own life to those who died to win World War 2. What makes me sad (and lately very angry) is that the world hasn't learned the lesson those courageous men died to teach us.
THE INQUISITIVE MIND OF A CHILD
Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?
Selling poppies in town today.
The poppies, child, are flowers of love.
For the men who marched away.
But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died
In the fields where the poppies grow.
But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?
Why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child.
The blood that our soldiers shed.
The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.
Why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.
For the men who never came back.
But why, Mummy are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you my child.
For the world is forgetting again.
(Author unknown)
"War would end if the dead could return."Stanley Baldwin
Whether we call 11th November Remembrance Day, Armistice Day, Veterans' Day or, Einherjar (the name given to 11/11 by followers of Asatru, Norse Heathenism), we remember and honour those killed in, or as a result of battle.
In the UK poppy emblems, symbol of remembrance, are sold for people to wear in their lapels, the funds collected go towards support of ex-servicemen. I don't know if this happens in the USA to the same extent, I haven't seen any evidence of it so far.
I "blog peace", the peace emblem remains here at all times, but equally I always used to wear a poppy around the time of Remembrance Day. I almost certainly owe my own life to those who died to win World War 2. What makes me sad (and lately very angry) is that the world hasn't learned the lesson those courageous men died to teach us.
THE INQUISITIVE MIND OF A CHILD
Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?Selling poppies in town today.
The poppies, child, are flowers of love.
For the men who marched away.
But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died
In the fields where the poppies grow.
But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?
Why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child.
The blood that our soldiers shed.
The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.
Why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.
For the men who never came back.
But why, Mummy are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you my child.
For the world is forgetting again. (Author unknown)
"War would end if the dead could return."Stanley Baldwin
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