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locally our city government is making sure that the poor are driven from their neighbourhoods against their will, to make a quick buck during two weeks of Winter Olympics in 2010 – residential hotels closed and upgraded for tourists or demolished for other projects and no new affordable housing even in numbers to replace what was destroyed – Saferide program relocates vagrants out of the area with no resources when they are dumped outside the city’s transit boundaries Shame!
“To know someone here or there with whom you can feel there is understanding in spite of distances or thoughts expressed ~ That can make life a garden.” -Goethe
Wishing you the happiest of birthdays, and many more to come. May all the best days still lie ahead.
They were bought, both of them, a few years ago in a dollar store. I’ve always liked gargoyles. They gave me comfort as a little girl walking around the streets of Paris with my nanny when mom was singing. They peered down at me from the walls of the great churches with a knowing smile. I was told they kept bad spirits away from the innocent, and children were their first priority.
Every new town or city I looked for them, finding even one gargoyle made me feel instantly at ease in any city. Gargoyles were different everywhere. Some had great wings, some little bony wings and others had no wings at all. Some smiled, some had intense peering eyes…
for the rest: A Garden of Whimsy http://www.afinemes.com/wpress/2007/04/19/a-garden-of-whimsy/
am I on a roll?
Stories She Told
Lilly lay back gratefully on the fresh linen sheets. It was one of her very favourite smells. From the time the sheets were on her crib, hand-washed by her mother, to presents, on sheets washed by machine, now by her daughter. Audrey, her daughter, propped her now fragile mother onto the softest of pillows. Gently she braided the elder woman’s white hair into a single braid and fastened it with a sift pink elastic.
…the rest: http://afinemes.com/wpress/2007/03/03/stories-she-told/
To the Last Drop
From the day I had “grown-up” thoughts running in my head, perhaps from the time I was 12 I had know this would happen. I can’t say why that is. In the background of every decision I had made and every new circumstance I found myself in, in the back of my mind, this is what I knew would be the eventual outcome. The only real mystery was
the rest at: http://afinemes.com/wpress/2007/03/02/to-the-last-drop/
Tuttut was in trouble. Poor dear. Two weeks of life, never without mum, meant she was certainly not prepared for life on her own. The old woman was nice enough, and Tuttut enjoyed the attentiveness, the endless treats and the back rubs while the two of them sat and listened to the most glorious music. 
Life had changed very quickly and abruptly. First mummy took the nipple away. Every attempt to get back to suckling was met with a sneer and a swat from mum. Tuttut was not sure why. She had done nothing wrong, and at other times mum would lavish her with attention. The very same treatment was given to her two brothers Inky and Jeepers. to read the rest: http://sparrows.wordpress.com/
http://murmuringwoods.wordpress.com/2007/01/05/tuttut/
Mrs. Deacon – life and Death of the Midwife and Substitute Teacher
Mrs. Deacon has lived her entire life in the valley. As a matter of fact, she lives in the very house she was born in. She sleeps in the same four poster bed her mother gave her life in as her own drained away in a sea of pain and red. Her own baby’s cries drowned out by the impassioned cries of her father. Cries brought out by tremendous loss of his only love, and also the fear of having to bring up little Barbara all by herself.
Mrs. Deacon herself remained a childless war bride. As a rambunctious child herself, she matured into a strong headed young lady off to see the world. She met Mr. Deacon high atop a mountain in the Himalayas where both were learning the basics of Eastern mysticism. The walked hand in hand through the greenest of the world’s pastures in the plains of Golok.
read the rest at
Mumuring Woods
and
Sparrows
intext:
My recipe for Oliebollen:
– finely chop two or three apples (about 1 and a half cups)
– soak a half cup red currants in hot water for 10 minutes
– prepare a quarter cup of fast acting yeast in one cup of warm milk and one packet of vanilla sugar (or one teaspoon sugar) let sit for about ten minutes (enough time to prepare the apples)
– to the milk mix add one egg and flour until a smooth thick consistency which is shiny is reached, don’t overwork the dough but do make sure there are no lumps
– to the dough add the fruit (if apples and currants are not to your liking try something else my sister uses raisins and my mother used red and black currants)
– let it sit in a warm draught free place (like an oven with the light bulb on) until the dough doubles in size
– preheat oil or lard in a deep fryer or deep pan to about 170 degrees Celsius
– drop rounded spoonfuls in the oil, they should turn themselves over when browned but it’s best to stand by and check that they do, remove from the pan when light golden brown
– dust with pastry sugar (mix vanilla sugar packet to two cups of sugar and run through a coffee grinder until very fine but not quite icing sugar)
– present guests with small bowls containing more powdered sugar for dipping and present large plates heaped with oliebollen
Traditionally made New Year’s eve to be shared with great numbers of friends and neighbours (where we lived in the Netherlands New Years was a spontaneous street party complete with fireworks). My recipe makes about 30 oliebollen at about 3″ (7cm) diameter.
and for the visually challenged, in plain text:
Happy New Year!
As days come to the end of the year
This milestone we hold dear
Weight of time, events have us tire
All at once the sky lights up with fire
Expunged, delivered to a clean slate
Inspire to start over on this date
So drink up, eat well, make a toast
To all, whatever we need the most
aletta mes
Re editing an animation I did last year (when I was not as adept at making them) I put this together, and as the full twelve days are not just over and orthodox Christmas is still not here yet I thought I’d post this one here. Consider it a small gift dedicated to all the creative brains at work in Lemuria.
aletta
While walking around the Quay in North Vancouver yestrday I found myself in front o0f some very nostalgic windows. One rarely sees them anymore, the ones with dolls that move.
So I thought I would share them with you, and wish you all the warmest wishes for the coldest and shortest days, unless of course you are in the other hemisphere, in which case I am envious of your long warm days, but send you the same fervent wishes for a happy season all the same.
aletta mes
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