These words are part of a poem by Christina Rossetti. Last night’s effort in resisting Alzheimer or dementia, was an exercise in trying to remember the last few lines of her beautiful poem. It was harder than I thought. Why try it in the first place? It could well be this looming Christmas whereby I resort to contemplating what might be next in store. Close to another year having dropped its autumn leaves. Another ring around this aging trunk. Of course, here in the Southern world, it is the wilting of spring flowers that heralds the end of the year. A hot Christmas might well be in the offering. The Bogong moths are already trooping, getting ready for their annual migration to the much cooler Snowy mountains.
This photo from Google images.
Our first Christmas celebration in Australia was astonishing. I still remember that smell of beer and ripe prawns. The mid-night Mass with the congregation wearing shorts and rubber thongs. The Bogong moths swirling dangerously above my head, yet most people ignored them. The priest himself pleasantly full of the higher spirit that included pre-mass long necked lagers and brown hearty ale.
The moths were tame and just seeking each other out to form a swarm. When large enough a group would get ready for their long journey of hundreds of kilometres. Nature is so amazingly ordered and logical. In earlier times, the aboriginals, the original owners of this land used to feast themselves to a kingdom as well on these fat moths.
Another memory stuck through all those years, and probably getting richer as time passes, was a particular wedding that we went to. Again it was during summer heat. The venue was a golf course club house. A magnificent affair. The bride looked radiant, the groom suitably flustered and suited. The food all spread out on tables and fine linen. Prawns and salads, mignon steak and spinach sauté, flowing Chardonnay well oaked. As it was during those long gone years.
But then the Bogongs joined the party. Hundreds if not thousands of them. All swirling around. The overhead fans offering so treacherously the cooler air they craved for. The fans also slaughtered them. Those poor Bogongs now falling down in a spray of grey, gently landing on the food below as marital dust. No matter, the party was well on its way. Speeches were made and music flared up in between it all. The beverages had worked its magic. It was a great wedding. She was Croatian and he Australian from English background. They are still together as far as we know. A rare event, nowadays. They even had twin boys.
But here is the poem; Christina Rossetti.
Those Shadows.
I shall not see the shadows.
I shall not feel the rain
I shall not hear the Nightingale.
Sing on as if in pain
And dreaming through the twilight
that doth not rise nor set.
Hapley I may remember
And hapley may forget.
Tags: Aboriginal, Ale, Bogong, Bride, Chardonnay, Christina Rossetti, Christmas, Groom, lager, Mass, Mignon, Moths, Prawns, Priests, Wedding
November 21, 2016 at 2:07 am |
The beginning of this poem ‘Those Shadows’ is as follows;
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
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November 21, 2016 at 3:59 am |
It seems strange for your Christmas to be during your summer but that’s how it is down under. We all must adjust to changes in out lives and I bet that was somewhat of an adjustment for you coming from Holland where Christmas time is cold.
I really like the poem.It is quite lovely.
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November 21, 2016 at 4:30 am |
It was especially difficult for my parents. I would go to the beach and try and get brown instead. There was even someone who for a small amount of money would spray you with coconut oil. My affair with sun was short-lived.
Now, I am strictly a shade seeker. The darker the better. Wombats know what it is like to live down under.
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November 21, 2016 at 4:58 am |
I like your post (again) and musing. The poem is fitting my present mood and what will be my not too far off future. The medical professions have found in me another object they can test their skill against death on.
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November 21, 2016 at 5:32 am |
Oh, dear Peter. We hope it is not serious. Tell the doctor too be careful and caring.
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November 21, 2016 at 5:42 am
The seriousness will reveal itself after the 9th of December. I’m still in a good mood.
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November 21, 2016 at 11:42 am |
Hope you are OK, I’ve never met you, but I quite like you!!
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November 21, 2016 at 11:09 pm
Thank you for your concern.
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November 21, 2016 at 7:05 pm |
I wish you well with your results.
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November 21, 2016 at 11:12 pm
Thank you. We will see. In the meantime life goes on and yesterday a new great-grandson was born. We are on the way to the hospital to meet the new arrival.
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November 22, 2016 at 10:26 am
How lovely. Congratulations.
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November 21, 2016 at 5:57 pm |
I read somewhere recently that a sure fire test for Alzheimer’s is peanut butter. If you can recognise the smell, it’s probably unlikely that you have the dreaded disease.
I love that poem. Haven’t read or heard it for years, so thanks for the memory 😉
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November 21, 2016 at 9:15 pm |
I am happy to say that I can still smell peanut butter. I keep a jar of it in the cup-board. I sometimes use it in making a hot and spicy peanut sauce , in combination with barbequed chicken wings.
She is a very good poet and had hundreds of them published, Jenny.
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November 21, 2016 at 6:39 pm |
Are you on probiotics? That and a low carbohydrate diet are the best prevention against Alzheimers.
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November 21, 2016 at 9:25 pm |
We try and eat well. Lots of vegetables but I sometimes eat less well. I sneak in a mash and snag about twice a year which I counter with daily intake of butter milk.
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November 21, 2016 at 7:03 pm |
I love reading your reminiscences – you have such a gift for making time stand still for a few moments. Thank you.
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November 21, 2016 at 9:29 pm |
Such a great compliment, Julia. Thank you. It makes my day and the reason I’ll keep going while the words are still there.
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November 21, 2016 at 9:35 pm
I’m glad to hear that . I’ve not had much time for blogging these past few months, but have managed a little lurking. Hopefully, I’ll post in the next few weeks. Keep your stories coming.
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November 22, 2016 at 7:20 pm
Come now Gerard, I am sure the words will always be there. There may just be fewer but hope they never loose their wit, humour and at times, potency ! Keep it up.
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November 22, 2016 at 11:40 pm
Thank you, Happy Lucky.
I hope the owrds keep coming from you too. 😉
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November 21, 2016 at 11:18 pm |
The holidays seem to be a time of remembrance. Of quiet serious things of the past at odds with the noise and merriment going on around us. We all seem to be on the downward slope, but with a good sled we’ll make it to the bottom of the hill in good shape.
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November 22, 2016 at 1:33 am |
Yes, Kayti. A good sled. The best ones are timber framed and generous of size. There used to a brand that were the Rolls Royce of sleds, but I can’t for the life of me remember its name.
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November 22, 2016 at 3:55 am |
We may be our own sled after all.
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November 22, 2016 at 12:48 pm |
Remembering and forgetting both have their place, I think. Christina Rossetti certainly found an elegant way to express that truth. She’s also the author of the lyrics of one of my favorite Christmas songs: “In the Bleak Midwinter.” Despite its title, it manages to be not at all bleak.
I smiled at your descriptions of those early warm holidays. My first Christmas in Liberia, just a few degrees north of the equator, was equally startling. Even now, here on the Texas coast, I’m one of those who hopes for “Christmas weather.” Once, we got a whopping snow on Christmas eve, and that’s still known as the Christmas miracle. There was enough that I could build a little snowman, and down in Galveston, they built a big snowman holding a surfboard. It was wonderful.
That comment about peanut butter and Alzheimer’s disease stopped me. I wonder what the linkage is. Why peanut butter, instead of peppermint, or fresh coffee? In any event, it seems that it is a valid way to confirm a diagnosis, though not diagnostic itself. I’ll just keep eating the stuff, and not worry about it. If i start forgetting names and phone numbers, I’ll have a sniff to check things out.
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November 22, 2016 at 4:46 pm |
It’s not so much the peanut butter, but the fact that a declining sense of smell is an early, although not a definitive, sign of dementia. This is often only recognised retrospectively.
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November 22, 2016 at 11:55 pm
Well, in my case a retrospective diagnosis of dementia will be welcome. I just won’t have the sense to recognize it. See, Big M. Every cloud has a silver lining.
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November 22, 2016 at 11:49 pm |
” a big snowman holding a surfboard.” Surely, Linda. That just about takes the cake. What a wonderful image!
Yes, I don’t know why Alzheimer is so much in the news now. Almost daily.
The peanut butter has also been on the news. Right now, millions of old people around the world are nervously sniffing peanut butter.
Life ,even for the old has much more to offer than being alerted by the media about something when it does strike (Alzheimer.) it might just not be recognized except by those surrounding the victim.
I just read that Gunther Grass and his wife ordered a tradesman carpenter to make ready to fit coffins. They even insisted that the feet of the coffins not be tapered.
I was alerted to this link by Rod.
http://www.dw.com/en/how-to-age-gracefully-g%C3%BCnter-grass-offers-a-radical-last-work/a-18679278
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November 22, 2016 at 11:58 pm
I found a photo of the surf snowman!
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November 23, 2016 at 12:06 am
Hilarious. Thank you, Linda.
I also changed the former link to G.Grass.
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December 20, 2016 at 10:23 am |
What a lovely poem, Gerard. Death is a wonderful subject.
Happy Christmas to you and I hope it isn’t too hot this year!
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December 20, 2016 at 10:40 am |
I did not know her till I read the poem.
Happy Christmas to you as well.
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