It is amazing how everyday, regardless of how young or old we may be, we learn something new.
Today, I learned that we have a plethora of bumble bees living in our raised vegetable bed and that they are not at all excited about the fact that I want to start preparations for next year’s harvest.
This season, fall prep took on a new meaning when momma bee chased me all the way from the garden to my door. Last week a friend of mine stepped on ground nest of bees, so I’m feeling the need to respect the wish of a bee.
This, D18 1941 Martin, guitar was recently discovered resting in the basement of an old house in Toronto.
The prevailing story is that, 50 years ago, it’s guitarist would open for acts in Massey Hall. Prehaps even for the Everly Brothers, the storyteller says.
When brought up and out of that old dark basement, the case was is serious decay. The body of the guitar was floating with strands of sky blue/turquoise/grey mold. The keys had all changed colour.
A local musician picked up this dear old instrument. He lovely had it fully restored. Renewed, in a golden shade of brown, this light as a feather guitar now dawns a set of light strings and musically rings.
Bluegrass music flows from those strings, as the quitarist sings his funky tunes.
Whether or not this oral history is 100% accurate is truly irrelevant, as the story keeps our musical history alive and strong.
The world is full of interesting and fascinating stories. We need to stop and listen, and sometimes right them down.
Thank you, Mark, you brightening my day with this one. The rebirth of a D18, 1941, Martin Guitar.
Finding wisdom in hoola hoops, tattoos, bare feet, nail polish in multiple hues, and in powerful words.
I met a very chatty ten year old who delighted in comparing the colours of the nail polish we were wearing on our fingers and on our toes. She reflected on the numerous hues of mauve that adorned her finger nails, and on the pinks and oranges on her toes.
I met a beautiful, little four year old amidst an array of hoola hoops. She taught me, with very clear and concise instruction the step by step way to twirl hoola hoops on my arms. She taught me how to twirl a hoola hoop around my waist. With great wisdom she advised me that if I was afraid that the hoola hoop might hit me in the eye, that I should just close them.
We met Barefoot Sue, a grandma who has been walking barefoot for the past twelve years. Through the forests, through ice and snow, into restaurants and supermarkets, anywhere but on hot coals and fire, to connect with the earth to enhance happiness, health and strength. She is a keeper of the water. I am a keeper of the tree.
I noticed a tattoo on the back of a beautiful woman. To me, this tattoo represents power, wisdom, confidence, and strength and sisterhood.
My deepest interaction of the weekend was meeting indigenous artist, poet and painter, Paul Shilling, Chippewas of Rama First Nations. As I read his poetry and purchased a piece of his art, he shared a very different finger nail story.
And still, I read the very powerfully words that he has written. Words that begin with, “I accept your apology. Your apology made me cry from somewhere deep inside for my mother and father, sisters and brothers, and for my children. “
Needing a boost, or wanting to extend that feeling?
Then travel to King’s Wharf Theatre in the pretty little town of Penetanguishene, located on the southeasterly tip of Geogian Bay in the traditional and Treaty territory of the Anishinabek, the Huron-Wendat and the Haudenosaullce.
Enjoy the show, Sorry, I’m Canadian!
You will laugh until you cry. Your heart will burst, and grow with pride!
Enjoy the show with good friends and the experience will be even better!