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It is a whirlwind in here

The Good Ship “Pegasus”, In Story And For Real

 

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In my historical novel, China Lily, set in the 13th Century, I have spent a good deal of time writing about (and thus aboard) the good ship Pegasus. It has been on a trading voyage from Europe to China for nearly three years. I have become quite acquainted with it.

Currently, a manuscript  about the same European trading family, though set a thousand years earlier, is at the historical (though they do other genres) is being considered by the publisher, Pegasus, in New York.

And, this morning, the good ship, The Atlantic Pegasus, is in port.

Let these winged portents coalesce.

Following is a brief portion of China Lily.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Excerpt from China Lily

Cepa is tending to the onions, even as the waves make Pegasus shudder from bow to stern. He knows many members of the crew begrudge his use of fresh water. He has heard the comments about him using buckets of deck wash for the purpose. A couple of the more unimaginative seamen have suggested that salt water will add to their taste. Cepa has so far refrained from asking how they would feel with no onions at all.

Pegasus makes a huge yaw to starboard. Cepa grabs for the support of his hammock hook. He holds on with his left hand as he watches the braces securing the onion boxes. Of the many things that make the crew question his sanity, perhaps the most talked-about is that he has given up the privilege of having one of the few bunks as a place for the onions. Space is so scarce on the Pegasus that he removed the wooden bunk and put in tiers of shelving of the onion setts. He even devised some crude trickle-down tubing so he only waters the top tier. So far he can claim that not one dipper of water has been wasted.

When Cepa had explained to the captain of the ship what he wanted to do, the man had not scoffed as did many of the crew. He had seen the effects of scurvy on many  voyages, and understood that this type of fresh produce did something to control it. In fact, he was very pleased Cepa was willing to sacrifice his bunk space for the purpose.This was not the typical action of the merchants he was paid to transport from Italy to China and back. It usually took half the out-voyage to get these self-important wealthy people to realize that their opinions and needs were of no importance in the world of the ship.

Some sat back and made threats of what retribution would occur when they finally reached port. They always changed their minds after experiencing the first storm at sea. Most soon realized the new world of the ship, and did what they could to fit in.

DE

(image)https://balticshipping.com/uploads/ships/d/a/a/a/7/e/e/c/4/3/1/f/d/5/f/7/3/4/a/8/1/c/5/c/9/a/a/d/f/7/d/2/176447_1443024569_2007.jpg

My Father And The Summer Solstice

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Not that I post this every first day of summer, but I do find it neat to have such a connection to the Celts, about whom I have written three novels.

During World War Two, my father had the unique experience of guarding Stonehenge. Not by himself, of course, there were other members of the Canadian Army with him.
The vast plains around Stonehenge were utilised by the military in both world wars. During the First War, the area was a training ground for troops from various countries. There were many encampments for recruits, with both basic training and preparations to train for the trench warfare awaiting on the continent. There were thousands and thousands of men, and huge amounts of supplies.
During the Second War, the area was used as staging ground for the D-Day invasion. There was great security, and as much secrecy as possible. Soldiers were in place to guard the perimeter.
So, my father found himself not only guarding Stonehenge, but doing so on Midsummer Morn, when the sun rose over the monument. He was a learned man – a school teacher – and versed in the history of the place. He knew of the Celts and the Druids and some of the mythology. He knew this was sacred ground and that Midsummer Morn was especially important. He might have paused and tried to look into the past, and see more in the morning mist than was actually there. I do not know.
He did, however, when their watch was over and they got to eat, tell the other soldiers of the history of the place. He mentioned that, during such celebrations by the Celts, the Druids might have a virgin killed to appease the gods. They were aghast.
“What a waste,” said one.

DE

(image)http://www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/news/2017/06/21/TELEMMGLPICT000132550612-large_trans_NvBQzQNjv4Bqek9vKm18v_rkIPH9w2GMNoGXySPv9M1Jbe0Fc3Bi1Fk.jpeg

About: Authors for Grenfell Tower: An Online Auction Authors for Grenfell Tower: An Online Auction Raising money for the British Red Cross to go to residents affected by the Grenfell Tower fire

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Memoir Of The Chickens And The Nazi

racist-grafitti
An Oldie Rock station just played Spinning Wheel by Blood, Sweat And Tears. This always – always – brings back my memories of working on a farm in Germany during my university days. It was a hit of the time.

And, since I am currently well into reading Alan Bennett’s new Memoirs, Keeping On, Keeping On, I did what I have not done for years. I excavated my Journals about my three month summer in Europe, and turned to the day which mirrors this.  And, since it proved to be a notable day, I’ll transpose it verbatim (well, except I’ll clean up the spelling).

18 June

An interesting day, in a rather strange way. I got to work some of the morning with the hired hand, Herr Steiner, alone. He could speak no English and I was surprised that I could converse with him as well as i could (we had lots of time and I could speak slowly and I could think things out. We were, as a point of interest, filling wool sacks.


He told me that he  did not care for the place very much and was planning to leave soon. I can not say that he gave me ideas. I already had them.

And then the other interesting queer occurrence. I am tempted to drag all the dramatic interest I can out of this episode, but I may as well tell it in a simple manner, for it happened in a simple way.

I was going into one of the egg houses to collect the noon-time eggs, and as i stepped through the door, I saw it. Now, I had been collecting eggs there twice a day for two weeks, and had never once noticed what i now saw.

There was a swastika scrawled on one of the walls. It was covered in dust (like everything else) and something beside it has been scratched over. I suppose one can not think of Germany without thinking of the Hitler era, and I had wondered what I would do or think if I came across something like this. I had made jokes about the Bunker on the back forty, or the tattered painting of Hitler in the attic.

I put the thing down to its most logical explanation, the imitative scrawl of a six or seven year old child. Even so, rather bigger thoughts went through my head every time I saw someone use a whip rather forcefully.

DE

(image) https://i.cbc.ca/1.3995470.1487856081!/fileImage/httpImage/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/16x9_620/racist-grafitti.jpg

The Queen And Her Birthday

The Queen’s Birthday Parade, Trooping the Colour, took place today in Central London to mark Her Majesty’s official 91st birthday on Saturday. Embed from Getty Images Dressed in a pale blue dress and matching hat, the 91-year-old monarch took the salute at Horseguards Parade and inspected her guards as she does every year. With celebration comes…

via The Queen and Duke of Edinburgh attend Trooping the Colour ceremony — Royal Central

Truth And Drink With Alison Alexandra

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The woman straightens with enough speed to lose a few drops of her conversational whiskey. She looks at Alison Alexandra in surprise and appreciation. A translucent mask is peeled from her face. She is animated. Her eyes are expectant.

“You are new here.”

“You’re the observer.” Alison Alexandra smiles.

“But I never say what I really see.” The woman finally takes a real drink. “None of us do.”

“But you come up to me – with your observations.”

“In truth -”

The woman stops. She realises how rarely she tells the truth. She is startled that she is about to do so. She is apprehensive.

“In truth, it is on a dare.”

“Someone has dared you to ask me?”

“Actually, a number of people have put money in a pot to see if this will happen.”

“To approach me?”

“Yes.”

“How much am I worth?”

The woman raises her glass and laughs. “A bottle of Scotch.”

“Good Scotch?”

“Not really.” The woman is apologetic, yet she laughs. “It’s not that calibre of party.”

DE

(image)https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/92/c8/a9/92c8a9d4112b23627fd7c39a07440c35.jpg

The Time He Could Have Been King Of Montréal

underground-city

“I don’t mean to stare – I apologize. I’m not in the habit of doing this, but you remind me of someone. That has to sound like a line – the look on your face. But I’m not after ….

 

“Have you ever been in the train station at Place Ville Marie in Montreal? The escalators that come up by the Queen Elizabeth Hotel.  I had a lot of travel to get to work when I lived in Montreal, and made train and bus connection.

 

“No, thanks. I don’t want another.

 

“One morning – a Thursday – as I was going up the escalator, I saw a girl coming down from the street. She had short red hair – that’s the main reason I’ve been staring – and a green skirt with a white blouse. Coming down that escalator, with that wide space between us. She was looking at me the way I was looking at her – interest and excitement and whatever potential that leads to. We stared into each others eyes as we came level, and craned to look back as we passed.

 

“I guess I’ll have another of the same, after all.

 

“That was stupid enough. I should have jumped that barrier, or at least gone down after her. But I had a job, and was young, and things like that just don’t happen.

 

“Next morning, even though I was looking for her, and hoping so much, I couldn’t have been more shocked by a ghost when I saw that red hair. She had that same look – of shock.

 

“God, to be so unsure of what to do, and stupid to the ways of the world, and even to have that stabbing thought that it can happen again tomorrow. We stared and stared, you could almost feel electricity between us. At the top I waited as long as I dared, hoping she would come up. I had to get my bus. I just jumped it as it was pulling away.

 

“That was a Friday. I sweated through the weekend, full of grand plans about telling her to wait, or to come up to me, or yelling my phone number. She wasn’t there, of course – on Monday or any other day. I looked the rest of the summer, then it was back to university.

 

“I mean, to be given one chance like that and waste it. But two. I’ve never forgotten, even now with a wife and kids, I wonder what might have been. It can make my hands shake, seeing someone like you, and with too much drink in me.”

DE

(image)https ://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/04/34/64/1f/underground-city.jpg

FaceBook News Feed Tells Me These Are The Top Stories

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In the old days there used to be literary constructions classed as Found Poems. More or less, they were some news story that could be put into a poetic form without changing the words. The text was unaltered. One could attain a pithy or amusing or evocative observation by doing this.

This art form came to mind by the following, lifted verbatim from my News Feed.

Is this the world writ small – or large?

DE

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I wish I was taller so I could eat more before feeling full.

 

 Does anyone know a farewell house cleansing Rite I can do to say farewell to my pet? Thanks.

·

 

When is the Mason’s yard sale this year?


 

Where do I get a new or used long tall step through bike for a long tall woman?

 

A “way” is a path or a road to be followed.
A “way” is not a set of beliefs.

Marcus Borg

sorry…I disagree

FACEHIVE!

We need about 20 folding chairs for the RVWS event on Friday night downtown.

 

(image)https://techforluddites.com/wp-content/uploads/facebook-news-feed.png

Trump And #Covfefe Walk Into A Bar

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~ Well, I dunno, TheDonald.

~ What?

~ You’ve kinda started rodeo-riding the shark.

~ “Ye-Haw”

~ This might be the effin’ #covfefe end.

~ Or maybe the beginning – believe me!

~ How do you figure that, U li’l #covfefe lover, you?

~ You know the little man behind the curtain?

~ From the #covfefe Wizard of Oz?

~ Marvellous movie. Fantastic movie.

~ Yes

~ Love those red shoes.

~ But what –

~ Click them together.

~ What does that –

~ Goes with the tie.

~ What has that got to do with #covfefe?

~ “Somewhere, Over The Rainbow” I sing along.

~ #covfefe FOCUS POTUS #covfefe

~ What do you do with the man behind the curtain?

~ Pay no attention to him.

~ But everybody does.

~ Yeh

~ They all look at him.

~ Yeh

~ Gawk gawk gawk

~ #covfefe right

~ So you don’t really look behind him.

~ No.

~ Not supposed to.

~ No.

~ I’m behind the curtain behind him.

DE

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