Maybe I should re-think vegetarianism. These little porkers have put me off bacon until next Christmas.
I found this photo in today's Globe & Mail, taken by Reuters photographer, Aly Song.
February 28, 2009
February 27, 2009
Mum
That’s my mum. She’s 80 but looks 65.
Her formal education ended in England after passing her O-Levels at the age of 15¾, but Mum is one of the smartest people I know. She has a huge breadth of general knowledge. She never ceases to be amazed at the natural world. She has a thirst for knowledge that is unending.
She has the prettiest garden in my hometown. Summer visitors pay homage to it yearly.
For over a decade she managed a Native Indian craft store, in addition to the years she worked at the Library and the Pharmacy.
Together with my father, she won a Provincial award for volunteerism. Over the years Mum has been on the Executive of the District Museum and the local branch of the Cancer Society. Once involved in an amateur drama group she later became the president of her town’s summer stock, Rainbow Theatre. She taught adult literacy through their community college.
In the 70s, she hosted her own TV show on local access cable. She took up yoga before it was fashionable. With her best friend she learned how to cross-country ski. At the age of 62 she tried for and attained her driver’s license. Five years ago she mastered e-mail. Today she left me a comment on my blog.
She’s been a columnist for her local paper on three separate occasions. Every couple of weeks she writes a book review for the paper. It can be found on my side bar; On the Shelves, by Joan Smith. Why don’t you have a look?
Hats off to Mum!
Her formal education ended in England after passing her O-Levels at the age of 15¾, but Mum is one of the smartest people I know. She has a huge breadth of general knowledge. She never ceases to be amazed at the natural world. She has a thirst for knowledge that is unending.
She has the prettiest garden in my hometown. Summer visitors pay homage to it yearly.
For over a decade she managed a Native Indian craft store, in addition to the years she worked at the Library and the Pharmacy.
Together with my father, she won a Provincial award for volunteerism. Over the years Mum has been on the Executive of the District Museum and the local branch of the Cancer Society. Once involved in an amateur drama group she later became the president of her town’s summer stock, Rainbow Theatre. She taught adult literacy through their community college.
In the 70s, she hosted her own TV show on local access cable. She took up yoga before it was fashionable. With her best friend she learned how to cross-country ski. At the age of 62 she tried for and attained her driver’s license. Five years ago she mastered e-mail. Today she left me a comment on my blog.
She’s been a columnist for her local paper on three separate occasions. Every couple of weeks she writes a book review for the paper. It can be found on my side bar; On the Shelves, by Joan Smith. Why don’t you have a look?
Hats off to Mum!
Verena
My beautiful, elegant and talented friend is moving back to Germany as soon as the school year ends for her daughter.
This weekend she is having a party where about 100 of her friends and family will help her celebrate a fabulous milestone birthday.
Verena is a very talented jewelry artist and photography. Please check out her website. I think you'll be delighted. She also has a great list of links.
www.verenajewelry.com
picture is copyright Verena Jewelry, 2006
February 25, 2009
Theme Thursday - Don't Toy With Me
Hey, look!" one of them said, "there's a tin soldier. Let's send him sailing."
They made a boat out of newspaper, put the tin soldier in the middle of it, and away he went down the gutter with the two young rapscallions running beside him and clapping their hands. High heavens! How the waves splashed, and how fast the water ran down the gutter. Don't forget that it had just been raining by the bucketful. The paper boat pitched, and tossed, and sometimes it whirled about so rapidly that it made the soldier's head spin. But he stood as steady as ever. Never once flinching, he kept his eyes front, and carried his gun shoulder-high. Suddenly the boat rushed under a long plank where the gutter was boarded over. It was as dark as the soldier's own box.
"Where can I be going?" the soldier wondered. "This must be that jack-in-the box’s revenge. Ah! If only I had the little lady with me, it could be twice as dark here for all that I would care."
Out popped a great water rat who lived under the gutter plank.
"Have you a passport?" said the rat. "Hand it over."
The soldier kept quiet and held his musket tighter. On rushed the boat, and the rat came right after it, gnashing his teeth as he called to the sticks and straws:
"Halt him! Stop him! He didn't pay his toll. He hasn't shown his passport. "But the current ran stronger and stronger. The soldier could see daylight ahead where the board ended, but he also heard a roar that would frighten the bravest of us. Hold on! Right at the end of that gutter plank the water poured into the great canal. It was as dangerous to him as a waterfall would be to us.
He was so near it he could not possibly stop. The boat plunged into the whirlpool. The poor tin soldier stood as staunch as he could, and no one can say that he so much as blinked an eye. Thrice and again the boat spun around. It filled to the top - and was bound to sink. The water was up to his neck and still the boat went down, deeper, deeper, deeper, and the paper got soft and limp. Then the water rushed over his head. He thought of the pretty little dancer whom he'd never see again, and in his ears rang an old, old song:
"Farewell, farewell, O warrior brave,
Nobody can from Death thee save."
And now the paper boat broke beneath him, and the soldier sank right through. And just at that moment he was swallowed by a most enormous fish.
My how dark it was inside that fish! It was darker than under the gutter-plank and it was so cramped, but the tin soldier still was staunch. He lay there full length, soldier fashion, with musket to shoulder.
Then the fish flopped and floundered in a most unaccountable way. Finally it was perfectly still, and after a while something struck through him like a flash of lightning. The tin soldier saw daylight again, and he heard a voice say, "The Tin Soldier!" The fish had been caught, carried to market, bought, and brought to a kitchen where the cook cut him open with her big knife.
She picked the soldier up bodily between her two fingers, and carried him off upstairs. Everyone wanted to see this remarkable traveler who had traveled about in a fish's stomach, but the tin soldier took no pride in it. They put him on the table and-lo and behold, what curious things can happen in this world-there he was, back in the same room as before. He saw the same children, the same toys were on the table, and there was the same fine castle with the pretty little dancer. She still balanced on one leg, with the other raised high. She too was steadfast. That touched the soldier so deeply that he would have cried tin tears, only soldiers never cry. He looked at her, and she looked at him, and never a word was said. Just as things were going so nicely for them, one of the little boys snatched up the tin soldier and threw him into the stove. He did it for no reason at all. That jack-in-the box must have put him up to it.
The tin soldier stood there dressed in flames. He felt a terrible heat, but whether it came from the flames or from his love he didn't know. He'd lost his splendid colors, maybe from his hard journey, maybe from grief, nobody can say.
He looked at the little lady, and she looked at him, and he felt himself melting. But still he stood steadfast, with his musket held trim on his shoulder.
Then the door blew open. A puff of wind struck the dancer. She flew like a sylph, straight into the fire with the soldier, blazed up in a flash, and was gone. The tin soldier melted, all in a lump. The next day, when a servant took up the ashes she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the pretty dancer nothing was left except her spangle, and it was burned as black as a coal.
Excerpt from The Steadfast Tin Soldier, A translation of Hans Christian Andersen’s "Den standhaftige Tinsoldat" by Jean Hersholt.
They made a boat out of newspaper, put the tin soldier in the middle of it, and away he went down the gutter with the two young rapscallions running beside him and clapping their hands. High heavens! How the waves splashed, and how fast the water ran down the gutter. Don't forget that it had just been raining by the bucketful. The paper boat pitched, and tossed, and sometimes it whirled about so rapidly that it made the soldier's head spin. But he stood as steady as ever. Never once flinching, he kept his eyes front, and carried his gun shoulder-high. Suddenly the boat rushed under a long plank where the gutter was boarded over. It was as dark as the soldier's own box.
"Where can I be going?" the soldier wondered. "This must be that jack-in-the box’s revenge. Ah! If only I had the little lady with me, it could be twice as dark here for all that I would care."
Out popped a great water rat who lived under the gutter plank.
"Have you a passport?" said the rat. "Hand it over."
The soldier kept quiet and held his musket tighter. On rushed the boat, and the rat came right after it, gnashing his teeth as he called to the sticks and straws:
"Halt him! Stop him! He didn't pay his toll. He hasn't shown his passport. "But the current ran stronger and stronger. The soldier could see daylight ahead where the board ended, but he also heard a roar that would frighten the bravest of us. Hold on! Right at the end of that gutter plank the water poured into the great canal. It was as dangerous to him as a waterfall would be to us.
He was so near it he could not possibly stop. The boat plunged into the whirlpool. The poor tin soldier stood as staunch as he could, and no one can say that he so much as blinked an eye. Thrice and again the boat spun around. It filled to the top - and was bound to sink. The water was up to his neck and still the boat went down, deeper, deeper, deeper, and the paper got soft and limp. Then the water rushed over his head. He thought of the pretty little dancer whom he'd never see again, and in his ears rang an old, old song:
"Farewell, farewell, O warrior brave,
Nobody can from Death thee save."
And now the paper boat broke beneath him, and the soldier sank right through. And just at that moment he was swallowed by a most enormous fish.
My how dark it was inside that fish! It was darker than under the gutter-plank and it was so cramped, but the tin soldier still was staunch. He lay there full length, soldier fashion, with musket to shoulder.
Then the fish flopped and floundered in a most unaccountable way. Finally it was perfectly still, and after a while something struck through him like a flash of lightning. The tin soldier saw daylight again, and he heard a voice say, "The Tin Soldier!" The fish had been caught, carried to market, bought, and brought to a kitchen where the cook cut him open with her big knife.
She picked the soldier up bodily between her two fingers, and carried him off upstairs. Everyone wanted to see this remarkable traveler who had traveled about in a fish's stomach, but the tin soldier took no pride in it. They put him on the table and-lo and behold, what curious things can happen in this world-there he was, back in the same room as before. He saw the same children, the same toys were on the table, and there was the same fine castle with the pretty little dancer. She still balanced on one leg, with the other raised high. She too was steadfast. That touched the soldier so deeply that he would have cried tin tears, only soldiers never cry. He looked at her, and she looked at him, and never a word was said. Just as things were going so nicely for them, one of the little boys snatched up the tin soldier and threw him into the stove. He did it for no reason at all. That jack-in-the box must have put him up to it.
The tin soldier stood there dressed in flames. He felt a terrible heat, but whether it came from the flames or from his love he didn't know. He'd lost his splendid colors, maybe from his hard journey, maybe from grief, nobody can say.
He looked at the little lady, and she looked at him, and he felt himself melting. But still he stood steadfast, with his musket held trim on his shoulder.
Then the door blew open. A puff of wind struck the dancer. She flew like a sylph, straight into the fire with the soldier, blazed up in a flash, and was gone. The tin soldier melted, all in a lump. The next day, when a servant took up the ashes she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the pretty dancer nothing was left except her spangle, and it was burned as black as a coal.
Excerpt from The Steadfast Tin Soldier, A translation of Hans Christian Andersen’s "Den standhaftige Tinsoldat" by Jean Hersholt.
The above illustration by Mabel Lucie Attwell was found on http://www.blogger.com/www.surlalunefairytales.com. Thank you very much.
The Vertical Gardens of Patrick Blanc
Corine over at Hidden in France introduced me to Patrick Blanc on her beautiful and witty site. Thank you.What a wonderful idea Blanc has to grow vertically. It must be very good for the air we breathe.
Here's a link to his site. http://www.verticalgardenpatrickblanc.com/ He definitely has a vision. I even found a picture of him with green hair.
It also reminded me of my own ivy (actually Virginia Creeper) covered house. The bees love it mid-July. The whole wall just buzzes. Sparrows make it home too.
My green wall is visible above in the post called "The Garden".
Opera Atelier - The Brightest Star in All the Firmament
In the 80s when I worked in the gift shop of the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto, two gorgeous people used to come in and check out the jewelry. They were noticeable not only for their looks but because of the way they were dressed. He wore a pony-tail and a puffy white shirt over tights. She wore an 18th Century dress that showed off her collar-bones to great effect. After hearing announcements on the PA system and putting two and two together, I realized that this couple was Marshall Pynkoski and Jeannette Zingg who together comprised Opera Atelier, and who danced Saturdays and Sundays at the Museum.
Time has passed and now Opera Atelier holds a unique place in the North American theatre world. My husband, son and I have seen their sold-out performances in Toronto theatres at least five times including their exhilarating productions of Lully, Purcell and Mozart. Today Opera Atelier is known around the globe for producing opera, ballet and drama from the 17th and 18th centuries. These productions stay true to the aesthetics of the period, and feature international soloists, period ballet, original instruments, elaborate stage decor and exquisite costumes designed by Dora Rust D’Eye. These productions would have been recognized and well-respected in their own time, but each new Opera Atelier production is unique and makes its own fans.
Opera Atelier has appeared almost everywhere including the Palace of Versailles and the BBC Proms in London. They’ve collaborated with some of early music’s most distinguished artists including Andrew Parrott, Trevor Pinnock and Marc Minkowski to name a few. They collaborate on a regular basis with Toronto’s own thrilling and award-winning Tafelmusik Baroque Orchestra.
In her role as choreographer and dancer, Jeannette Zingg has introduced modern audiences to beautiful and historically authentic 17th and 18th century dance.
Early in Marshall’s Pynkoski’s professional life he received a contract to dance for one year at Paris’s famous Moulin Rouge. Like a dream come true, along with his partner Jeannette, he was able to embark on an in-depth study of Baroque opera, ballet and drama, working from original documents archived at the Bibliothèque Nationale and the Paris Opera.
Since founding Opera Atelier with Jeannette, Marshall has won numerous awards including the distinction of Ordre des Arts et des Lettres from the Government of France. For three years he was a guest instructor at the Centre de Musique Baroque de Versailles, collaborating with Les Musiciens du Louvre.
As well as performing throughout Europe, Opera Atelier has also introduced Baroque opera to Asia where throughout Japan, Singapore and Korea.
http://www.operaatelier.com/
photo credits: Bruce Zinger
Time has passed and now Opera Atelier holds a unique place in the North American theatre world. My husband, son and I have seen their sold-out performances in Toronto theatres at least five times including their exhilarating productions of Lully, Purcell and Mozart. Today Opera Atelier is known around the globe for producing opera, ballet and drama from the 17th and 18th centuries. These productions stay true to the aesthetics of the period, and feature international soloists, period ballet, original instruments, elaborate stage decor and exquisite costumes designed by Dora Rust D’Eye. These productions would have been recognized and well-respected in their own time, but each new Opera Atelier production is unique and makes its own fans.
Opera Atelier has appeared almost everywhere including the Palace of Versailles and the BBC Proms in London. They’ve collaborated with some of early music’s most distinguished artists including Andrew Parrott, Trevor Pinnock and Marc Minkowski to name a few. They collaborate on a regular basis with Toronto’s own thrilling and award-winning Tafelmusik Baroque Orchestra.
In her role as choreographer and dancer, Jeannette Zingg has introduced modern audiences to beautiful and historically authentic 17th and 18th century dance.
Early in Marshall’s Pynkoski’s professional life he received a contract to dance for one year at Paris’s famous Moulin Rouge. Like a dream come true, along with his partner Jeannette, he was able to embark on an in-depth study of Baroque opera, ballet and drama, working from original documents archived at the Bibliothèque Nationale and the Paris Opera.
Since founding Opera Atelier with Jeannette, Marshall has won numerous awards including the distinction of Ordre des Arts et des Lettres from the Government of France. For three years he was a guest instructor at the Centre de Musique Baroque de Versailles, collaborating with Les Musiciens du Louvre.
As well as performing throughout Europe, Opera Atelier has also introduced Baroque opera to Asia where throughout Japan, Singapore and Korea.
http://www.operaatelier.com/
photo credits: Bruce Zinger
February 24, 2009
Venice Carnival
Tanja Shulz-Hess, an employee at the German magazine Der Spiegel has twice won the competition for best costume design at the Carnival in Venice. Her 2008 ensemble "Luna Park" was modeled after an amusement park. In 2007 her costume, called "Montgolfiera," included a hot air balloon headdress. .
You can read more about Schulz-Hess and see more of her costumes at http://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/0,1518,607833,00.html
Ahhhhh.....
I found this on The Selby. It's the court yard in front of the home of the author Frédéric Beigbeder.
All my tension runs away when I see spaces like this and I experience a momentary repose of the soul.
February 23, 2009
Interesting Scraps
Monday morning and I don't know what to write. I'll leave you with a couple more pages from my scrap file. See you later.
Hazel
February 20, 2009
Hundertwasser’s Paradise on Earth
Hundertwasser was an amazing artist; an amazing man. And deserves to by more famous than he is. With his vision of a better life he improved little pockets around the globe. He could have changed the world. His whimsy makes me love him.
Initially introduced to him through books and postcards, I was immediately interested Hundertwasser’s insanely bright colours and the touch of real gold or silver in almost all of the plates. Years later when I was researching a trip to Vienna I was reminded that he had designed an unorthodox apartment building in Vienna called Hundertwasserhaus. I decided that the three of us would visit Hundertwasserhaus and primarily a Hundertwasser Museum called KunstHausWien (Art House Vienna).
When we arrived at the KunstHausWien we found ourselves in one of the most magical man-made places on earth. What a feast for the senses! Everything was a multi-coloured mosaic. After entering through plump ceramic columns we had to pass through the outdoor café which at that time was artfully decorated with hundreds of pumpkins.
The building itself was originally the studio of the Thonet Brothers (of bentwood fame). Hundertwasser converted the exterior into patchwork of black and white tile with hints of pure blue red, yellow and silver. Small trees were growing out of the windows on this jigsaw puzzle of a building and grass was growing on the roofs. The ground, both indoor and out, was undulating, as Hundertwasser detested even floors stating "an uneven floor is a melody to the feet"
Inside is a stunning tribute to Hundertwasser who died in 2000. His paintings, graphic art and architectural models are on display. Although Hundertwasser first gained notoriety for his boldly-coloured paintings, he is more widely renowned today for his revolutionary architectural designs, which incorporate natural features of the landscape and irregular forms.
Hundertwasser was an early advocate of environmentalism and put his creative energy into developing an architecture that worked in harmony with nature. His architecture borrows from the Eastern European onion domes (think of St. Basils in Red Square), Gaudi and in some cases Jugendstil.
His work has been used for flags, stamps, coins, posters, schools, churches, a public toilet in his adopted home of New Zealand, plus apartment buildings, spas and daycares. One of his buildings houses an incinerator outside Vienna. Another is a Ronald McDonald play ground.
In his painting and graphic art spirals are a primary shape. To me it seems as if he was heavily influenced by Klimt, both in the use of spirals and flowing lines, but also the use of gold and silver in his art. Hundertwasser used bright colours, organic forms, and rejected straight lines. In life he often wore a brightly coloured patchwork cap and miss-matched socks. His sail boat, called the Regentag (Rainy Day), had striped sails.
Friedensreich Hundertwasser was born in Vienna in 1928 as Friedrich Stowasser. His adopted surname is based on the translation of Sto (Slavic for "one hundred") into German (hundert). The word Friedensreich can mean "Peace-realm" or "Peace-rich" (maybe in this sense "peace-ful"). So therefore Friedensreich Hundertwasser means "Peaceful Hundred-Water".
As a child Hundertwasser attended a Montessori school which influenced both his fondness for vibrant colors and respect of nature. He collected pebbles and pressed flowers. Ecology was a touchstone for him and since his early childhood he displayed a sensitivity to his surroundings. His immense respect for nature very soon aroused in him the desire to protect it against the attacks made on it by man and industry.
In 1972 he published the manifesto "Your window right — your tree duty" in which he offered that the planting of trees in urban environments should become obligatory. In it he stated "If man walks in nature's midst, then he is nature's guest and must learn to behave as a well-brought-up guest."
Around the corner from KunstHausWien is Hundertwasserhaus, a Viennese apartment block, featuring undulating floors, a roof covered with earth and grass, and large trees growing from inside the rooms, with branches extending from the windows. He took no payment for the design of Hundertwasserhaus, declaring that it was worth it, to "prevent something ugly from going up in its place".
Anyway a picture is worth a “Hundert” words. I leave you with some images of Hundertwasser’s work along with some quotes.
Top photo above is property of Hazel Smith
Other pictures above have been taken from www.hundertwasser.at and www1.kunsthauswien.com. or wikipedia commons
February 18, 2009
French Connection - Photographs of World War 1
I am a rabid genealogist. When I'm researching my family tree online I’m like a dog with a bone. I can search for hours. Thanks to Ancestry.com and the Latter Day Saints, I’ve been able to trace my family back to the medieval swamps of Kent circa 1500.
So you can imagine how excited I was to become the owner of photographs of French soldiers taken during World War 1.
We regularly attended an antique auction that featured pieces that had been shipped from France and sold in Oakville, about 30 minutes west of of where we live in Toronto.
Andrew Zegers was the collector, gathering all manner of antiques from the French countryside. Jon Medley was his capable auctioneer. Over the years, before the secret of this great sale got around, we managed enough courage to put up our hands to buy a plate, our dining room chairs and a carpet that the cat had a strange affection for. One sale Andrew held was basically for “seconds”; items he didn’t know what to do with.
It was there where we bought the contents of a drawer for about $40. We found silver knives, spoons and forks. About 200 “prayers” from the 1850s to the 1950s, a collection of postcards and about 8 photographs of World War 1 soldiers.
The photos had a main subject; a roly-poly mustachioed little guy of about 35. He looked 50, but they all looked older back then. There’s a picture of him on his horse; a picture of him and a Dr. Gaucherand in a trench; a picture of him at a dinner party; and a couple of photos of him larking about with his compatriots.
In the photo included above my hero has been dressed up as a German prisoner; a Boches, complete with the pointy Kaiser-style helmet. It's a pretty convincing tableau and it took me a while to figure it out.
In one of the light-hearted photos he is standing with 3 of his friends in the village of Chuignolles, apparently after lunch, laughing and pointing at one another. All the names are included but the handwriting is bad and I can’t tell if my man is Duvoy or Duroy.
Thanks to the French Ministère de la Defénse and the website http://www.memoiredeshommes.sga.defense.gouv.fr/ I was able to track down a couple of the soldiers listed, and unfortunately, their dates of death and where they are buried. But Duvoy or Duroy, I can't find him in the records. He might have made it through the War.
The novel by Sebastien Japrisot, A Very Long Engagement, relates how a young woman is unable to believe that her fiance died during World War 1 and how she jumps through hoops to find him. Japrisot’s story has been turned into a movie of the same name. There's such a similarity between the images in this movie and the images I own as photographs that every time I watch the movie, I’m am further inspired to dig just a little deeper into the soldiers on my postcards.
Theme Thursday - Library
My dad was a librarian so the word Library was probably one of the first words I knew how to say, recognize and spell.
Dad was the librarian at our small town’s Public Library. From a Dickensian upbringing in war-time England, he eventually found himself in rural Ontario, first running the Public Library from the basement of the Town Hall, then championing for a new library to be built and finally heading a library system tending to the needs of 75 district libraries and drop-off centres and 20 schools.
It was in school around 1970 when all films borrowed from the library came with a song, “It’s the latest, it’s the greatest, it’s the library.” and a 30 second clip of the library my dad fought to have built, complete with an action shot of Dad date-stamping books. Kids in the classroom would shout, “Hey, Hazel, it’s your Da-ad!”
When my mum was working, the library was sort of my afterschool babysitter. When I was about 10 I vowed to read all the Juvenile Fiction. I know I read all the Laura Ingalls Wilder, but I don’t think I went around the room alphabetically.
Fast forward 25 years and I found myself living with a man who is the Anti-Library. Whereas my dad would rarely buy a book – why would he, my spouse never uses the library. A real proponent of used bookstores he would rather buy a book and keep it. Forever. When we last counted we had 1,650 books. So I'm still surrounded by books.
Maybe in this age of belt-tightening libraries will experience a renaissance. Dad would have liked that.
Interesting Scraps
Today, I risk straying from the course of what I want The Clever Pup to be (Things of Interest for Interesting People) but I've been so inspired lately by two other bloggers I had to join in.
Jess at Record the Day and Tina at The English Muse have been letting us in on their inspiration files and daily clippings. I thank them for letting me have a peek.
I've been keeping clipping pictures and articles for about 10 years: first as a self-help project; and then mainly just to keep the house from becoming over-filled with magazines.
Today I'm letting you in on a couple of pages from my scrap books. I'm not adept with the camera, but I hope you enjoy having a look.
Hazel
February 16, 2009
February 13, 2009
Valentine's Day
To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes,
And dupp'd the chamber-door;
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
(Ophelia in William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act IV, Scene 5)
February 11, 2009
Things That Make My World a Better Place - A Partial List
William Morris
Van Gogh
treasure hunts
traveling
trains
Tintin
the pre-raphaelites
Katherine's Candaules speech in The English Patient
the Beatles
the 2CV
Sting
my brother
spaghetti carbonara
Sherlock Holmes
Sean Connery
Rupert Bear
romance
Poirot
picnics
periwinkle
Paris
Pablo Veron
old photographs
Obama
Noodles Romanoff
my son
Mozart
maps
Klimt
Kaffe Fassett
John Irving
James Stewart
hyacinths
hot air balloons
hats
Harry Potter
hand-made candy
Halloween
Great War fashions
Goldfish
Giverny
George Orwell
George
Gary Cooper
freesia
France
fireworks
Ernest Shepard
dirigibles
David Suzuki
crepes marrons
Colette
cinnamon hearts
Christmas crackers
children's hands
Charlie Chaplin
chameleons
butterflies
belly laughs from small children
back-rubs
babies
Audrey Hepburn
antiques
Amadeus
A.S. Byatt
Going the Extra Mile
I heard this story on CBC's As It Happens. I was knocked over by this guy's zany goodness. I didn't catch his name at first but after some digging around I found this article on Quill and Quire - Canada's Magazine of Book News and Reviews. I hope you enjoy Steven W. Beattie's article and have your faith restored a little today.
Author makes Christmas trek to Ottawa to deliver book
February 9, 2009 | 12:58 PM | By Steven W. Beattie
How far should an author go in response to a negative review? When Dan Fleisch, an author from Springfield, Ohio, read an Amazon review of his book, A Student’s Guide to Maxwell’s Equations, which gave it a single star on the basis of a printer’s error that resulted in the reviewer’s copy missing the first 38 pages, Fleisch decided to get on a plane and hand-deliver a pristine copy of the book. Himself. On Christmas Day.
At 6 a.m. Christmas Day Fleisch was sitting in a plane at the Dayton airport waiting to head north.
“I’m sitting there. The plane is fairly empty, and I think, ‘Am I nuts?’”
Although that was the first time he had asked himself that question, he’s pretty sure his girlfriend had been questioning his sanity many, many hours before.
“I’m sure she was looking to see what other options she had in life,” he said.
The reviewer in question, Michel Cuhaci, is an Ottawa resident. Fleisch located him after appending a comment to Cuhaci’s review asking for the reviewer’s address and promising to send him another copy of the book. The cost of Fleisch’s book is $26. His return trip to Ottawa cost him $396.55, and his rental car cost an additional $67.67. For his trouble, Cuhachi amended his Amazon review, but did not change the one-star rating:
UPDATE NOTE (Feb 2,09): I received a new copy from the author himself on Christmas Day, hand delivered (for more info please read follow-up comments to this review). The book is excellent, very clear and easy to follow. My rating of 1 star (based on the first book I received, since I could not read the full content of the misprinted issue) now could be changed to 5 star. However, if I change it to 5 star, most review readers could miss the “happy ending” (read follow-up comments), and the Author’s concern and excellent service on a winter stormy day…
Fleisch’s dedication is admirable, but this Quillblogger can’t see the trend of hand-delivered books catching on. To test this theory, he intends to post a one-star review of Paris Hilton’s memoir, Confessions of an Heiress, and report back on the results.
NICE
Picture Courtesy of Springfield News-Sun
February 9, 2009
The Flowering Calendar in Claude Monet's Garden.
I dream of visiting Monet's pink house and fabulous gardens at Giverny. Maybe one day I will. Maybe one day, in the not too distant future, I'll leave my guys in a musty Paris bookshop while I take the train up to the village of Vernon where Giverny is located.
I had secreted away this "flowering calendar" with hope of replicating my own private Giverny in my sliver of a Toronto garden. No such luck. But it's a start.
If you're interested, here's a list of the plants and flowers the green thumbs at Giverny grow during the seasons. More information can be found at www.giverny.org. The top picture is courtesy of their website. Second picture is my little garden.
Flowering calendar in Claude Monet's garden
April
Tulips, pansies, forget-me-nots, narcissi, aubrietas, cherry and crab-apple blossom, fritillaries, daffodils, etc
May
Irises, peonies, rhododendrons, geraniums, wisterias, azaleas, wallflowers, daisies, delphiniums
June
Roses, poppies, clematis, Tamaris
July
Roses, nasturtiums, ageratums, zinnias, nicotianas, busy lizzies, verbenas, dahlias, rudbeckias, salvias, primulinus gladiolus, cleomes, cosmos, sunflowers, helianthus, hollyhocks... Beginning of water lilies
August
Dahlias, cosmos, hibiscus, etc (see July) End of water lilies
September
Nasturtiums carpet the Grande Allée, Asters, dahlias, cosmos, rudbeckias
October
Dahlias All the annual flowers untill frost.
February 5, 2009
February 3, 2009
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