THE TALE SPINNER
Vol. XVI, No. 27
July 3, 2010
IN THIS ISSUE:Vol. XVI, No. 27
July 3, 2010
Lyle Meeres resumes his story of a river boat cruise
Pat Moore tells about her most rewarding volunteer experience
Dixie Augusteijn celebrates her 99th birthday on July 6th
Jean Sterling describes her favourite books
Geoff Goodship writes in praise of the lowly new potato
The editor updates the story of Harry
Sites are suggested by Pat Moore, Shirley Conlon, and Tom Williamson
Lyle Meeres takes up his tale on the eighth day of their
EUROPEAN RIVER CRUISE
We joined Frank and Lorraine and Jack and Heather at breakfast. Their comments on the day before made me feel a bit better about my negativity. Perhaps it was because misery loves company, but they shared the negative feelings.
We were going to share a taxi up to the fortress Marienburg, but Donna and Paulette opted for a walk into town, and Pat joined them, so I stayed on the ship to give my knee recovery time for Bamberg.
In the afternoon we got on a bus for a wine tour in Juliusspital. We discovered that the complex included a seniors’ residence, a hospital, and a winery. We went into an old apothecary/pharmacy which was lined with jars, drawers full of medicines, large pestles and mortars, and scales. Back on the walk, patients went by on foot and in wheelchairs. A fountain on the grounds represented the four rivers through four spouting fish.
Eventually we went downstairs to huge old oak wine casks, some of which had beautiful wood carving on the lids. Then we made our way into a long corridor that was lined with big casks. There were candles along the way as a warning system if the air got bad. Our first wine, a half glass, was white and fine. After we walked more corridor, we had a second sample. Here, one lid carving showed patients who were happy due to the wine (one threw away his crutches), though at the bottom a carved devil waited for those who imbibed too much. After more walking, we came to the sales room and had a sample of a high quality white wine. It is an interesting concept, having wine sales support the charity of the residence and hospital. I wonder if Canada could create some charities that were at least partially self-supporting. We bought wine at 8.20 Euro and a cap for me. We were tired after dinner and shut down at 10:10.
The first part of day 9 was on the Main River to Bamberg. After breakfast, a fashion show using passengers as models provided some humour. Then it was lunch. Eat, eat, eat.... Then it was the bus to Bamberg old town where it was walk, walk, walk. However, both the “eat” and the “walk” were good. Most bombs missed Bamberg because it was too cloudy to see targets. Some people credited the local “saint”, and rainclouds still get acceptance here.
The female tour guide told us that at one stop people said, “This woman’s husband is missing.” The tour guide turned to the woman and said, “Are you missing your husband?” To which the woman replied, “No, I’m not missing him at all!” I thought the tour guide was sympathetic.
She was a good guide. In a church she told us the story of a saint (Stephen?) who cut his cloak in half and gave one half to a shivering beggar. At night the beggar came to the knight and revealed himself as Christ. The church had a large metal plaque on the wall showing the saint in armour.
Bamberg had several attractive features. One was city hall (so often these old cities have interesting city halls). In Bamberg, the church owned all the land and there was a secular-church struggle. Finally the city officials said, “You own the land, but not the water.” They placed wooden pilings on an island in the river and built a city hall that looks like a boat in the river. I also enjoyed the view from the bridge of the colourful fishermen’s houses.
Our guide was not allowed into the cathedral (they have their own guides), but told us to look at the horse and rider. We found this on the wall, not three-dimensional as we expected, and felt it was a bit disappointing - but we certainly enjoyed the chance to sit for ten minutes. These city walks are often three hours over uneven cobblestone. This walk featured lots of flowers, including a beautiful rose garden with a nearby viewpoint of attractive roofs, mostly red.
Before supper, Pat and I had a beer, but not the smoky beer that Bamberg is noted for ,which was fine since we had tasted it on an earlier evening (Elderhostel passengers got the smoky beer). In Bamberg, nine brewers produce 60 beers. We are lucky to have local wines supplied at dinner at no charge. In the evening the crew sang shanties in the lounge and passengers joined in on English lyrics. Once again I took Ibuprofen at night for an aching knee.
The bus picked us up at 9:00 a.m. on day 10 at Nuremberg, population 465,000. We drove past housing established for workers who came to the city with the Industrial Revolution. Crowding was so bad that people slept in shifts. Much of Nuremberg today is industrial and commercial.
The bus went to the stadium where Hitler addressed ranks of people at the Nazi rallies. Today the concrete stretch that includes the podium is a cold, barren, empty place. Our guide, a little woman with a big voice, was from Boston - a language specialist, so she gave information with an American slant. She saw the skinheads as no threat, even laughable; she said that the leftists were more likely to hold some power, a possibility that would make many Americans shiver. One of our group went up to the concrete podium where Hitler spoke, and someone in our tour group gave him a “Heil Hitler” salute, which our guide pointed out could get a person arrested today. Times have changed.
Then we went to the Old Town, which is certainly more picturesque. From the castle, we came down past Durer’s house, which is located in with half-timbered houses with clusters of flowers. We reached the market where the so-called ‘Beautiful Fountain’ is rings in a large Christmas-tree shape, with many figures in gold. In stores in this area we bought some gingerbread and a couple other pieces of baking. When we came back the street towards our bus, it was noon, and the Church of Our Lady has an old clock with mechanical figures that come out and move around in a circle. We also saw the Hall of Justice where the War Crimes Trials were held.
Back on the ship, we had a lengthy wait at a big lock as three ships were ahead of us. We had an Italian dinner. Pat and I put in a bad night. Pat felt sick and her nose acted as if she had a cold, but it may have been an allergic reaction to the fumes from the boat engine.
On day 11 the ship went to Regensburg and the tour then went by bus to Straubing. I skipped it to try to get some sleep (it didn’t work). We moved from the Main River and canal system so that we were now on the Danube, and it wasn’t blue. To me the water looked high but the P.A. system announced that due to low water in the Danube, we would be late arriving at Straubing, where the tour group would rejoin us.
The Danube seemed very calm, a sign of a mature river. All along we had seen many swans and even more ducks (usually mallards). Each part of the river system had several people fishing from the shore. Herons were common but generally smaller than ours. The rivers had signs along them marking distances and there was always a lot of shipping. There were many bridges of various types, and lots of cyclists along the paved paths on both sides of the rivers. I admired the variety of trees which gave a range of colour to the scenery. There were many campgrounds along the way, and many villages. Oddly, the waterways sometimes had a higher level than the lands beyond. River banks were carefully supported, often by rows of rocks to reduce erosion.
To be continued.
Pat Moore writes about her experiences as a
VOLUNTEER
It was quite a shock, after 35 years of a wonderful marriage, when my husband died and I was suddenly all alone. Fortunately, a friend gave me a good book, "All Alone", that was a tremendous help.
Shortly afterwards, an associate with the Family Service Bureau of the city asked if I would be interested in volunteering to give a community helping series for women, "Women on Their Own Again", if there was enough interest.
They put an ad in the newspaper and much to our surprise, in two days more than 60 women answered. After phoning and talking to them, I decided to have a six-week course and chose Tuesday and Thursday evenings. The final number interested in attending worked out to 44, so we split the group into 22 each night, and I started the group in September for six weeks. We had no resources except for refreshments each evening and the use of the office for copying machines, but the Family Service Bureau arranged for a free meeting room. It was very home-like and comfortable, central and near transportation.
Each group was very different. The women ranged in ages from mid-20 to 70 years, and were usually alone after a divorce or a death. In one group, a 29-year-old's husband had been killed in an accident on their honeymoon and she was still in shock. Most of the women were trying to adjust their lives after a divorce and had moved to our city because it was a mid-sized city and they felt it would be easier to adjust, but then found themselves not only alone but in a new location. Looking at their lives, I found that all of them fell into the high-stress category and were terrified about learning to live on their own.
Each Tuesday and Thursday everyone turned up, and I soon realized it was turning into a very good healing group and everyone wanted to expand the series, so we decided to keep it going until they felt it was enough. Originally, there was enough material in the book for the six weeks, but I soon felt it necessary to add different topics for the meetings to give them more information and motivation in order to gain control of their lives.
Fortunately, our city has a lot of generous companies and I called on quite a number, and each night brought in a guest speaker or company to help the group learn about themselves and perhaps expand their lives. Many of them were having trouble sleeping and had never experienced a massage treatment, so we had a spa night one time. Many were making poor health choices - too much coffee, cigarettes, too many pills for depression or anxiety, so a health nutritionist volunteered to talk to the groups.
Many of them had relied on their families for friendships, and living in a new city, they did not know how to go about making new friends, so we had an evening on that topic. Also, because most of them were feeling depressed, they had forgotten how to have fun in their lives, so I arranged for a free evening at the movies; took them to an antique auction one night, which was great fun and did not cost anything, and the management kept a group of seats reserved for us and they served coffee and refreshments at the end of the evening to our group - another nice fun evening.
We also have a great Dinner Theatre in our city, so I asked the troupe and if they would allow me to bring the whole group to their rehearsal night, as that would give them an enthusiastic audience for their rehearsal instead of just family. They were thrilled and suggested I speak to the hotel management where they performed to see what the hotel could offer. The hotel donated a simple buffet for the group of 44 but served a full fabulous buffet - not a cheap one - what a treat!
The Dinner Theatre evening was going to be quite a festive evening so I arranged for one of the hair-dressing schools to give all the women a free make-over that day. They closed the school at 2:00 p.m. and set all the students to cutting, colouring, new hair-dos and facials, and everyone felt like a movie star.
The six weeks expanded from September until the end of June - every Tuesday or Thursday, unless a special night was arranged. I learned a great deal about myself as an added benefit, but I also learned a lot about the great people and businesses in our city as different companies volunteered for many topics, so we had something different for every evening - hypnotism, reflexology, yoga, stress release, budget management, how to deal with past problems, how to give up negative habits and friends, how to deal with resentment, and so on. This also gave me a chance to get to know the media of the city as I felt the companies that volunteered their time to talk to the women deserved some coverage, so I arranged for feature stories.
This volunteer job turned out to be one of the best things I ever did and was a learning experience for me as well. The series continued on for three years until I moved to Calgary for a short time. Several of the women still keep in touch and it is great hearing from them as they go on with their lives. The young woman whose husband was killed on their honeymoon went on to become a lawyer and we visit each year or so when she returns to Red Deer.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DIXIE!
Dixie Augusteijn has the distinction of being our oldest reader. I know you join me in wishing her a wonderful birthday, with many friends and family members, and lots of laughs and good memories.
Unfortunately, Dixie's server has made it impossible for me to contact her directly, so if any of you want to wish her a happy birthday, please write to me for her address.
Jean Sterling writes about her
FAVOURITE BOOKS
Seeing that Irene [Harvalias] mentioned "Uncle Tom’s Cabin" as a favourite book reminded me that you asked people to write about their favourite books.
My favourite as a child was a book titled "Rabbit Hill". I received it from “the twins” across the street when I was sick. My mother read it to me, and I remember I later reread it several times over. As I recall, it was about a rabbit family and their animal neighbours, particularly about Georgie, who is the young rabbit. Georgie’s job is to go grocery shopping, which is no easy task as he must contend with the crossroads where some mean dogs live. Indeed, he must learn how to hide and freeze before momma rabbit thinks him mature enough to do this on his own. She would fret and worry when he was gone, and life for the rabbits wasn’t easy because the “fat man at the crossroads” was as difficult as his dogs and had a poor excuse of a garden as well.
Partway through the book there are rumours that new folks are coming to a nearby empty house with a garden gone to weeds. Momma Rabbit is hopeful that Georgie will no longer have to do the marketing at the fat man's at the crossroads. There is concern among the animals who live on the hill, however, when a tall something covered with a sheet appears near the house. There are a lot of rumours – none them good. I remember one particularly bad rumour was that it might be a gallows.
Finally the new folks move in, and, even better, they plant a fine garden with lots of vegetables. There are no dogs to contend with, so things look good. Things look fantastically good when mid-summer night comes. The sheet is removed, and it turns out to be a statue of St. Francis, the patron saint of animals. Spread at the base of the statue are vegetables from the garden for the animals who live on Rabbit Hill.
I guess when it comes to adult reading I would have to go with books that I have reread or were particularly powerful, that I remember well. Like Irene, one of those books would be "Uncle Tom’s Cabin". It showed what slavery was all about – that even with a benevolent owner, a slave was property that could be sold. Uncle Tom’s owner was a kind, compassionate man who fell on hard times (a bad crop?) and the bank foreclosed on some of his property – Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom was a well-trained house slave and fetched a good price. Some black people don’t like Uncle Tom because he didn’t run away but allowed himself to be sold down the river to Simon Lagree, who was the ultimate mean owner. Tom thought about running, but his wife was in poor health and unable to run with him. He feared that she might be sold in his stead if he ran. On his trip down the river he sees a very young child sold off from his mother. The mother is so distraught that she goes over the side of the barge that night. "Uncle Tom’s Cabin" was extremely sad, but so was slavery. This book showed all the downsides of slavery – many of which probably didn’t occur to northerners at the time.
ED. NOTE: Wikipedia says: "'Uncle Tom's Cabin' was the best-selling novel of the 19th century, and the second best-selling book of that century, following the Bible. It is credited with helping fuel the abolitionist cause in the 1850s."
Other books that come to mind would be "1984", "Grapes of Wrath", "Animal Farm", and "Brave New World."
A science fiction story I particularly remember was “The Cold Equations”, which wasn’t a book but a short story. In this story there is a report of a fever outbreak on a frontier planet. A space vessel with limited range is sent with serum that will cure them. The pilot discovers a stowaway, a teen-age girl who wants to see her brother, a colonist on the planet in question. The ship has only enough fuel for the pilot and his cargo. Her additional mass will cause the ship to run out of fuel before it can land, dooming both the pilot and the sick colonists. The pilot tries to find a solution, but there is no way around the "cold equations" - he doesn’t have enough fuel. The best he can do is to alter the ship's course enough to give her time to write a letter to her parents and talk to her brother on the radio when the ship gets close enough to the planet to do this. When radio contact is lost, the girl enters the airlock and is ejected into space.
I googled Cold Equations and learned that it was written by Tom Godwin.
ED. NOTE: When I wrote to Jean that she had a morbid taste in literature, she replied that she had also read many lighter books, but these were the ones that left a deep impression on her.
Geoff Goodship rhapsodizes about
NEW POTATOES
June 21st marked the beginning of the summer solstice. In the UK, the solstice started at 11:28 UT. In Eastern Canada it was 7:20 a.m., and probably a few seconds later on the West coast. Many farmers and gardeners have developed a more organic, perhaps earthy way to mark the coming of summer. The lowly potato blossom is the key.
It's the timing mechanism that tells people close to the soil that summer is here at last. When the potato blossom dies, it's time for the first feast of summer: new potatoes: mmmmmmm. Can there be anything that tastes more seasonal, more seminal, than a new potato? Forget the solstice: it's new potatoes that mark the beginning of the summer season, especially for gardeners.
In many parts of the world they make a big fuss when the first new potatoes arrive in markets. I picked up this bit in information in a British food blog: "The new crop of Cornish potatoes was given a flying start with a helicopter dash fresh from a field near Helston in time for dinner at top London restaurants." And: "The British Potato Council sent its eye-catching double-decker potato bus to Cornwall ... to support the Cornish Early potato campaign, which kicked off this week."
Of course there’s plenty of argument about the best variety of new potato. "No new crop marks the beginning of an exciting change in seasons quite like the Jersey Royal potato."
What makes a potato "new?" It's any kind that’s harvested before it's fully matured. This makes for a smaller size; sweet, tender white flesh; and skins that are thin and waxy in texture. Because of the thin skin, it's okay to have a few bald spots. They're small enough to cook whole. They are ideal for salads because they retain their shape after cooking. For a real earthy taste I like to eat one cold a day after it's been cooked.
New potatoes are a stage of potato growth, not a variety. They can be red, white, yellow, or blue. For the most deliciously sweet and nutty new potatoes, choose those that are less than three inches across. Just remember to buy potatoes that are uniform in size so they cook evenly. For the best and truest flavour, most foods should be eaten in the season in which they were intended to grow - especially new potatoes.
If you are so lucky as to be a gardener able to harvest your own new potatoes, they will taste best of all. If you have ever taken a warm egg from a hen’s nest you will understand the new potato metaphor. Digging your hands into the warm soil at the base of the new potato, feeling blind for the hard rough spheres. Ahhhh ... mouth watering!
The famous Irish poet Seamus Heaney wrote about the potato harvest in "Digging". He hated the job. "His Pen Will be His Spade", he claimed. The soil must be colder in Ireland.
Google "songs about potatoes" and you will find "Spud Songs". Ted Kooser, a Pulitzer Prize winner and former poet laureate of the United States, wrote a poem titled "A New Potato". It's a six-line gem in which Kooser transformed and illuminated a common tuber:
"This is just one of the leathery eggs
the scuffed-up, dirty turtle of the moon
buried early in spring, her eyes like stars
fixed on the future, and, inside its red skin,
whiteness, like all of the moons to come,
and marvelous, buttered with light."
Well, that’s too much for me to digest, along with the lamb, garlic and new peas. Pass the mint sauce, please.
FROM THE EDITOR'S DESK
It has been some time since I mentioned my live-in companion, my hairy four-footed friend who annoys me, sleeps on my feet, races through the apartment at night, sits on my knee when I'm trying to use the keyboard, scatters hair everywhere, tears up the rugs and the couch, and makes me laugh.
He spends a lot of time sitting on my knees in front of my keyboard, making it difficult to type. All I can do is to play one-handed games like FreeCell and Scrabble until he gets bored and leaves. Another favourite pastime is to wait until I am reclining on my bed, deeply engrossed in a book, to insert himself between me and the book. Or if he really wants to attract my attention, he stretches full length against the wall and drags his claws down the plaster, like a little boy scraping his fingernails down a blackboard.
He loves being brushed, and will weave back and forth while I wield the brush, purring loudly. He'll keep going as long as I will, and it is always I who quits first. Considering the handfuls of hair I brush out of him every night, he should be bald, but he still has enough to spare to leave hair everywhere from the bathtub to the sink to the rugs and the furniture.
He does not bother to look out the window until I have gone to bed, and then he gets up on the printer table at the window and waits for me to open it so he can smell the night air. Sometimes he sits there for a half hour or so, peering out, but finally he has seen enough and goes to check what has been left for his midnight snack.
Sometime in the middle of the night he will rouse up with renewed energy and tear from the bedroom into the living room, scattering rugs and uttering Tarzan yells. Occasionally he changes that routine to jump on top of me with all his weight. Although I am wide awake by this time, I pretend to be asleep so he won't be tempted to prolong his games, and eventually he gets tired of them and comes to rest on my feet.
His official name, as I told you, is Happy, but he is never called that. Sometimes it's Hairy; sometimes it is something less polite; but he doesn't answer to any of his names so it does not matter. I read that a cat can sense what mood you are in - not that he cares, but he can sense it. Sometimes I'll swear that he knows he is annoying me and does it just for his own amusement.
No, of course he is not spoiled!
SUGGESTED SITES
http://amazingacts.blogspot.com/2008/07/dont-try-this-at-home.html>
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http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=-YFRUSTiFUs#t=65
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Tom Williamson suggests this sit for a video of a clever magician:
http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=tHjaRbTfHmQ
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Remember Tara and Bella? Here's an update on this unusual friendship:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPaKMl25rfA&NR=1
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For some reason, I am fascinated by worm composting, and this video shows an easy method for having the red wigglers digest your perishables:
You may also read this newsletter online at:
http://nw-seniors.org/stories.html
"The human brain is unique in that it is the only container of which it can be said that the more you put into it, the more it will hold." - Glenn Doman
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