On the third day of the Christmas Show

 

On the third day of the Christmas Show
My true love gave to me
Three Tangy Lime
Two Crunchy Gherkins
And a Hot Eggplant
In a Pear tree.

On the second day of the Christmas Show

 

On the second day of the Christmas Show
My true love gave to me
Two Crunchy Gherkins
And a Hot Eggplant in a pear tree.

One the first day of the Christmas Show

 

One the first day of the Christmas Show

My true love gave to me,
A Hot Eggplant in a pear tree.

Y-NOT TONY?

"When I used to DJ in my younger years, my name surprised people (particularly those who are not educated on the existence of Catholicism, Christianity and Portuguese colonization in India). I often got asked "TONY!?! Is that your REAL name?" To which I would respond "Y-NOT?"

COACH

CHEVROLET

HandMade Market, Honsberger Estate, Jordan, Ontario

THOUGH POPPIES GROW IN FLANDERS FIELDS

LEST WE FORGET - They shall not grow old...

REMEMBERING THE WAR DEAD EVERYWHERE

Lest we forget - They shall grow not old,

as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them,

nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun

and in the morning,

we will remember them.

'LEST WE FORGET'

          Lest We Forget - three words renowned across most countries to show remembrance of those who have fought, and those who have died fighting for freedom. It means that we will never forget.

          In Canada, the day is honoured by wearing poppies, a flower that bloomed throughout the fields of battle grounds in France and Belgium during World War I.

          The wearing of the symbol of the poppy was made popular due to the poem, Flanders Fields, written by Canadian physician and Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae after witnessing his friend and fellow soldier struck down in the midst of battle in WWI.

In the poem by John McCrae 'In Flanders Fields' poppies are referred to, but why poppies?

The answer is simple:
Poppies only flower in rooted up soil. Their seeds can lie on the ground for years and years. They will sprout only when someone roots up the ground. Battlefields during the war, churned up the soil while dead soldiers laid on the ground and the poppies blossomed.

In Flanders Fields

(my favourite poem)

by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

Canadian Lieutenant Col. John Alexander McCrae was born in McCrae House in Guelph, Ontario to Lieutenant-Colonel David McCrae and Janet Simpson Eckford; he was the grandson of Scottish immigrants. He attended the Guelph Collegiate Vocational Institute and became a member of the Guelph militia regiment. The background of his family is military. Poet, physician, author, artist and soldier during World War I, and a surgeon during the battle of Ypres, a Municipality in Flanders, Belgium. He is best known for writing the above war memorial poem.

MY LOVING MOM

 

My Loving Mom

 Sebastiana Pereira e Fernandes
 

Born: 10th November 1913
Died: 23th August 1974

 She would have been
101
years of age today.

 HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM.

 



THE STORY OF THE VIOLIN (How it came into my life)

THE STORY OF THE VIOLIN

....and how it came into my life.

For me the violin had always been one of those musical instruments that I always wanted to learn to play since childhood, but never really got down to learning it until I was into my early fifties. I remember that I often mentioned this to my children. "Someday I must learn to play the violin", I had often said.

And then so it came to pass that it was the eve of one my birthdays when I was about to go to sleep. Around midnight I hear a knock on the door. It is my eldest daughter Denise at the door. She is about to push a huge cardboard box that has a picture, and all the markings of a barbecue grill. She says "Happy Birthday Dad", and I say "... but we already have a barbecue".

My daughter then insists that I open the taped-up box which, after some reluctance and hesitation, I do open. Placed at a slant in that box is what looks like a violin case. And I am left speechless, dumb-founded and surprised. After all, for sure, I think that it is a violin that is in the box. Then I am handed a birthday card. And I am baffled as to how on earth at my age am I going to learn what is supposed to be a such a difficult musical instrument. Then I open the envelope containing the birthday card and inside there is pre-paid 12-lesson violin course from Merriam School of Music, which once again leaves me wondering and guessing what all the young violin learners at the school are going to think of me when I walk into the music class. Will they think that I am teaching the art of playing violin? Or am I a late starter in learning to play the violin? Or will they think that I am perhaps accompanying someone younger to the school?

The following week after my birthday, it was my first day, first lesson, at the renowned Merriam School of Music in Mississauga. I walked boldly through the revolving doors. As soon as I stepped in, I hesitantly and nervously looked around me holding my violin case in my right hand, and following the guidance from the receptionist and signs leading to the first floor, proceeded to my class.

I was expecting a room full of violin enthusiasts supervised by an older teacher. But I entered into a mid-size room with no one else in there. A minute later, in walked a young girl who I thought was a student, but I soon realised that she wasn't. She was, in fact, my teacher. She was as old as my daughter. She was going to be my teacher for the next 12 lessons. This was a hands-on crash-course it seemed.

After my first one-hour lesson I was quite at ease. I went around the school. As I walked and passed through the corridors of this prestigious school of musical learning, I heard different sounds of instruments apparently seeping out of the rooms. On my way down through the lobby, there were much older people than I was at the time, holding cases of what looked surely like violins, guitars, and mandolins or perhaps other instruments. And oh! my, how glad was I, that I was not alone!

The following 3 months I assigned myself the task of practising, thanks for the basement, where no one could hear the initial squeaks, but myself and the basement walls. And four months later found myself playing at a party.

Thanks to my loving daughter, Denise. 



AUTUMN - A GRAND FINALE TO A GLORIOUS SUMMER, Caledon, Ontario

 

~ AUTUMN ~

A GRAND FINALE TO A GLORIOUS SUMMER,

Caledon, Ontario

 

An early morning drive through the serene country-side, the air is still, the trees seemingly still hanging on desperately with colourful foliage of late autumn hues, thus making up for the dull skies.

 

Prepping for the winter.

 

Bowing to the forces of nature

 

By the forlorn road in the country-side under a cloudy sky, some trees seem to be prepping themselves earlier than others, shedding their leaves, getting ready for winter, lest they should find themselves unexpectedly burdened by snow.

One tree at the cross-roads in a serene area in Caledon, Ontario, seems to have stood the test of time, bowing under the pressures of the wind, while another in its vicinity seems to have succumbed to the brutal forces of nature during the last winter.

NO LOAFING AROUND IN LOAFER'S LAKE - BRAMPTON, ON

Loafer's Lake, Brampton, ON.

 Geese are taking off. No more loafing around. Perhaps due to a sudden change in the weather. The leaves on the trees still in myriad colourful hues, were caught unawares and unprepared, bewildered and perplexed just like I was, as snow fell in the fall this year..
 

 

 

 



MEANWHILE IN CANADA