Faded Rose

This is one of those "back-burner" thoughts. I've thought it strange that people would study a person that has died, finding out about their life, and maybe even idolizing them.

I've been thinking about my late grandfather, William Isaac. I have faint memories of him, but he died before I really got to know him. However, as I've gathered details of his life, I've become quite fascinated. And disappointed, too, that I couldn't have known him better. From what I've heard, he was different, and not in a bad way. He and Grandma always had time to listen to people. He was given first class service at the local china store because he would buy. He loved to give china to Grandma. He was an expert gardener. His favourite flower was a yellow rose; yellow because that was one colour that his colour-blindness didn't cheat him on. As Grandma's vision failed, he was the one that would cook for them. He replaced his Bibles not because he misused them or misplaced them, but because they actually wore out. 

I've found connections between his interests and my interests. I love skating, and my mom says that he was a wiz on skates. Biking was his favourite type of exercise, just as it is for me. I love to sing and so did he. He led songs until his hearing made it difficult to understand selections from the benches. He enjoyed writing and was a skilled writer, especially of poems. I find poetry difficult to conquer, but it doesn't stop me from enjoying writing. I think I get my "Isaac" walking posture from him as well. But best of all, he served the same God I do. By faith, I will see him again someday. 

Not surprisingly, people haven't mentioned his faults. I doubt he was faultless, but my fascination continues. So I want to say something to all of you that can still speak to your grandparents: get to know them, or get to know them better. And love them especially much for me.

Big Little Orchestra

You don't have to pay a penny to hear it; just a bit of your time. Until this year, I had no idea that the big little orchestra didn't start until late summer. Since it's that season now, though, I hear it all the time: while sitting and reading, while driving in the evening, or while dozing off at night.

"A stream of tender gladness,
Of filmy sun, and opal tinted skies;
Of warm midsummer air that lightly lies
In mystic rings,
Where softly swings 
The music of a thousand wings 
That almost tones to sadness."

     E. Pauline Johnson

The verse above is from the poem "Shadow River: Muskoka." The italicized lines mention the big little orchestra: big in the area it covers, little in the size of its members. This verse scatters delicious chills all over my skin... The second verse, not shown here, points to the future, to a time when I will "float upon a sapphire floor." I can hardly wait.

O Canada

In honour of Canada Day, I'm posting the lyrics of our national anthem in their original language - French.  Surprisingly enough, the English lyrics that we know so well aren't a literal translation at all. Anyway, these words were written by Lieutenant Governor of Quebec Théodore Robitaille in 1880. Enjoy!

Ô Canada!
Terre de nos aïeux,
Ton front est ceint de fleurons glorieux!
Car ton bras sait porter l'épée,
Il sait porter la croix!
Ton histoire est une épopée
Des plus brillants exploits.
Et ta valeur, de foi trempée,
Protégera nos foyers et nos droits.
Protégera nos foyers et nos droits.

And this is what a literal translation looks like:

O Canada!
Land of our forefathers,
Thy brow is wreathed with a glorious garland of flowers.
As is thy arm ready to wield the sword,
So also is it ready to carry the cross.
Thy history is an epic
Of the most brilliant exploits.
Thy valour steeped in faith
Will protect our homes and our rights
Will protect our homes and our rights