I’m not sure how many photos I can include in these Weekly Photo Challenges, but I wanted to again share this photo from a previous post about vacation spots I’d like to see again.
After Joe and I arrived in Pamplona, we checked into a small hotel and looked out of the window. If we leaned out a little bit and looked left, we could see over the wall of the neighboring convent, capturing a nun walking through its walled garden. Although it was technically spying, I like think it was curiosity — and for Joe and me, a treasured memory.
That’s where my playing in the snow begins and ends these days — because I would much rather view snow from inside the house or, better yet, on the television while lounging under a sun-soaked palm tree.
But that is not to be, now that the first snowstorm of 2014 has blown through and the news is filled with images of kids sledding and playing in the white stuff. One local reporter even fell backwards into a field of untouched snow to make a snow angel.
I wish I could muster up that much excitement for the flakes — the snow, that is, not the reporters.
This weather is one of the main reasons I created my implied knot garden.
There was a time when a prediction of snow ignited dreams of a snow day from school. As a school employee, I still experience that rush — but it’s tempered by the frustration that now comes with snow.
Yes, it makes the world fresh and white — at least for a few hours — and it provides a chilled respite for perennials and bulbs, as well as a steady watering as it melts. Snow is a necessary evil for those of us living in northern climates. The older I get, however, snow has become less of a novelty and more of a headache — or, more accurately, a heartache.
Snow is a reminder of what I can’t do.
Snow waves, courtesy of the chaise lounge.
Eight years ago, winter cold made me acutely aware of an ache down my left arm. Once I warmed up to room temperature, the ache disappeared. It was a pinched nerve, I rationalized, that was aggravated by cold.
Spring arrived that year, and the ache remained — only now it was accompanied by shortness of breath and could occur with any physical exertion. At the end of the school year, I scheduled a doctor appointment, where my EKG was normal. Fortunately, my primary phoned a cardiologist, and made a next-day appointment for me.
At that appointment, my EKG and blood pressure were again normal, but the cardiologist asked if I would like to take a nuclear stress test. He described it as a walk on a treadmill to elevate my heart rate. How hard could a walk be?
Snowy table for two.
I failed that test, and from his office, I was sent to a nearby hospital. Blood tests indicated that at some point I had suffered a very mild heart attack. In a matter of days, I was diagnosed with Coronary Artery Disease (CAD) and had eight stents placed in my coronary arteries.
One of the medical personnel who stopped in to check on me insisted that I had a love for the other kind of white powder, if you get my drift, because I didn’t fit into any of his preconceived notions of a heart patient. I wasn’t overweight, had a relatively healthy diet, and didn’t smoke, drink, or use drugs.
He failed to consider genetics.
Hydrangea or cotton?
Regardless, though, my cardiologist laid down the law: “No snow shoveling for you!”
Huh?
I’ve always shoveled snow — from childhood, when shoveling snow with my father was like a military operation, to adulthood, when it was a winter chore that Joe and I shouldered together.
Today, though, I have 13 stents, a series of medications (which, by the way, seem to make me more cold sensitive), and Joe — who now does all of the shoveling. That’s where the frustration lies.
I watch him through the windows as he shovels and lifts and tosses, shovels and lifts and tosses — and I’m sad because I’m unable to help him. To do so would tax my heart. Each snowy forecast is a nagging reminder that I’m a bit broken and slightly used — and with that comes the worry — the unfairness — that the snow removal responsibility falls solely on Joe.
Snow shadows.
Yes, I can help him dust off cars and I can make hot tea or hot chocolate for him when he comes in from the cold — but it’s not the same as sharing the task, especially for those storms that are especially deep.
Complicating this year’s first snowfall is the result of my most recent stress test. I have a 40 percent blockage in another one of my arteries, which my doctor says can act up because of cold and/or stress.
Clearly, I no longer have a heart for snow — but, thanks to the parade of seed catalogs that arrive by mail, I have dreams of warmer, more color-filled days ahead.
And that’s the kind of medicine a gardener’s heart can love.
I know I said I would see all of you in 2014 — and it may already be that in some parts of the world — but I wanted to share this post, compiled by the WordPress.com stats helper monkeys. It’s the annual report for this blog and the data is fascinating — from a listing of the most popular posts to the most frequent commenters to the global location of commenters.
Not only do I thank the statisticians for keeping this info, but I also thank all of you — because without you, there would be no statistics to keep.
Following the stats are my plans for 2014 and one more tune to end the year.
Here’s an excerpt:
The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 41,000 times in 2013. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 15 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
I’m not one for resolutions — they don’t last very long — so I’ll stick with a to-do list. Here are a few highlights:
I’m currently compiling the posts from this blog into a book. My dilemma is which self-publishing platform to use. It’s a bit overwhelming. So far, I’m debating using Smashwords or publishing straight to Amazon, where a book could be distributed to Kindle or print-on-demand. There’s also Blurb, which creates coffee table books. If anyone out there as any experiences/opinions/ideas — I would love some guidance.
I was also nominated for a blogging award, and the acceptance post is on its way. As with many of these awards, there’s a place for seven random facts about me — so if there’s anything you would like to know about me, please leave a question and I’ll choose some of those (or at least those that I can answer).
The Tune
Just when you thought I had exhausted the December with yule tunes, I had to share one more — one of the most beautiful renditions of “Auld Lang Syne” I’ve ever heard. This is Mairi Campbell.
A few weeks ago, I opened the Christmas music tour with Mahalia Jackson’s very moving rendition of “Silent Night.” Since then, it’s been a whirlwind of not only daily posts of Christmas carols, but also of working and shopping and baking and wrapping.
Tonight, though, I’d like to give all of you a gift. After the guests are gone and the presents are under the tree and the stockings are hung, I’d like you to take a few minutes for yourself. Here are the instructions.
1. Turn off all of the lights, save for those on your Christmas tree.
2. Pour yourself the beverage of your choice — anything from hot chocolate to a martini will work. I’m going with merlot.
3. Find the proper place to view your Christmas tree. This could be a favorite sofa or even the floor. I like to get as low to the floor as possible and look up at the tree.
4. Breathe.
5. Click play and enjoy “Stille Nacht,” the way it must have sounded long ago (1818), when the young priest who wrote the lyrics performed it in the quiet of his small church in an Austrian village.
Special thanks to Modern Mia Gardening for linking her blog to my Yule Tune posts. Much appreciated.
When I first heard Dean Martin’s very lounge-like version of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” I had to do a double-take. Did he just refer to Santa’s superhero as “Rudy”?
Yes, he did — and that has raised Rudolph to a whole new level of coolness in my eyes. Now, I can’t get the image of Rudy cruising down the Las Vegas Strip in a convertible with Dino, Frankie, Sammy, and other assorted Rat Packers. Never mind joining any reindeer games — if Rudy is running around with this crew of heavy hitters, I have a feeling his nose is red because of one too many martinis.
Enjoy this Christmas classic, which someone cleverly linked with clips from the Rankin/Bass TV special, originally broadcast in 1964.
Of all the carols I’ve shared over the past few weeks, none have excited me as much as this one. This is a carol that I keep close, one of my secret favorites.
I first heard “Vom Himmel hoch, da komm’ ich her” (or “From Heaven Above To Earth I Come”) decades and decades and even more decades ago while watching a Christmas special on PBS. Leontyne Price, the opera singer, took the stage — and the most majestic, most moving sound came forth. Ever since, I’ve included it on homemade Christmas mix tapes and CDs and now on an iPod playlist. It’s the carol I play late at night while looking at the Christmas tree or while driving.
The history of the carol begins long before the PBS special and Leontyne Price. The carol was written by Martin Luther — yes, the Martin Luther of Protestant Reformation fame — somewhere between 1534 and 1539 as a hymn to entertain his children during his family’s Christmas Eve gathering.
Some time during the evening, a man dressed as an angel arrived to sing the first five verses, an address to the shepherds. The children, in turn, would sing the next nine verses as the shepherds’ response, a welcoming of the birth of Jesus. The last verse was sung by the angel and the children together.
Enter Johann Sebastian Bach, who happened to have been born in the same German city where Luther translated the Bible so it could be accessible by all. The composer wrote music for the hymn — and this is the version heard here.
Translation:
1. “From heaven above to earth I come
To bear good news to every home;
Glad tidings of great joy I bring,
Whereof I now will say and sing:
2. “To you this night is born a child
Of Mary, chosen virgin mild;
This little child, of lowly birth
Shall be the joy of all the earth.
3. “This is the Christ, our God and Lord,
Who in all need shall aid afford;
He will Himself your Savior be
From all your sins to set you free.
4. “He will on you the gifts bestow
Prepared by God for all below,
That in His kingdom, bright and fair,
You may with us His glory share.
5. “These are the tokens ye shall mark:
The swaddling-clothes and manger dark;
There ye shall find the Infant laid
By whom the heavens and earth were made.”
6. Now let us all with gladsome cheer
Go with the shepherds and draw near
To see the precious gift of God,
Who hath His own dear Son bestowed.
7. Give heed, my heart, lift up thine eyes!
What is it in yon manger lies?
Who is this child, so young and fair?
The blessed Christ-child lieth there.
8. Welcome to earth, Thou noble Guest,
Through whom the sinful world is blest!
Thou com’st to share my misery;
What thanks shall I return to Thee?
9. Ah, Lord, who hast created all,
How weak art Thou, how poor and small,
That Thou dost choose Thine infant bed
Where humble cattle lately fed!
10. Were earth a thousand times as fair,
Beset with gold and jewels rare,
It yetwere far too poor to be
A narrow cradle, Lord, for Thee.
11. For velvets soft and silken stuff
Thou hast but hay and straw so rough,
Whereon Thou, King, so rich and great,
As ’twere Thy heaven, art throned in state.
12. And thus, dear Lord, it pleaseth Thee
To make this truth quite plain to me,
That all the world’s wealth, honor, might,
Are naught and worthless in Thy sight.
13. Ah, dearest Jesus, holy Child,
Make Thee a bed, soft, undefiled,
Within my heart, that it may be
A quiet chamber kept for Thee.
14. My heart for very joy doth leap,
My lips no more can silence keep;
I, too, must sing with joyful tongue
That sweetest ancient cradle-song:
15. Glory to God in highest heaven,
Who unto us His Son hath given!
While angels sing with pious mirth
A glad new year to all the earth.
For those of you who would like a more pared down version, please enjoy this performance by Cantus Thuringia & Capella.
When it comes to Christmas carols, I tend to be a traditionalist. I like them the old-fashioned way — with choirs and organs. When today’s performers sing them, I become Simon Cowell, bristling at their renditions, at their making the carol their own. I mean, why mess with perfection?
It is the rare occasion, however, when I appreciate — no, make that love — a newer version.
Take, for example, “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” I think I enjoy the carol so much because it’s intertwined with one of my favorite Christmas stories and films, A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens. When I hear the tune, I’m bundled up and walking down the snowy streets of Dickensian London. (For the record, my favorite film version is from 1951 and stars Alastair Sim.)
Here is a traditional performance, by the choirs of Bath and Winchester cathedrals.
And now for a more modern take, the finger-snapping, foot-tapping version by Barenaked Ladies and Sarah McLachlin.
It’s Friday night, and you’re remembering last week’s walk home. It was a cold, blustery night when you discovered a small gem of a jazz club.
Tonight is different. It’s warm for December — practically balmy. And your overdressed for it because this morning it was cold and you thought it wise to participate in the company’s ugly Christmas sweater day.
Now that you’re on your walk home in the December humidity, you’ve had to remove your overcoat. Your hat fell out of the coat pocket a few blocks back. And you’re mind is drifting to that jazz club, wondering who will be taking the stage tonight.
As if conjured up from your mind, the jazz club is in front of you. You walk in and are greeted by the same tatted coat check girl who’s wearing the same short red dress with faux white fur trim. This time, though, her platinum hair is pulled back and gathered in a ponytail — but her lips are still painted red to match the dress. She winks at you, the same way she winks at all of the regulars.
The orchestra is already on stage and the singer, dressed all in white, sits on a stool near the piano. The first notes play and you’re struck because you never knew a Christmas carol could be so soulful and sexy.
Nitty Gritty Dirt Man 