Why??

I have just finished reading "A Brief History of Time" by Stephen Hawking; a book I began months ago, put down as the complicated language floated before my uncomprehending eyes.  But this book was on loan from my son, and I deemed it time to return it. 

Of course there were zillions of facts, or theories [at what stage does a theory become a fact?] espoused on those pages; scientific words dotted the pages like a tagger's tags on a blank wall; questions asked and not answered did little to enlighten my mind. 

My son has read this book at least half a dozen times, and he being of a more scientific and mathematical leaning than I, confessed that one must read it over and over for the information to sink in.  Maybe I will re-read it again some time in the future, but then again, maybe not.  Because the main question this book raised in my mind was WHY? 

Why do we suppose that by KNOWING how the Universe began our lives will be altered, for better or worse?

Why does it matter what lies beyond the moon?  Or indeed, does it really matter what lies on the moon?

I know mankind has an insatiable hunger for knowledge, but sometimes I wonder how this knowledge affects the 'ordinary man and woman' of planet Earth.  I wonder why some folk spend a lifetime sitting at a computer [today] or scribbling figures on endless sheets of paper [in the past] to work out an equation that so often in another ten years proves to be nothing more than a walk down the garden path of 'I grew the wrong plant!  Cacti do not like cold wet climates ... I should have grown weeds.'

As I read all those words that I had absolutely no idea of their meaning it crossed my mind that if as much time and effort, and dare I say it money, were spent on working on the many problems facing the Earth today ... WHY some folks are discrimated against, WHY so many go hungry,WHY a few own 90% of the Earth's assets, or rather use those assets to their own selfish advantage, then perhaps this planet on which we live at this moment, might be more joyous, and our relationships with each other a glue that keeps us bound together in making the Earth a better place to live NOW.

Of course we should continue to ask questions ... why, why, why!  Why of course, to further our knowledge.  However I contend some knowledge is of more universal use than some other.

A sewing project completed

The quilt and matching cushions I began not that long ago are now finished. 

For further details click onto this
 http://shirlwin.blogspot.com/2011/07/quilt-and-matching-cushions.html 
where more will be revealed.

Remembering

"Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us."  ~ Oscar Wilde

I have been told that as we mature we tend to spend more time in the past!  Not sure if that is 100% accurate, but then again ...

At lunch as we were munching on a malt biscuit with our coffee I suddenly recalled the days of my childhood when we were dished up a spoonful of malt extract [Maltexo I think was the trade name] to help us through the winter.  Malt was not too bad, if a trifle sticky if the spoon was slightly off course and malt met the face. 

My brother also had cod-liver oil pills ... not me!  I had one once, crunched on it and Yuk!  Not nice at all, and a good enough reason to refuse it ever after.

Then there were warm clothes in winter.  I recall an undergarment, worn over a singlet, called a bodice.  It was white, sleeveless, fleecy if I recall correctly, and had funny buttons down the front.  The texture of the buttons was sort of soft and pliable, but as this was last century I have no idea of their make-up. 

Some of our classrooms were older than the new block which had heaters around the walls.  The old block had pot belly stoves that belched smoke and ash especially just after they were 'fed' with coal.  All children had to drink a small bottle of milk that in winter, was placed near the pot belly stove ... to take the chill of it!  Another Yuk!  [Though I will admit that expressive word didn't occur in our vocabulary way back then!]  Thankfully we lived on a farmlet and had our own cows.  With a great sense of relief I persuaded my Mum to write a note excusing me from school milk.  The only good thing about school milk were the cardboard tops to the bottles, which made excellent bases for pom poms.  No doubt 'town milk bottles' had the same cardboard.

Now we have centrally heated schools, children seldom wear more than three layers of clothing, and as for malt ... I have a feeling they only know it through malt biscuits.

Roygbiv

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true”

A science teacher told the tale of a race horse named Roygbiv that was named after the colours of the rainbow, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, recommending the name of the racehorse would help us in exams.  I am not sure that we were ever required to name the colours of the rainbow but questions about refraction of light and other associated questions were asked.

This morning, while outdoors scratching the remains of the porridge pot as a bird breakfast with a darkening sky I glanced upwards to see a glorious rainbow.  A photo opportunity!  Then rainbow enveloped the western sky, like a protective duvet on a cold damp morning. 

Rainbows are a marvel that never fail to attract my attention, and the science lesson about refraction of light etc did nothing to diminish the beauty of 'roygbiv', one of a natural wonder of the world.  Dream a dream whilst looking upwards dreams can be as fleeting as the rainbow, but like a rainbow their return may prompt us into action.

As for the race horse story ... I am left wondering if the horse was rainbow coloured, or the jockey's attire rainbow coloured, or perhaps more prosaically nothing more than a gimmick name. 

My House

My house is small

No mansion for a millionaire

But there is room for love

and there is room for friends

Thats all I care.

Often it is the small things of life that tell a tale, or give a message worth taking on board our busy lives.  Yesterday I made a small, yet quite magnificent, purchase.  A delightful miniature blue and white  plate priced at the princely sum of 20cents.

I brought it home not knowing quite where it would be displayed as our walls are not suitable for banging in a picture hook.  I didn't let such a small fact worry me!

In the end, after a little deliberation, inspiration struck.  Two pieces of thick double-sided tape, one on top of the other, gave the depth required for this tiny plate to adhere to a cupboard door, where it's inscription can be read easily.

A cottage with a cobbled path leading to the front door, smoke drifting lazily from a tall chimney is surrounded by a wreath of roses and what could be forget-me-knots; the personification of a country cottage where a warm welcome awaits, while the centre is inscribed with the verse [above]

A whole lot of shaking going on

In February, just before my long scheduled trip to my homeland of New Zealand, Christchurch suffered a devasting earthquake.  My second eldest son lives in Christchurch and I spent a few days with him.
 

Once upon a time Christchurch was a beautiful city with delightful gardens reminscent of England ... Canterbury, of which Christchurch is the main city, was settled by the English.  They built a city to remind them of home.  The River Avon meandered gently through the city, parks and public gardens a restful green, while gardens around many homes grew roses and daffodils, violets and marigolds; a kaleidoscope of colour on a green canvas.

My trip back in February was sad.  The city that once boasted beauty had fallen apart at the seams.  Public buildings, churches, private homes, streets and parks were close to ruination at the hands of an earthquake.

The street past my son's home was dusty with liquefaction that residents had piled up, like a child's sandcastle on the beach, except many times larger, in readiness for the Council to cart it away before it too turned to dust and polluted the suburbs.  The corner shop had a hole in the wall, but the shelves were stocked in a fashion as many were buying essentials.  That shop has since been demolished ~ it was rendered unsafe, but building is in the offing ... or so my son reported only a month ago.

Then on Monday the earth began to shake again.  Only three months from the previous quake, they were once again threatened with circumstances that are becoming difficult to comprehend.  I heard the radio news report, and later telephoned my son ... he had been at work when the two largest shakes occurred.  He was OK, his kitchen floor resembled a war zone with food that slid from the refrigerator all over the place, and dishes from the cupboard slipped downwards.  A TV fell from its shelf breaking a chest of drawers in the process.  The TV in the lounge fell over, but once righted went; electricity was on; water was a dribble. 

How much longer can the ordinary people who live in Christchurch carry on their everyday lives when the ground beneath them trembles by the hour? 

Winter Green

Most folk would consider winter to be a time for the blues; not me.  Here in the mid-west, after welcome rain, the countryside is green; crops are beginning to appear bringing life to what was only weeks ago a desolate place.

Yesterday we headed to the nearest city for a little grocery shopping.  We do have a small supermarket in our nearest town, but the choice is limited and prices higher.  Taking into account the cost of fuel, which has dropped [!!!] in the last few days, of course it would be cheaper to shop in town.  But ... the city has added enticements.

As you may be aware I have recently taken up stitching; a pastime I had hankered for over a long period, but raising children dampened any enthusiasm ... there were always other essentials to be sewn ~ [pyjamas when the children were young, clothes for my school-age daughter, though thankfully this was before the time when 'labelled fashion garments were required, and bags to carry swimming togs or Cub, Scout or Brownie books].  Now I have the time, and the inclination.

It could be said I have become almost addicted to collecting pieces of fabric.  All for a good cause I hasten to add!  In my humble opinion stitching is a perfectly reasonable pastime, and one that does have worthwhile end results.

Invariably when we visit the city I take a quick visit [half an hour as against a long visit, which could be up to an hour and a half ... I have learned to make a selection quicker] to my favourite fabric shop.  As I needed yellows for a swap I am in yellow fabrics were my first choice.  Having a rather delightful piece of green I decided to make a quilt for my son who lives where it is cooler ... three more colours were required for the design I have in mind.  I purchased three one-metre lengths that should fit the bill.  In fact if I were being absolutely honest, I should be cutting them out now ... but ... later.

The mix of fabrics for this project? 

 I hope my son considers them suitably manly.  Oh the project?  A post and rail quilt, or as some say, a rail quilt.