All Purls. No Swine.
On this April 16, 2026, the day that would have been my grandmother Molly's 128th birthday, I bring back a post originally published on Ricochet on April 16--Easter Sunday--2017. Happy Birthday, Granny! (I've made just a few small corrections, updates, and edits.) My grandmother Molly could be a rather stern old lady. She was born… Continue reading Happy 128th Birthday, Granny Molly!
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired And gobble up… Continue reading On Men and Women, Both Growing Old
Courtesy of my sister–who offered me a challenge–I’ve been on a bit of an “Ancestry” kick lately. She mentioned an old family mystery, a story oft told by my mother, about a much-loved relative who’d died–it was said–under suspicious circumstances, and whose husband the family (my family) had always suspected of being a fortune hunter… Continue reading Finding Maudie
Mostly a reposting, from last year. Time marches on, but the message (if you're sane) doesn't change: My maternal Great Granny was a fearsome old bat. She was born in 1869, just four short years after the US Civil War ended and Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. She died a few months before Neil Armstrong walked… Continue reading Easter 2025: On Silk Purses, Sow’s Ears, and Horse’s Asses
Happy 127th birthday, darling Granny. (Some lightly-edited content from a few years ago, together with some more recent and raw reflections): I had my last conversation with Granny (my mother’s mother) not too long before she died. She was in her late-eighties at the time, almost bedridden from the terrible arthritis that had plagued her… Continue reading Wisdom from My Granny, 2025
A popular modification (so my mother told me) of perhaps the world's most ubiquitous Christmas hymn, from the year 1936. And a replay (mostly) of a post from some years ago, both here and on Ricochet: I have found it impossible to carry the heavy burden of responsibility and to discharge my duties as King… Continue reading “Hark the Herald Angels Sing…Mrs Simpson’s Got Our King!”
My subject is War and the pity of War. The poetry is in the pity"--Wilfred Owen Wilfred Edward Salter Owen, beloved son, accomplished poet, and soldier of The Great War, was born on March 18, 1893 in Oswestry, a Welsh border town, in the county of Shropshire. Readers of Ellis Peters's Brother Cadfael chronicles, or… Continue reading “He is all blood, dirt, and sucked sugar-stick”–Revisiting William Butler Yeats vs Wilfred Owen
It's the first line of a pretty Christian hymn by Eleanor Farjeon, some of the rest of which goes: Morning has broken Like the first morning, Blackbird has spoken Like the first bird. Praise for the singing! Praise for the morning! Praise for them, springing Fresh from the world! ... Mine is the sunlight! Mine… Continue reading Quote of the Day: “Morning has Broken”
The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away--Psalm 90:10 Yikes. For those in Rio Linda, I'm talking about an age of seventy years. The date is… Continue reading Quote of the Day: “Three Score Years and Ten”
My last post invoked a few memories, some of which were of St. Mary's Church, Handsworth, Birmingham, and of my first life experiences with Christian church services and Christianity in the UK. I've written about St. Mary's in a slightly different context before here, and so I offer you the following post from 2021. Every… Continue reading The Power and the Glory