Really really good song--Weight of Love by The Black Keys

The intro of this song brought to mind Pink Floyd.....but this group has a sound all their own. Great song......

A hint of spring

The past few weeks have given us a hint of spring. As always, when that happens, people take for granted that the warm weather will continue, and that spring is finally here. But that is almost never the case. The warm weather does not continue; as an example, the weather predicted for this coming weekend is rain mixed with some snow, or possibly sleet. I'm guessing that Oslo will see mostly rain, but that temperatures will be chilly. A far cry from a week ago this past Sunday, when temperatures were around 70 degrees Fahrenheit. The problem with the crazy weather is that I become irritated that it goes back to being chilly. It's a reminder of just how long the winter season really is--November, December, January, February and March. Almost half the year--too long, especially when I'm eager to get started in the garden. I worked in the garden this past Sunday cleaning up and using up some of the compost soil. I placed it on one of the planting beds and mixed it into the soil from before. I will do the same for the other two planting beds this coming weekend if the weather holds. I noticed that the rhubarb stalks are starting to poke their heads through the topsoil, as are the tulips and crocuses, and the Chinese rose tree is starting to bloom. The snowdrops still look lovely. So it's just to hope that spring arrives soon, and with it, a strong sun. I'm so tired of gray skies and more gray skies and chilly weather.

Here are three photos from this past Sunday's garden visit. Enjoy......

Rhubarb starting to come up

Chinese rose tree starting to bloom

Snowdrops

Back to the garden II

As promised, some photos from yesterday's visit to the garden, and the layout of the garden as I've planned it for this year.......

space for a small greenhouse

Snowdrops blooming

a raked garden ready for planting

my plan for the garden layout

Back to the garden

I thought of the title for this post earlier today, because today was the first official day that I returned to my allotment garden in the Egebergløkka community garden. Back to the garden reminded me of the song Woodstock by Crosby Stills Nash & Young, not for any other reason than that the lyrics include a line 'And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden'. Just goes to show you what kind of associations your brain will make if you let it. But I understand wanting and needing to get myself back to the garden. I've been dreaming of it the entire winter.

I did a lot of work today to prepare the garden for this year's planting. It helped that the temperature was around 70 degrees Fahrenheit, making it that much easier to be outdoors working and enjoying the lovely weather. I spent most of the afternoon raking leaves and dead grass, removing dead plants, and putting all of it into black garbage bags. I realized how much I miss pure physical work that doesn't give you much time to think about the myriad of things that cause distress and anxiety. My friend at work says that gardening is my form of meditation. I think she's right. I have no need to sit still and meditate; I immerse myself in the necessary work of the garden and find peace. I have already measured out the area I need to install a greenhouse and marked it with stones, and am waiting for the annual board meeting that will hopefully approve the purchase of standard-size greenhouses by individual gardeners. I also need to buy a new garden hose, so I've been looking around for a good one.

I took some photos of the first flowers to show their faces in the garden this year. The Norwegians call them 'snøklokke'; in English they're called snowdrops--https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Galanthus

Galanthus (snowdrop; Greek gála "milk", ánthos "flower") is a small genus of about 20 species of bulbous perennial herbaceous plants in the family Amaryllidaceae. The plants have two linear leaves and a single small white drooping bell shaped flower with six petal-like (petaloid) tepals in two circles (whorls). The smaller inner petals have green markings........Most species flower in winter, before the vernal equinox (20 or 21 March in the Northern Hemisphere), but some flower in early spring and late autumn. 

The birds were also out in force today, chirping happily with each other. There were several butterflies as well, and a big furry bumblebee. Seeing them all made me happy. The world seems to be as it should be--all is right with the world--when nature is happy and content. Then I am happy too.

Tomorrow I will post some photos of the garden, and my layout for the garden for those of you who are interested in seeing how I am planning it.

Birds, wild animals and food and reflections on Cities (Planet Earth II)

I have been reflecting on the tendency of nature to get used to getting their food from humans. Specifically, I am thinking about the birds that sit on our balcony railing each morning, waiting for us to enter the kitchen. They ‘sense’ when we get up in the morning (don’t ask me how); I’m not sure when they arrive. I do know that they sit out there and wait, occasionally cocking their heads to see if we have entered the kitchen. They make their presence known—and that they are waiting for their daily sunflower seed handouts. I have fed them throughout the winter months, but now that spring is here, most of the birds have disappeared. I assume that they understand that they can now find food on their own. But there is one pigeon who still shows up each morning—the lone bird waiting for his ration of seeds. I am still feeding him, while wondering at the same time how long he will continue to come to us for food. Because some animals and birds get used to the handouts and perhaps no longer feel the need to find their own food. I don’t know how old this bird is, but perhaps he is older and simply tired of trying to find food on his own each day. If that is the case, I will continue to give him food. Because I know that one day he may not come back, and it could be because he has become sick or has died. I hope it will be because he has decided to not depend on us for food anymore, at least not until next winter. I do know that it would be so easy to train him, to tame him. Perhaps one day I will try to do that—when I have the time to do so and the time to follow up. I have a friend at work, an older man from Eritrea, who has done just that, with many pigeons. He told me recently that he wants to write a book about how to train pigeons, because he wants his children to carry on his work after he is gone.

One of David Attenborough’s Planet Earth II episodes, Cities, dealt with the topic of how wild animals and birds have adjusted to city life, because food is plentiful and they don’t have to spend hours scrounging for a meal. There are the hyenas in Ethiopia, who enter the city of Harar each night to receive meat from the butcher shops and city dwellers who are not afraid of them. Those were amazing scenes, but also scary ones to witness. There are the leopards in Mumbai, India who hunt the pigs and small animals on the city outskirts and in the parks by night, where humans walk. There are the monkeys in Singapore that steal fruit and vegetables from the city produce markets. There are the peregrine falcons in New York City who feed on the numerous city pigeons. And so on. Many of these animals and birds are not afraid of humans or the masses of humans in cities, and that is a good thing from the standpoint of their getting more than enough food to eat. It is a bad thing for us if some of the carnivores decide to add humans to their menu. In any case, it is interesting to observe the wild animal and bird world (from the safety of our living room couches) and to marvel at how well they adapt to the growth/expansion of cities and to the loss of their natural habitats. That is not always a good thing. I would prefer that wild creatures remain in the wild, for their sakes and for ours, but mostly theirs.

A beautiful song by Moby

Heard this song recently after not having heard it for a while--same effect on me. I love these kinds of songs--moody, reflective--both the music and lyrics. I love songs that make you feel and think about what you are feeling.






And here are the lyrics:

Porcelain
by Richard Melville Hall

In my dreams I'm dying all the time,
Then I wake it's kaleidoscopic mind
I never meant to hurt you,
I never meant to lie
So this is goodbye,
This is goodbye

Tell the truth, You've never wanted me
Tell me

In my dreams I'm jealous all the time,
When I wake I'm going out of my mind
Going out of my mind

Why I loved La La Land

If you haven’t seen La La Land, the movie musical that won and lost the Oscar for best picture in the space of a few minutes (it was mistakenly announced as Best Picture at the Oscar awards), see it. It was nominated in fourteen Oscar categories, and won ten of them (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3783958/awards). The Oscar fiasco is quickly forgotten when you slip into the world that La La Land creates. I am not a real movie musical fan—it’s not my favorite genre—but if more of these kinds of musicals are made in the coming years, I may become one. The songs in this film are lovely, catchy, bittersweet and memorable. There is an air of respect in the movie that is rare these days. It was a refreshing change to experience that level of respect for nearly everything in a film--respect for the genre, for the actors, for the plot, for jazz music, for acting, for individual dreams, for good manners, for courtship and good old-fashioned romance (more important than one often likes to admit), for serious conversations, and overall for the art of movie-making. That art is on display in full force in this movie—stylish lovely sets, historical references to the Hollywood of a bygone era and to a Los Angeles of a bygone era as well. It’s a dreamy, dreamlike film in some respects that has its feet firmly planted on the ground in most respects. Boy meets girl, they don’t get together right away, and then they do. Both are talented individuals who have big dreams, and whose pursuits of those dreams unite them in a common cause. They love each other and they want the other to succeed. And when the other doubts himself or herself, they are there to remind them of the bigger picture, the goal, the big dream. They are there to remind them to never give up. Neither of them do. I loved pretty much everything about this movie. It evoked just the right amount of nostalgia for a (presumably) more innocent time, the longing for a time in one’s life when everything was still new and untested, when love was new, when conversations between people mattered as a way of getting to know them. It illustrated the importance of striving tirelessly to achieve your dreams regardless of the outcome (not always a happy ending), of not compromising or settling for the job that gives you the most money, of believing in yourself even when everything seems to be falling apart around you or when the voice of reason is telling you to give in and settle for less. Along the way, we are treated to acting that tugs at your heartstrings (Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone were wonderful together and singly) and a story that reminds you of that time in your life when dreams and love were new and your future, largely unknown and somewhat daunting, was ahead of you. There were some really good dance numbers and some memorable songs. I found myself humming one of the songs (the one that Ryan Gosling whistles when he is walking out on the pier) on the way out of the movie theater. The director, Damien Chazelle, makes it clear that the typical Hollywood happy ending as depicted in the fantasy sequence at the end of the film is not always the ending in real life for those who achieve their dreams. Boy and girl don’t always ride off into the sunset together. We need that reminder, even though we are rooting for the couple to be together against all odds. Sometimes we experience a love when we are young that transcends us and our real lives, and we are not ready for it. Or it may simply serve another purpose—to bring out the best in ourselves and to help us achieve our dreams—and that kind of love is to be cherished for a lifetime. 

Good song

This song has an energy unlike any other......

Out of the blue

And so, out of the blue, one day before the sixteenth anniversary of my mother’s death, I received a message request on Facebook from a person I did not know. That person turned out to be my first cousin Robert, the son of my mother’s sister, Mildred, both of whom I had never met as a child. In the space of a few days, I have discovered my mother’s side of the family (a side that we had little to no contact with growing up), thanks to Robert, who has done extensive searching to create a family tree. His tremendous work organizing it has paid off. It is extremely interesting to see how large my mother’s family actually was. Her mother had five children by her first husband (who died), and then five by her second husband. Robert led me to Victoria, another first cousin, who is the daughter of my mother’s brother Joseph. The family spread beyond Brooklyn where they grew up, to New Jersey, Indiana and Maryland. Among the things I have discovered is that heart disease does not just run in my father’s family, but also in my mother’s, as many of her brothers and sisters (and father and mother) passed away due to heart conditions, strokes or kidney disease. It explains why my mother was so focused on eating healthily (little fat, few sugary desserts) and on remaining thin her entire life. It has not escaped me that I got to know that Robert existed one day before the anniversary of my mother’s death. I’d like to think that this was her way of communicating with me, perhaps to let me know that all of the secrecy and untold tales of her family are secret no longer. They are the stories of another era, when society’s constraints and rules were harsh and when there was little tolerance for lives lived outside of those constraints and rules. I understand my mother so much better now for having met Robert, and I am grateful that this opportunity was given to us.

Sunday's photographic treasures

Today was another beautiful mild winter day in Oslo--sunshine, blue skies and a spring feeling in the air. Much of the snow from yesterday's snowstorm is melting. It was good to be outdoors. We took an hour's walk down and back along the Aker River (Akerselva) and stopped into one of the river cafes near Brenneriveien for coffee before heading home. Of course I had to take some photos along the way, and here they are--no particular rhyme or reason for taking them--just that the motifs caught my eye. It can be the play of sunlight on the water, or the shadows of the trees on the snow, or the rawness of street art. I'm also including a few photos from yesterday's snowstorm when I was out walking; then it was the trees and bushes covered in snow that attracted my photographic eye. It's very cool to be out walking right before twilight. Enjoy........

the beautiful Akerselva (Aker river)

Akerselva

Akerselva

Akerselva

unsigned street art, or is BT the artist?

unsigned street art

Gamle Aker church

Kjærlighetsstien

Two songs by Gilberto Gil

Two just-about-perfect songs by Gilberto Gil--one of my favorite musicians.......I finally got to see him in concert some years ago here in Oslo, and it was such a great concert!

Touche pas à mon pote

Toda menina Bahiana

A new poem--Photo of you in a Manhattan café

This is a new poem that I wrote on the second anniversary of my brother's death. It is part of a new volume of poems that I am working on, in addition to my book about Tarrytown that I hope to be finished with this year. 

-----------------------------------------------

Photo of you in a Manhattan café  

And on this day, the second anniversary

Of your untimely death

A long-buried photo of you surfaced

Causing me to catch my breath

We had met for lunch in some downtown Manhattan café

That you frequented—eager to share with me your find

Proud that you were working there in that melee

Of New Yorkers milling about with their own kind

The contours of your face, your photogenic smile

Your youth that emanates from a decade ago

Your furtive smile, the one that could beguile

And persuade the most stubborn of us so

Your hidden secrets that remained unearthed

You did not give them willingly away

And those of us who tried to probe and came away

Unenlightened frustrated rather gone astray

If walls could talk, and photos likewise

Perhaps you would still walk upon this earth

And smile your stealthy smile for all to know

That happiness was yours, there was no dearth

copyright 2017 All rights reserved

Paula M. De Angelis 

February moments--in photos

Akerselva (Aker River)

Akerselva (Aker River)

An icy river--Akerselva in winter

From last Sunday's walking tour along the beautiful Akerselva (Aker River)--some photos of the ice in the river, nearby where we live.......

Egeberglokka Parsellhage

Those of you who have followed this blog know that we became members of a nearby community garden (an allotment garden) in March of last year. The name of the garden is Egeberglokka Parsellhage and it has a website and a Facebook page. The website has recently been updated with new photos from garden members. The website has many lovely photos of this beautiful garden (some of mine are posted there as well: a butterfly and bee photo, pumpkins photo, hollyhocks photo, and a daisies photo).

Here is the website: https://www.egeberglokka.no/

And here is the Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/Egebergl%C3%B8kka-parsellhage-632798036735972/

I'm looking forward to a new gardening season--the days are getting longer and the sun is getting stronger (and warmer) for each day that passes........

Remembering and becoming

When I started out in the work world over thirty-five years ago, I was fortunate enough to meet some very special people who became life-long friends. One of them was Edith, who was already in her mid-50s when I met her. She was the head secretary for the department I worked in at the Public Health Research Institute of the City of New York, and we became friends immediately. She was a friendly and outgoing woman who made everyone she met feel welcome and at home. I would say she was one of the most hospitable people I have ever known. She was a born and bred New Yorker who lived in Manhattan most of her life. She married and raised two children in a spacious apartment in the Stuyvesant Town–Peter Cooper Village, a large, post-World War II development of residential apartments on the east side of Manhattan. That apartment is where I visited her many times on my annual trips to New York, and it is where she suffered the stroke that eventually took her life at the age of 91. She had many opportunities to leave Manhattan, to move to the suburbs to be with her daughter and her daughter’s husband, but she chose not to. She remained independent until the day she died. I remember my last visit with her a few months before she passed away; she was waiting for me at the door of her apartment as I got off the elevator, and although she was very unsteady on her feet, she insisted on serving coffee and some pastries. And when I left her apartment a few hours later, she held onto my arm as we walked toward the door. Sometimes, before it got too difficult for her to walk, we would leave her apartment and walk to the nearby diner to have lunch--one of her favorite places because it made veggie burgers that were out of this world. And then we would walk slowly home again. It was always a bittersweet moment to say goodbye, much like when I said goodbye to my mother after one of my annual visits, not knowing if I would see them again, but hoping against hope that I would. Edith was a truly generous soul, who helped a lot of newcomers at work, who helped her children and grandchildren, and who took care of her husband who was afflicted with Alzheimer’s until she could no longer manage his care by herself. My memories of her are very pleasant; she and Virginia, another secretary at the institute and one of Edith’s close friends, both taught me how to make an apple-cranberry pie for the first Thanksgiving I ever prepared food for. It was the first such pie I had ever made; we made it at work during our lunch hour one dreary day in November, and I carried it home with me on the subway that evening. Unfortunately, I dropped the pie onto the subway platform and the glass pie plate shattered, and I ended up having to make the pie again when I got home. But at least I had learned how to do it. In return, I taught her how to use the newest word-processing program on her work computer. She was open to most new developments, was interested in the world around her, and very well-read. She loved to go to Shakespeare in the Park and to the opera and ballet. She and Virginia came to the church when I married for the first time (very young); when I later got divorced, she told me that it was no surprise to her, as she had not had a good feeling about my marriage from day one. She was honest that way, and it was good to hear it. If you asked for advice, you got it. I asked for advice when I needed it, because I knew it would be reasonable and smart.

I thought about Edith recently because I realized in one of those moments when certain insights make themselves known, that I have overtaken her role for some of the younger people I know, some of whom are at least twenty-five years younger than I am. The age difference between me and Edith was much larger, over thirty-five years, but it never bothered me. I hardly thought about it. That was the way I was raised. I had older parents and my relationship with the both of them was very good. They were my parents first, and then my friends. I assume that the younger people I know feel the same about me as I did about Edith; the age difference does not matter. Why should it? We are able to discuss books, music, movies and so many other things that interest us. I like a lot of the current music and literature; they like a lot of the music I grew up with, as well they should since it is really amazing music and an amazing era in which to grow up. We need role models to show us how to grow older. I had them, and I hope that I can be one for the younger people with whom I have become friends.

A New Yorker in Oslo was quoted on a Tarrytown NY website

So happy to see that something I wrote about the Tarrytown Lakes on A New Yorker in Oslo was actually used on the My Tarrytown Bike It! website, which by the way is a very interesting website. You can bet that I want to do some of the bike trips listed here! Check it out......

http://www.mytarrytown.com/t-town-lakes-extension/

Cookie man

I made hermit cookies last night (raisin spice cookies) and discovered one cookie on the cooling rack that definitely didn't look like the rest of them! Definitely not planned......but cute.

A favorite photo of my brother

Today is the second anniversary of my brother Ray's death. I was looking through old photos during this past weekend and came across a few of him from November 2005 (he had just turned 45 in August of that year). I had met Ray for lunch in Manhattan; that was something we often did when I came to NY to visit. I would meet him for lunch for a couple of hours as his 'business client', and then we would join the whole family in the evening of the same day or on a separate day. It was always nice to have some alone time with him; we always had some interesting conversations about how he enjoyed being a father to two children, our family, the work world, politics and history. He was an avid history buff and a real font of knowledge when it came to American history. He would have made a good history teacher. This photo is one of my favorites; he was happy and smiling (my mother would have said--look at his dimples) and relaxed. It wasn't often that he had the chance to relax.

On Monday of this week, a woman from our old neighborhood in Tarrytown (Tappan Landing Road), Bridget, passed away from cancer. She was the sweet daughter of the older woman, Philomena, who used to care for my mother in her later years. Just like my brother, Bridget was 54 when she passed away. They died two days and two years apart, but at the same age. I'd like to think that they're both in heaven now, happy and at peace.

What May Sarton said

So many of her reflections resonate with me..............


---------------------------------------------
“Without darkness, nothing comes to birth, As without light, nothing flowers.”

"Whatever peace I know rests in the natural world, in feeling myself a part of it, even in a small way.....To go with, not against the elements, an inexhaustible vitality summoned back each day to do the same tasks, to feed the animals, clean out barns and pens, keep that complex world alive."

“The more articulate one is, the more dangerous words become.”

“I can tell you that solitude
Is not all exaltation, inner space
Where the soul breathes and work can be done.
Solitude exposes the nerve,
Raises up ghosts.
The past, never at rest, flows through it.”

“There is no doubt that solitude is a challenge and to maintain balance within it a precarious business. But I must not forget that, for me, being with people or even with one beloved person for any length of time without solitude is even worse. I lose my center. I feel dispersed, scattered, in pieces. I must have time alone in which to mull over my encounter, and to extract its juice, its essence, to understand what has really happened to me as a consequence of it.”

“Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is richness of self.”

“We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.”

“A house that does not have one worn, comfy chair in it is soulless.”

“The moral dilemma is to make peace with the unacceptable.”

“It is harder for women, perhaps to be 'one-pointed,' much harder for them to clear space around whatever it is they want to do beyond household chores and family life. Their lives are fragmented... the cry not so much for a 'a room of one's own' as time of one's own. Conflict become acute, whatever it may be about, when there is no margin left on any day in which to try at least to resolve it.”

“I always forget how important the empty days are, how important it may be sometimes not to expect to produce anything, even a few lines in a journal. A day when one has not pushed oneself to the limit seems a damaged, damaging day, a sinful day. Not so! The most valuable thing one can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of a room.”

“Most people have to talk so they won't hear.”