"HARD TIMES COME AGAIN NO MORE"

My long-time friend The Blog Fodder recently drew my attention to Stephen Collins Foster's plaintive "Hard Times Come Again No More."

It's s song of hope amidst hopelessness, I think. While the song dates from 1854, the images connected to Mavis Staples rendition come from the 1930s in the U.S.A. But as Da Blog Fodder notes, "I could find pictures every bit as tragic today here in rural Ukraine or any part of the FSU" (Former Soviet Union).

The song is posted on You Tube.  The words by themselves are cause for reflection.

If Stephen Foster's name seems familiar to you, I'm not surprised. You would associate him with such songs as, "Oh, Susanna," "Camptown Races," "Beautiful Dreamer," "Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair," as well as "Old Black Joe," Old Kentucky Home," and "Old Folks at Home" (often called "Suwannee River").

Foster was born in Pennsylvania in 1826, and lived all his life in the Northern States. While he had some education, he never finished college. Though he did some musical writing during his youth, it wasn't until he became bookkeeper for this brother's steamship line in 1846 that he began to focus on his music.

Foster eventually married and moved to New York. Yet he made little money, as publishers often paid him nothing for his work that they printed. His wife, with their daughter, eventually left him, and he died with three pennies in his pocket, at the age of 37, in 1864.

Ironically, in 1854, the same year as Foster's song, British author Charles Dickens began work on his tenth novel, which he published in serial form that year. In it, Dickens described the effect of The Industrial Revolution on the life of England's poor, the working conditions of those who laboured in what William Blake called "the dark Satanic mills," and the massive gap between the life styles of factory owners and those who made the fortunes for those owners. It was the beginning of the industrial gap between "the rich" and "the rest of us" — the gap which still plagues our world today. 

Dickens' novel: Hard Times.

REMEMBRANCE DAY

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row, . . .

(Capt. John McRae)

 

I have an uncle buried there,

my Mom's oldest brother,

wounded in the battle for Vimy Ridge,

who died a few days later

from his wounds 

in a Canadian field hospital.

HOCKEY AT OUR HOUSE

Not quite the Stanley Cup, or the World Cup of Hockey, or the Olympics. Just good old street hockey.

Yesterday, it rained. Then it snowed.

This morning, a wonderfully icy world.

But I don't think we are going to have it for long. The temperature is 1°C — meaning that everything is melting. Slowly. Very slowly.

While there might still be some wonderful options for hockey, driving is a totally different matter. Will I be taking the car out today? I don't think so. We'll wait until the city crews start to do some sanding on the main streets.

Instead, my beloved J, Her Ladyship, Miss Sadie, and I will be resting at home. I can turn on the gas stove to keep the basement warm. We've got lots of books to read, and there are a few household chores to which we can attend. Or we can just sit and visit. The joys of being housebound. Well, briefly housebound.

First, though, I'll make sure the walk is cleaned a bit, to our letter carried doesn't fall on our walk while trying to deliver our mail.

(For the French version of this story, you can check today's edition of Le Jour en Français.)

LE JOUR EN FRANCAIS (The Day in French)

If any of you have doubts about my sanity, this should remove those doubts very quickly.

I have started yet another blog. But it is going to be very different.

It will be entirely in French!

As I have mentioned to some (perhaps all) of you in the past, Canada has two official languages: English and French. Particularly at the national level, one can ask for, and expect to receive, assistance in the language of your choice: English or French. If, as a government employee, you hope to reach the highest levels in government service, you need to be fluent in both official languages. That is even becoming true in middle management — at least the process is beginning.

So, to improve my French, as a retirement project, I'm going to work intentionally on my French.

I realize this new blog will hold very little interest for many of you who follow the Bear's adventures, and misadventures (especially misadventures). But for some, whose first language is French, or who have learned French over the years, it may hold mild interest (and an opportunity to help an old Bear learn his nation's other official language). And, yes; I would really appreciate any help you could give me!

There are translation buttons available, so you could have the computer translate the French to English, for your reading "enjoyment" (which is to say your chance to laugh at the Bear). Unfortunately (or fortunately) none of those translation services works on a Mac (so far as I know).

Bye of now. Or, in French, A la prochaine!

GOING . . .

Going . . .

  

Going . . .

  

  

Gone!!!

  

 

Yes, 'tis true!

Our trusty Volvo Estate Wagon has gone to "the great parking lot in the sky," or wherever old, crushed vehicles go.

 

It never had a name. We never thought to give it one, referring to it only as "The Wagon." Almost seems a bit disrespectful, in retrospect.

  

Anyhow, it was burning oil that was leaking through the turbo-charger. It would have cost about four times what "The Wagon" was worth to repair the turbo, and the mechanics couldn't guarantee the replacement turbo would work properly. Besides, it wasn't entirely easy on gas consumption. 

  

Now, the government, in its wisdom, had developed a plan, a scheme, to get older vehicles of this type off the road. It was called "Retire Your Ride." (No; that didn't mean putting on a new set of tires.)  

 

The process was simple enough. Turn in your vehicle, and get cash, or bus passes, or other "rewards." In our case, Cdn$300.00. Because I'm now eligible to get senior's bus passes, getting the cash and then getting bus passes worked out best.

   

So now we're down to one car. And two bicycles. If my son, his wife, and our grandchildren (gasp!) can ride their bikes 12 months a year, in rain, sun and snow, why can't I? I do have to be a bit careful about that; my beloved J might conclude that such behaviour on my part would warrant getting the chaps in white coats to come along and take me away (ho ho hee hee ha haaa). Seriously, though, a senior's bus pass is a lot less expensive than licensing, and insuring and, maintaining a car or wagon for a year. If we lived on a manor (or small holding) in the country, we'd probably need two vehicles, But in the city, no. 

If you're in Canada, have you considered recycling you old ride?

WHOA! WHAT'S HAPPENING?

What is this bright light shining into my den?

What's this puddle of water beside where I'm sleeping?

Spring already?

Can't be; I haven't lost any weight.

OK. I'm out of my den, but the sun is way too bright. It's hard on my eyes. I'll look the other way.

Right. Clear blue sky — gorgeous! Sunny and warm. I'll bet it's 15°C. And the snow is all gone.

Time to stretch way up, and yawn, and shake my head, and try to come alive.

There are a couple of squirrels, running around the spruce trees, checking for any more seed cones.

I hear a chickadee, and a nuthatch. There are two thieving magpies chasing each other, practically right in front of my face. I hear a Blue Jay, right, . . . oh, there he is.

There's a Mountain Ash tree, with quite a few bright orange berries. I must have missed that one. Yeah; I was getting pretty dozy.

Seeing as I'm up, I might as well have something to eat. Those berries will be tasty.

Oh, but I'm stiff already. Grumble, trundle, mumble, trundle, mumble. …

Sigh.

I really hate it when my solar alarm clock goes off at the wrong time!

HIBERNATION (or, Hi-Bear-nation)

Yes, it is getting to be that time of year. Colder temperatures; the arrival of snow. I'm very sleepy, and I'm getting foggy-brained.

Hibernation time. 

I've got a really nice den picked out. The foxes used it over the summer for their family home, but they have moved on. This is good. I've tried it out, again, and it's good!

Unlike some other animals, Bears are not "true" hibernators. We don't really pack it in for the whole winter. Like other animals who go into hibernation, our whole bodies (metabolism) slow down, and we live on stored energy. But, on nice days, we come out of our dens, to stretch and enjoy the sunshine, and maybe grab a snack.

So if you don't see me around as much, don't worry; I've just gone into hibernation. And if I show up at your place, don't panic; it's just too nice a day to be sleeping.

And, lest you be concerned, I've made contingency plans for Her Ladyship, Miss Sadie. She will receive excellent care; no question. She may even come to my den to sleep for the night.

See you in the spring, or perhaps earlier. I hope you have a good winter!

Footnote:
Not only is everything covered with ice and snow, this is the first day on which the high temperature for the day will be zero°C, or less.