Hohner 'Puck' Harmonica

Hohner Hot Metal

Hohner Big River Harp

Chrometta 12 255 Hohner Harmonica

Marine Band B-flat

M. Hohner

Marine Band B-Flat

TONFERNS THROUGH THE AGES

TONFERNS THROUGH THE AGES

I can’t remember any speeches anymore. You know I’m sixty-five. So I have to read them.

I thank my wife Edna for her love and understanding, for her dedication in bringing up our children well, for her encouragement in all my aspirations and for her constant companionship and steadfast support during the last 37 years.

I thank my children for their love and respect, and care and support.

Denise is always there for us, and is able to come up with the most logical solutions and the most elaborate surprises.

Denzil is very loving and always passionate about whatever he does. And he is always there when we need him. He also comes up with convenient solutions that somehow always involve the use of computer technology.

Dahlia is ever present to keep our spirits high with her music, humour and energy.  I am blessed and my life is full of love and friendship.

My parents are no longer living, but I owe them for the good life that I have today. They made sure that I got an education, but more importantly nurtured me with their love.

Lately my friends have been saying: “Hey, Tony, you don’t look sixty-five”. At this point in time I’d like to mention that I owe my youthful looks to Edna’s wonderful cooking.

Nevertheless, since I really can’t believe like most of you that I’m sixty-five – I insist on a recount.

They say when you are sixty-five you first tend to forget names; then you forget faces; then you forget to zip up your fly; and then you forget to unzip your fly. But my dear relative and friends, you will never be forgotten. Thank you for your friendship during all these years.

I must say that being sixty-five was not easy – it took me 23,801.5 days to get here, including that extra day in leap years . Having been born in the roaring forties, life has been a great experience - studying through the swinging fifties, donning a Beatles haircut and sailing to Dubai in the sixties, getting married in the fabulous seventies, and learning to manage kids through the rocking eighties and digital nineties and completion of a great and fantastic decade in the 21^st century.

Now, it’s time to look on the brighter side.

From today I shall presume that I am twenty with 45 years experience.

Convert that into Celsius and it should be about 17 without wind-chill.

From now on I shall select only sweet tunes as they say the older the fiddle sweeter the tune. Or it may be the same fiddler, same fiddle, but a different tune. 

Have you ever wondered why sixty-five is considered as a great mile stone?

It’s very simple my friends - because if we were to count age in kilometres I would have been 104 years old today. Besides, who'd want to live that long eh?

Days of inflation are long gone for me. Inflation was supposed to be when I paid fifteen dollars for the ten-dollar haircut when I had hair. I wasn't a show-off, but keeping the barber happy with a 50% tip meant that a good hair-cut was very important in my younger days. But inflation or no inflation – now I don’t have to worry about rising cost of hair-cuts, or even try to get mileage from my hair any more. And besides, a good collection of hats does the rest!

Finally, I’d like to say that today, as I embark on yet another 365-day journey around the sun, with wonderful friends and a loving family, I look forward to a wonderful year ahead. And after having completed 65 of these round trips already, which incidentally means a lot of experience, I am happy to be alive to tell the tale. I thank the Lord for a good life, a good wife, beautiful kids and excellent friends.

VILLAGE CHAPEL FEASTS, GOA, India

Feasts in Goa are commonly celebrated in almost each and every chapel or church dedicated to the village patron saint.  It is customary that these feasts be celebrated by the “President” who bears all the expenses involved. In the absence of a president the village celebrates the feast by subscriptions from the people of their particular villages.

Of Village Chapel Feasts

It was the day of the feast of their patron saint in the village chapel. The chapel bell rang at 5 o’clock in the morning. The young boy had told his mother the previous night before going to sleep, to wake him up before five o’clock that morning, as he was very anxious to hear the band play the “Alvorada” soon after the bell. He did not want to miss hearing the tune he liked so much.

No sooner the pealing of the bell fell silent than the band started to play his favourite tune in full swing. It could be very clearly heard in the pre-dawn serenity and calmness of the morning, in spite of the chapel being quit a distance away from where he lived. The music sounded great and the boy was breathless trying to catch each and every note so that he could remember and hum it to himself later. Or perhaps one day he would learn to play it himself on an instrument like his neighbour did, he thought.

He would not go back to sleep again. He had to be on time for the first Mass as he had been selected to serve as one of the altar boys. On the way to the chapel he would try and memorize and repeat the Latin words to himself as he did not want to get them wrong or reply out of turn. In those days the Mass liturgy was in Latin.

As he neared the chapel in the misty early morning dawn, a girl dressed in her best approached running to the young lad, and picking a tiny paper flower from her small and neatly decorated basket, she pinned it on his shirt. Reaching in his pocket he deposited a coin in her basket for which she thanked him. This money was collected for the poor.

There used to be a lot of other Mass services that were held by the hour especially on feast days. The solemn high mass would start at 10 o’clock in the morning along with a lot of fanfare, pealing of bells, firing of crackers and the boom of the “khozne”.

There were lot of small stalls already lined up by the side of the chapel selling all sorts of things, sweets of different types, roasted gram, fire-crackers, balloon and toys.

The boy would never miss the concelebrated high mass by priests from other parishes specially chosen and invited for the occasion by the celebrant of the feast. More importantly this mass was never to be missed because there was special choir along with orchestral backing of various musical instruments like the oboe, flute, piccolo, clarinet, fife, cello, violin and the double bass.

The choir master tried to do his best waving his baton while he directed the choir of talented youngsters. The boy greatly admired so many voices blended so well together singing high and lows, first, second and thirds. Some of those faces of the boys in the choir were new to the boy. Perhaps they were chosen from another parish, he thought. Next year or perhaps even after that he would be selected and trained was his wishful thought.

A well known priest, famous for his thundering sermons,  had been summoned for the grand high mass. He began by first invoking the patron saint to shower his blessings on the celebrant and his family, the villagers and their guests. He admired the beauty of the old chapel and praised the organizers for doing such a good job in decorating the chapel. He then intoned a short verse from the Scriptures in Latin that echoed through the chapel and followed with a brief explanation of the same. The sermon seemed quite long.

Otherwise the people would say it was very short. If it was short the people would say that he did not say anything at all. He was wiping the sweat off his face every now and then with his hand kerchief which he tucked in the broad sleeves of his vest while his black cap rested on the edge of the pulpit. He was a very good preacher, well prepared, loud and clear, and said everything to the point.

Twice in between his sermon he did say a verse again in Latin, words which he had especially chosen from the Scripture and gave a brief explanation of the same while outside the chapel, in the stalls, there was a lot of activity which was normal and usual during these types of feasts.

Then there was Holy Communion and Benediction during which the choir sang a beautiful and solemn rendition of “O Salutaris”. Later at the grand procession, the boy along with the other altar boys were walking at the front of the procession line, which was led by the celebrant carrying a holy banner of the day’s saint with Latin insignia written on it, followed by an assortment of clergy, confraria in their purple and red “opmus”, the villagers and their guests from far and near, while the chapel bells tolled amidst the sound of Gregorian chants that the band played trudging along last in the line.

After the Mass was over the boy, everyone wished “Happy Feast” to everyone else. Later as was customary the boy gave alms to the poor who lined up outside the chapel holding coconut  shells in their hands. One of them, a frail old man said to the boy: “May you become a big and clever boy” And another old man with a cane said: “May God give you good health and a good job when you become big”. The boy wished he could distribute more change to the rest of them but he needed the change himself that was left. He did not want to run short. So the boy then bought a small toy car for himself which he had seen and selected before the high mass services could begin. He had saved little money to buy it. Also his mother and grandmother had given him some money, saying: “Hey, son, this is for you, for the feast”. He used that money for some roasted gram and sweets and went on his way home for a great lunch that awaited him.

While he walked home through the winding road through the fields and  villages  people were lighting crackers and some of them said to him from their balconies: “ Happy Feast, come for the feast to our house” to which the boy replied “You must come to our house, Happy Feast to you too.”

As he kept on walking home he thought to himself: “THE FEAST IS OVER”.

ADIEU TO 2011

Once again, we say adieu to a year that seemed to have just passed by us so quickly and it is time now to usher in yet another. Each year we wish and pray for peaceful days ahead, free from turmoil, war, natural disasters. Some folks happily attend parties, family get-together, large social gatherings in communities irrespective of caste or religion to celebrate the new year. Some may be thinking of their loved ones who were with them in the last year, and as fate has it, many of us do not with us today those that we loved to share in those happy moments of yesteryear.

We cherish the good old days when we attended New Year’s Eve Ball and house parties that followed. That was the norm. Today as we are much older, we can’t help but reminisce about the good old days, and the good times we had then and those that we shared with our friends, some of whom sadly are not longer with us. Some times I tend to ask myself why we refer to those days as the good old days. Conversely, I believe that the days are the same, the only difference being that we are getting older.

Poignantly though and quite aptly, some of us may reminisce once again in forming a circle with our friends at the Ball, waiting for the count-down at the stroke of midnight and singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’.

At the same time, in true fashion of “Old Long Ago’ we take time to re-kindle cherished memories of our loving Fredrick and Benny Barboza and all other dear departed relatives and friends.

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and days of old lang syne.

CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

CHANGING OF THE SEASONS, Mississauga, Ontario, Canada

CHANGING OF THE SEASONS

~ A BUILDING'S PROGRESS ~

This is no trick photography, but the changing scene of a lone building through the course of the years 1998 - 1999 in Mississauga, Canada.

Digital photography wasn't in vogue yet, hence the dim and faded glow of a decade-old scanned photographs, shot on film with an SLR Camera from the 12th floor window of an Apartment Building on Mississauga Valley Blvd., Mississauga, Ontario, Canada.

SPRING

SUMMER

EARLY FALL

FALL

LATE FALL

WINTER

Please listen to 
Glen Campbell singing
Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall

Kindly click on the following link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_U56pFysXk


Thanks for listening.

REMEMBERING FREDRICK BARBOZA

REMEMBERING

FREDRICK CHARLES BARBOZA
3rd Death Anniversary

Lyricist, Composer, Singer, Actor

30.11.1930 - 28 December 2008

(in Photograph with Antonette & Late Romeo Mendes - actors and singers of the Konkani Stage) 

2nd Cassette produced by Mr. Freddy Barboza

Season's Greetings

Season's Greetings

NATIVITY SCENE - Tonferns Creations

WISHING EVERYONE A JOYOUS CHRISTMAS

CARTOONIST MARIO MIRANDA

Mario João Carlos do Rosario de Brito Miranda (2 May 1926 – 11 December 2011), popularly known as Mario Miranda or Mario de Miranda, was an Indian cartoonist based in Loutolim in the Indian state of Goa. He was awarded the Padma Bhushan in 2002, and Padma Shri in 1988.

Miranda had been a regular with The Times of India and other newspapers in Mumbai, including The Economic Times, though he got his popularity with his works published in The Illustrated Weekly of India.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mario_Miranda

LET'S GET IT RIGHT

I'M A FRIEND OF LANSDOWNE!

http://www.letsgetitright.ca/

Ottawa

Edna's Pickles in Toronto Life

'MISSISSAGOAN'

Edna's Pickles have been featured in Toronto Life.

http://bit.ly/t3UBe8

Excellent Job

WHAT A FINE ACCOLADE:

Customer after trying about a thousand samples,

(and after an unsuccessful sale) had the following to say:

You’re doing an excellent job!

Lansdowne Park, Ottawa

Resilient Artisans at Craft Shows

THERE”S ALWAYS SOMETHING:

Artisans somehow have always been resilient to the brunt of adverse conditions: If it’s not a bad spot, then its floor. If it’s not the rain, then it’s the blistering heat. If it’s not the low turn out, then it’s the gale force winds that blow over tents, and at times there's everything combined.

Bring it on!

Aberdeen Pavilion, Lansdowne Park, Ottawa

Ottawa

EDNA'S PICKLES, One of a Kind Show Christmas 2011

OOAK Toronto

Direct Energy Centre, Toronto.

One of A Kind Show, Direct Energy Centre, Toronto

FAIR NOVEMBER ARTS & CRAFT SHOW AT UNIVERSITY OF GUELPH

ART & SCULPTURE AT THE DISTILLERY HISTORIC DISTRICT, TORONTO

The CN Tower

(View from the Parliament Street, Distillery Historic District)

12 FLAVOURS FOR TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

CHRISTMAS AT EDNA'S PICKLES

Twelve Flavours of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas

My true love gave to me

An Eggplant in a pear tree

-------

On the second day of Christmas

My true love gave to me

Two Crunchy Gherkins

And an Eggplant in a pear tree

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

On the third day of Christmas

My true love gave to me

Three Tangy Limes

Two Crunchy Gherkins

And an Eggplant in a pear tree

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

On the fourth day of Christmas

My true love gave to me

Four Pear Chutneys

Three Tangy Limes

Two Crunchy Gherkins

And an Eggplant in a pear tree.

-----------

On the fifth day of Christmas

My true love gave to me......

(Carry on with all 12 flavours of Edna’s Pickles)

5 Super Spicy Mango

6 Mild Mango

7 Zucchini Special

8 Hot Triple Mix

9 Mango & Gherkin Mix

10 Sweet Lime

11 Sweet Mango Mash

12 Cranberry Delight

ON THE STREET WHERE I LIVE

Fruits Galore

REMEMBRANCE DAY

In Flanders Fields

(my favourite poem)

by John McCrae

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.

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.

Guirim-ville

Guirim is a small town in the district of Bardez, north-western part of Goa, India, south of the city of Mapusa, and 12 km north of the capital city, Panjim. Local village affairs are handled by the Panchayat system, under the Mamlatdar's Office located at Mapusa. The village lies west of Bastora hills, with the major arterial Highway 17 passing through this scenic village, famous for the academic institution of St. Anthony's High School at Monte de Guirim.

Guirim-ville

(Tony Fernandes)

Based on and adapted from the song

"Camooweal" by Australian singer, Slim Dusty

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SUYqWT7KKnY

Should ever I go back to Guirim-ville,

It would be in the spring when marigolds bloom,

Oh, the hibiscus I know would still be there,

And the garden rose would brighten up the gloom.

Should ever I go back to Guirim-ville,

One thing is sure I'd not be in my teens,

As a young lad when I played there in the fields,

But memories stay with me I can’t conceal.

How fresh every memory keeps for still it feels,

The falling monsoon rain and lush green fields,

And see again the fire-flies in the night,

As I did so long ago when I was there.

Should ever I go back to Guirim-ville,
It would be at Yuletide when the lanterns glow,
Christmas sweets I know would be everywhere,
Wishing folks a Merry Christmas time.

Dreams of youth in that now distant day,

I did not heed, my heart did not reveal,

And now I know that I’m far away from home,

Far away from that old cottage at Guirim-ville.

In search of work to a far and distant shore,

Left my folks there so long ago,

Though I've sailed far from that sun-drenched land,

I've never found what I have left behind.

Oh the memories of my carefree and playful youth,

Is now but ashes and only fond memories dwell,

Time heals all wounds they say, but leaves the scar,

But I think I'll still go back to Guirim-ville.

Time heals all wounds they say, but leaves the scar,

Yet I think I'll still go back to Guirim-ville,

Yes I think I'll still go back to Guirim-ville.

Tony Fernandes

Pineapples, cherries and a beautiful day in spring

GOA'S GRIM SCENARIO (IF MINING CONTINUES UNABATED)

(AREY! AMCHEM GOA KHUIM REY!)

... BUT GOD FORBID.

GOA - TODAY & YESTERDAY

View of Candolim Church from Sinquerim.

Goa - Road to Church of St. Anne, Parra.

Goa - A typical house at Yuletide