Thursday...a day to liberate the ghosts;

Ghosts are gentle creatures, they exist, if you let them. They are like a spider web poked with a stick, poked with your memories, they fall apart into soft threads, clinging, sticking, gently tucking might get them loose and float away.  Their atoms melt into the dark until they are revived by a familiar scent, a glimpse, a word, a sound…





"Ghostly" Gums"  Photo  24/05/2012  7:14 AM



Corymbia dallachiana commonly known as Ghost Gum or Dallachy's gum, is an evergreen tree that is native to Eastern Australia. It grows up to 20 meters in height and has white to cream and pink-tinged bark, often with brown scales. Bark sheds seasonally in thin scales. White flowers appear from late summer through midwinter. Fruit are woody brown, goblet shaped, capsules.

Ghost Gums occur from humid coastal regions to arid inland. The tree is indicative of infertile and shallow soils.

©Photo/Text Ts  

Thursday...a day in my garden;

It was another April day....

“In most gardens", the Tiger-lily said, "they make the beds too soft-so that the flowers are always asleep.” 
― Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass

Do not let weeds argue about their usefulness! Ts

A garden is mainly not a paradise, it is a place of bloody hard work. It is only a Paradise for a very short time when the work is finished,  tools are cleaned,  oiled and returned to their hooks in the shed. I sitting in the most comfortable  chair and sipping an icy cold drink...nearly Paradise. Ts

I never follow fashion trends in my garden; I decide what I like and I know what my garden likes. Ts

Roses are  most perfect  at any stage; Ts

Yes, mass plantings of the same kind may look great, but just a tad boring. Ts

A garden is a personal effort, it is sensuous to the person who created it. Ts

There is a touch of wistfulness in the garden on a grey and rainy day. Ts

©Photos/ Text  mygarden Ts 

Tuesday...pink..

A pink cloud floating in a deep blue sky early in the morning, deeming the  advancing day sweet and full of expectations. Ts

©Photo/Text Ts/ 

The Magic of Books...

Tides of  War  a Novel by Stella Tillyard

Page 279/280

...and I Goya do my bit for the illustrious Monarch with my oils and brush...

they demand a crown and scepter...nothing equestrian  to annoy me (Goya did not like to paint horses!).. and I would not honour the King with the loyalty of a dog...and I rushed it out in fifteen  days..eight thousand reals for me...pretent to rejoice and so do I. 

But under the palace runs a river of blood, thick and scarlet...The monster of war will stride over the land, a pitiless colossus who devours all humanity.

And I Goya? I am past seventy, deaf and have money to make.

Page 328

...as he turned the lock in the heavy old door weariness crawled over him...One group of men imposed their will upon another by force. War never finishes...it never will. It simply moves about the world like the ocean current...now one country, now another...Why?...

to declare peace, to think it is ever possible? 

All that is folly.

A great Novel, families affected by wars like it was like it is and continues ..

Sepia Saturday 324/ 2.April 2016

The Gotthard a mountain with a long history.

The narrow serpentine Via Tremola leads steeply up to the Gotthard Pass. Earlier rattled and rocked  the stagecoaches along the  winding road. Today only tourists drive over the historic pass road. 

The Gotthard Pass was since the Middle Ages until the 20th century one of the most important north-south connections through the Alps. This transport axis leads in a north-south direction through the Gotthard massif. It is the direct transport link through the Alps. 

 Gotthardhospiz,  the Inn,  1785

Charles-Melchior Descourtis - Lüönd, 

 kol. Kupferstich von Descourtis nach Zeichnung von Rosenberg

At the summit a chapel  and a hospice was built  very early on. It is not known who built the chapel and the Inn to rest and get sustenance along the way. During excavations in the basement of the old hospice, they discovered  foundations, which date back at least to the Carolingian period or even earlier.

The chapel and the hospice on the pass were mentioned the first time on August 12, 1331 concluded by border disputes and a peace treaty between Urseren and Livinen. 

The Archbishop of Milan Galdinus, has consecrated the chapel in 1230 to the Holy Godehardus (according to Liber Sanctorum notitiae Mediolani).  Since then the pass is named Gotthard. Yet there is  evidence that already decades before  monks of Disentis had a chapel and  accommodation at the same spot, they  also worshiped the Holy Godehardus.In 1431/32 the hospice was enlarged to make more room for the many travellers and pilgrims on their way to Rom.

In the 17th century Archbishop Federico Borromeo  of Milan expanded the hospice again and also added  living quarters for a priest. From 1685 onwards the order of the Capuchin monks were responsible for the hospice.  They received a special permission to wear shoes due to the extremely cold weather.

Before the end of the 18th century the hospice hosted many destitute travelers, up to 4000 a year.

Each person received a piece of bread and a piece of cheese and a little sweet wine. For lunch they also received geschmalzte soup, meaning a soup made with fat. They also were allowed to sleep there and get other care if needed.

 Der Herzog von Chartres, der spätere König Louis-Philipp von Frankreich, asking for entry into the  Hospice.  Gotthard-Hospiz kol. Litho von Horace Vernet nach Zeichnung von Palheri, um 1830

Here is more to read about this famous Mountain Pass;

http://www.swissinfo.ch/eng/the-gotthard-pass--a-swiss-national-symbol/28284454

http://www.swisstravelsystem.com/en/gbt_slider/the-history-of-the-gotthard.html

The Gotthard Tunnel today.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gotthard_Road_Tunnel

Naturally there is also a song  about this  famous Mountain.

Übere Gottard flüget Bräme 1945

https://youtu.be/Z4NcLAWbzy8

Photos were free to use. Text Ts.

Sepia Saturday26/03/2016

Marvelous Marbles;

My grand children and I had a lot of fun playing marbles.

Since they have grown out of it the marbles are somewhere in the garden now merely as decorative objects. I am still fascinated by Marbles.

The game of marbles is common all over the world. From archeological discoveries from Babylonian, Roman and Germanic times, we know that the game of marbles is very old. Marbles were found in the tombs of ancient Pharaohs. The oldest marbles originate from the period of about 3000 BC. The famous painting "Children's Games" by Flemish painter Pieter Brueghel,1560 shows children playing with marbles, Anno 1560.

Painting/Kunsthistorisches Museum Vienna, Austria

The size, material and colours of the marbles were very different. However, real marbles were very expensive. In general real marbles were not affordable for the common people so children played with nuts. The production of glass marbles began in 1848 in the Thuringian city of Lauscha. A glassblower, Christoph Simon Karl Greiner invented a tool, called Marble scissors. This tool was actually made to cut glass eyes for stuffed animals but soon they started to produce marbles too. In September of 1848, Christoph Simon Karl Greiner was awarded a license for the exclusive production of artificial agate and gemstone beads.

 Marbles from coloured clay were widespread in Europe. Today, marbles made from glass are most popular.The rules and options of the games with marbles are as numerous as the colors of the marbles. It is mainly played outdoors on firm ground, to make a fist sized hole and the start lines for the game, and the fun may begin.

Please visit 

  for a game of marbles.

Good Friday....where are thee?

We Wear the Mask

BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

       We wear the mask.

The world's  global Mafia at work.

please just a few more atrocities...

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

       We wear the mask!

My verdict; all of  these elegant, suave, well conversed globalists are  lower than a snake's armpit.

Text Ts

Pictures Internet

Poetry from the one and only wonderful Paul Laurence Dunbar.