The flowers I was given last week are still lovely.
The following poem is the one for today from my book, A Poet for Every Day of the Year, The Birch Tree by Sergei Yesenin translated by KMW Klara. I love the biographical information attached to each poem in this book.
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We have had the most marvellous week having hired Hellfire Jack’s at Trengove Farm for the family to stay so we could celebrate my 80th birthday all together. There have been treats and delights every day and one of those was the set of four beautiful Christmas Jigsaw crackers I bought from Wentworth Puzzles, one for each family. These are tiny wooden jigsaws that each fit in a cracker and which are really quite hard to complete. The competition to finish first was fierce!
    Today we have started on of the three jigsaws we were given for Christmas. I have shared poems from Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer from whom I get a poem every day in my inbox. She gave me permission some time ago to share whenever as long as you all know who the poet is. I love her work and would share even more but it seems greedy.
Thank you for all the comments while we have been ill. We are bettering but not yet better. I will reply to all comments in the next day or two. To enjoy the family visit we slept most of the day and joined ithem for the evening meal and fun every evening. |
We are gradually getting our utility room, aka Sun Room with its wide new window, back in order and have put some of the things back on the walls. One of these is an old print tray that I have used for special treasures, every one of which has a story. 
Tomorrow, all the family will arrive for a five day celebration of my birthday! This morning I read the following poem which reminded me of a fascinating fact I learned many years ago. Baby girls are born with all the eggs they will ever have, meaning a female foetus develops these future eggs while still in her mother’s womb, creating a fascinating biological link where a grandmother carried her future granddaughter as an immature egg inside her yet-to-be-born daughter. So, tomorrow with two daughters arriving with their daughters, this poem reminds us of our very special connection.
A snowflake arrived in today’s post, beautifully crocheted and a gift from a follower. It has gone straight onto our tree.
Thank you very much Judith
Another gift came today, one we were instructed not to keep until Christmas but to consume soon. So this evening we have each had a delicious Raspberry and White Choc Chip Cookie for dessert.
Thank you S and E, absolutely gorgeous!
‘
It’s Our Christmas Too’ by Mary FletcherChristmas comes just at the darkest time of year
flashing lights
a twinkling treesome time for lovely foodfor friends and familyfor children to be given too much stufffor those of us with no childrento realise what we lack.We look forward to the New Year
warm sunshine and green shoots will come back.
Those of us that do not believe in godand worship no onebut put our faith in hope,In folk to do their best,we do not go to church.we do not believe we’ll live after we die,But we can light a candle,share in singing,pass some treats around.Its our Christmas too,Our Solstice,Our Midwinter,Our humanist joy,That celebrates and treasuresEvery baby girl and boy.
My Dear Sister in Hawai’i watched the livestream as did family in Atlanta and blogging friend Nancy. My lovely sister took some screen shots and sent them through to me. Here’s one of both choirs, The Ingleheart Singers and The Suitcase Singers and Claire, our lovely leader. Sharing the concert was a very special way to feel connected with my sister when we live so very far apart..
The Inglehearts sang again this afternoon at the Eco Park’s Christmas fair with a delightful audience.
I’ve shared poems by Billy Collins before but not this one I think..Here are the first few verses which truly ring a bell with me. I hope this one appeals to you too – then you can look it up and get the last three verses.
I’ve made myself a beautiful scarf and matching fingerless gloves for singing at outdoor gigs over the winter months.
Fingerless so I can still turn pages if I need to.
I can’t remember where I found this poem but saved it to share sometime so here is is now. I especially love the last three lines. 
We’ve had an unusually warm start to November, blue skies and bright sun, but tonight’s weather forecast for the next few days includes a warning for snow and ice even here in Cornwall. 
This poem by Theodore Roethke seemed a good choice for tonight.
The Coming of The Cold – Theodore Roethke
The ribs of leaves lie in the dust,
The beak of frost has pecked the bough,
The briar bears its thorn, and drought
Has left its ravage on the field.
The season’s wreckage lies about,
Late autumn fruit is rotted now.
All shade is lean, the antic branch
Jerks skyward at the touch of wind,
Dense trees no longer hold the light,
The hedge and orchard grove are thinned.
The dank bark dries beneath the sun,
The last of harvesting is done.All things are brought to barn and fold.
The oak leaves strain to be unbound,
The sky turns dark, the year grows old,
The buds draw in before the cold.The small brook dies within its bed;
The stem that holds the bee is prone;
Old hedgerows keep the leaves; the phlox,
That late autumnal bloom, is dead.All summer green is now undone:
The hills are grey, the trees are bare,
The mould upon the branch is dry,
The fields are harsh and bare, the rocks
Gleam sharply on the narrow sight.
The land is desolate, the sun
No longer gilds the scene at noon;
Winds gather in the north and blow
Bleak clouds across the heavy sky,
And frost is marrow-cold, and soon
Winds bring a fine and bitter snow.
No Roots for me today, still under par, but I did send along the lemon cake I made last week which has been in the freezer waiting. A lovely volunteer kindly came to collect the cake this morning on his way to Community Roots. Thanks, M.
A sore throat kept me away from singing this afternoon, not wishing to share any germs, but I did make a lemon cake for tomorrow’s volunteers.
John Dryden has the right idea here, live each day for itself. It’s a skill I am trying hard to master.
I like checking Sandi Toskvig’s Almanac from time to time. Here is today’s entry and a link to the music Sandi suggests. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1OJvqKNGg4 
Our very talented, local knitter has been busy again and made a wonderful topper for today.
We wear white poppies in remembrance of all victims of war – the wars happening now, the civilians and the refugees and as a commitment to peace. The white poppy is also worn to challenge militarism and any attempt to glorify or celebrate war. I was pleased to see a white poppy included in the topper.
I found a poem about Peace for today and first found this one attributed to Mary Oliver. Here it says that was wrong, it is a poem by Judyth Hill. Thank you for this.
Wage Peace
By Judyth Hill*
Wage peace with your breath.
Breathe in firemen and rubble,
breathe out whole buildings
and flocks of redwing blackbirds.Breathe in terrorists and breathe out sleeping children
and freshly mown fields.
Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.
Breathe in the fallen
and breathe out lifelong friendships intact.Wage peace with your listening:
hearing sirens, pray loud.
Remember your tools:
flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.Make soup.
Play music, learn the word for thank you in three languages.
Learn to knit, and make a hat.
Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,
imagine grief as the outbreath of beauty
or the gesture of fish.
Swim for the other side.
Wage peace.Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious.
have a cup of tea and rejoice.
Act as if armistice has already arrived.
Celebrate today.* Sometimes mistakenly attributed to Mary Oliver
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