P is for peregrination

From the Latin peregrinus: "foreign, traveling"...well, for the last nine years, that would be us...peregrinating in Canada and abroad.

 All photos property of Kay Davies and Richard Schear

Posted for ABC Wednesday





Left, Dominican Republic, 2004, before we began to be properly concerned about dolphins.

Above, right, Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan

Left, Florida

Our first

Carnival

cruise

San Diego,
California

San Felipe,

Baja,

Mexico

Arizona

Galapagos

Islands

Seattle, Washington

Costa Rica

Lions

Gate

Bridge

Vancouver

Above, White Pass and Yukon Railroad

Alaska

Okanagan

Valley, BC

China

Orlando,

Florida

Spain

Chichen

Itza,

Mexico

White Rock,

BC

Toronto

train

station,

my solo trip

across Canada

Montreal

New

Brunswick

Bay of

Fundy

tides

rush

up to

Truro, NS

Above, Prince Edward Island

Gaspé,

Québec

Netherlands

Belgium

Paris

Swiss

Alps

My intrepid photographer

Hawaii

Russia

Cabo

San

Lucas,

Mexico

Oregon

Coast

Gulf

Islands, BC

Miltenberg,

Germany

Vienna,

Austria

Bratislava,

Slovakia

Budapest,

Hungary

Venice,

Italy

Rome,

Italy

Coast of

Virginia, USA

September, 2013

Something that scares me, for Izy's out of standard and Hallowe'en

At the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Izy's Out of Standard this week invites us to write about something that frightens us, preparatory for All Hallows' Eve.

* 

Wikimedia Commons

Ernst Josephson
"Woman dressed in black"
1881

who are you?
why can't I see your face?
I see your black dress,
and the blood-red of the wall.
I see your hair,
your high collar,
your black veil,
show yourself, I beg you...
I cannot see your face!
why do you sit there
staring at me
through your half-formed eyes?
why can't I hear you breathe
through your half-made nose?
why can't I hear you speak
through your half-mouth?
who are you?
why can't I see your face?

http://youtu.be/pALSKcWcVEk

This poem was inspired by my problem eyesight and also by a song I probably heard first in the late 1950s when it was recorded by Lefty Frizzell. The song was covered by many singers after Frizzell, and the one I remember best was Johnny Cash's solo version. However, the above link will take you to the first night of the Johnny Cash Show in 1969, when Johnny sang it as a duet with Canada's Joni Mitchell.
No matter who sang it, the song itself didn't particularly scare me, but the chorus frightened me when Johnny Cash sang it. Something about that voice, that got under my skin, right down to where I live.

"She walks these hills, in a long black veil.

 She visits my grave, when the night winds wail.

 Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows, but me."

Our World Tuesday: Odocoileus hemionus

Mule photo
Wikipedia

Otherwise known as Mule Deer, Odocoileus hemionus is easily recognized by its large ears, said to be like those of a mule, from which it gets its common name.
There are often small herds of Mule Deer in the coulee nearby. Red shale paths surround this neighborhood coulee, where my husband walks our dog Lindy.

"Look, Odo, there's that dog with its person again!"

"Wow, he's right. Look!"

Photos by Richard Schear, October, 2013

"What do you think we should do?"

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm outta here!"

Posted for Our World Tuesday,
hosted this week by Lady Fi and her Golden Retriever, Oscar, who loves to swim whatever the weather at their home in Sweden.

Comments disappearing

Blogger doesn't seem to want to cooperate with me at the moment. Some comments coming in to my blog have disappeared, and I am having difficulty leaving comments also.
I'm sure the situation is only temporary, but I'm going to do something else for a while, and hope it is resolved.
Meanwhile, if you have commented on my most recent post (the mask poem) and your comment has not appeared, I apologize. —K

For the weekend mask prompt

Over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, one of the garden's newest toads is Michael, known as grapeling, and he has offered us a timely challenge now with Hallowe'en on the horizon.
He has asked us to write about masks.
One particular masked man (not the Lone Ranger, or even Batman) has been of interest to me since I was very young, and I don't know his name or anything about his ancestry. Although much has been written about him over several hundred years, nothing has ever been proven.
He is most often referred to as someone involved with the early Kings Louis of France, a son of one, an older brother to another, a twin brother to one, the illegitimate offspring of another. He was variously imprisoned in the Bastille, Pignerol, and Sainte-Marguerite.
Twentieth century research into prisoners of the 1600s has offered other possibilities, but the only name that has survived intact after all these ages has been this one:

The Man in the Iron Mask

the man

in the iron mask

could not remember

Wikipedia photo

how his own face looked,

nor his father’s, whom

he resembled so,

or so they said,

before they

masked

him up,

locked

him up,

in irons, to match his face

by Kay L. Davies, October, 2013

The only fact I can offer you, despite all the speculation over the centuries, is that none of the other Real Toads will be able to solve the mystery more readily than I, except for Hedgewitch O'TheWilds, who has some deep, dark, secret sources, or so I have heard, but don't let on I told you so.

K