Winter is tough on Canadian roads, like this one very near to the cottage.
Winter can be tough on all of us, but the worst of it seems to be over. While it's almost a certainty that we'll receive more wintry blasts, we are now revelling in spring-like weather. We drove home today in sunshine and mildness, which made the three-hour trip seem short.
I'll try to get to everyone's blog within the next few days.
I guess we should have called the cat, Mee'un instead of Rocky, because wherever I am, the cat seems to be there too. You know, Mee'un the Cat? Maybe he thinks his name is Ruth and that mine is Naomi (see post title).
If I'm snuggled under a blanket watching tv on a cold winter's day, he is quite likely to hop on board, often looking at me longingly which is his way of pleading for scritching.
Frequently, I don't sleep well at night, but even when I've only had a few hours, I am unlikely to take a nap on the next day; and, when I do, I keep it short. However, when I did try to snooze a few days ago (below), he soon found me out. He'd like to sleep by my feet every night, but I shoo him over to the shorter-legged Cuppa's side.
He's a great help at the computer (next two photos), either prancing in front or settling off to the side a bit — of course the more in front and less to the side the better — from his point of view that is.
Rocky loves to have a foot rub — my foot doing the rubbing. He'll roll around like a fool in front of me many times during the day. Sometimes, he'll get a rub at the bottom of the stairs, and when I start up, he'll race ahead of me, throw himself on the landing, and wait expectantly for another rub.
The question is, "Does he enjoy it at all." I'm not sure. What do you think?
Although he prefers my foot at the back end, trusting soul that he is, he doesn't even mind when I put my foot on his throat.
If I sit in my den and read, there's a good chance that I'll have company. Sometimes, at night I'll curl up right there in the chair and attempt to go to sleep after reading, and he'll attempt to perch on my hip. How appropriate is the title of the book I am reading in the photo: A Royal Pain?
This is an odd thing though. Although I am usually the object of his devotion, in the morning, he must stay on guard until Cuppa awakes (below). When she is up first, however, he doesn't seem to care where I am or what I do. He certainly doesn't stand on guard until I get up. Strange.
When he first came to us from Thesha's, almost ten years ago, Rocky (aka Mee'un) wouldn't have much to do with me. That lasted from that October until the next summer. One day out in the garden, however, he came to see me for a visit. We chatted amiably and I scritched him while he rolled around all goofy-like, and this is how it has been ever since.
Note: We'll be away for a few more days, but unless I have been able to post something from the cottage (it has been known to happen), this is the final post that I have queued. Oddly enough, I don't usually post this regularly when I'm at home.
The kid slept over on Saturday night, and on Sunday morning we walked her over to Shoppers for a few necessities. What a cutie!
After some warm and rainy weather I think there is less snow on the ground this year in March than there was is April last year. Not that I'm complaining too much, but we do like to snowshoe at the cottage. I wonder if that's happening right now. (It's now Wednesday, and we're now as the cottage. I pre-posted this blog on the weekend.)
I could have used his help at least once in my dismal attempts at choiring. Of which there have been three.
The first: when I was in grade 8 in Montreal our music teacher, Mr Hopper, thought to enter our class in a music festival. We trained and trained to sing two songs. One was Donkey Riding, and I can't recall the other. I was assigned to the alto section and actually knew my part (which never seemed t happen again — read on) and could hold it when all parts were singing. Unfortunately, my changing voice was neither here nor there, and I couldn't sing it very well, so when push came to shove, Mr Hopper decided that I should watch from the sidelines. At the time, I knew he was right in a way, but my adult self informs me that my little voice wouldn't have totally wrecked the performance and that I should have been allowed to be part of it. As it was, the class came in second out of three schools, and we were never going to take it on the road anyway.
Gareth couldn't really have helped me then, and he certainly had to be selective and cut kids for the China trip, but he could have helped me later when as an older teenager, I joined the church choir. It was an enthusiastic group, mostly made up of young people, and we were anything but polished. We'd meet for practice late on a Sunday afternoon, break for supper, and then sing our songs in the evening service. In a large charismatic church, enthusiasm was more important than ability, which was a good thing, for one or two practice attempts at a song certainly didn't leave me with a clear idea of how my bass part should sound. I often tried to listen and follow the alternating guys beside me, but they were usually as clueless as I. Eventually, when I moved on to university I suppose, I gave it up.
Along came attempt three many decades later: just a few years ago as a matter of fact. Our neighbour was involved in beginning a community choir. She overheard me singing, asked me to join, and I decided to give it a try. This choir was much better in terms of quality, but it was still more or less, and hear-it-once-and-then-sing-it kind of affair. That was fine for just about everyone else but not for this guy who couldn't read music — can't read it for singing purposes anyway.
If I could have been beside a strong singer, I might have been able to find my way, but of the three practices that I attended, I was the only bass at two. In point of fact, I was the only guy. Period. That wasn't going to cut it for me, so I gave it up as a bad cause. As time went on after my withdrawal, the choir grew, and there are now a number of bass singers. I attended their Christmas concert but have not been tempted to give it another go. Thrice bitten, thrice shy, I suppose.
I think Gareth would have found a way to help me though. I might have actually enjoyed singing in his choir.
Here is the Lancaster Boys Choir singing Fields of Gold when the choir was still in its formative stage of development. YouTube Link.
It has been more than a month since I last mentioned The Choir, a Britsh tv that followed Gareth Malone as he took on two very formidable challenges. His first challenge was to form a choir at Northolt High School in the London borough of Ealing, Middlesex and then taking the group to China, to compete in the World Choir Games. I stumbled uping the four-part series in the wee hours one night and was hooked by his struggles, tenacity and personality. Although they didn't win the event or even advance beyond the first round, the series was rivetting and both his and the choir's accomplishment was significant.
I was quite thrilled to find that there was a sequel which finished (on the network I was watching) last week, for just one year later, he attempted what was arguably an even more difficult assignment at an all boys school in Leicester. Once again, he prevailed against huge odds by starting a choir and taking more than 100 members to perform at a concert at Royal Albert Hall. Boys Don't Sing was also rivetting and inspiring. I urge you to watch either of these series if ever you can. Meanwhile, here is a YouTube clip of the boy's performance at the Royal Albert.
I couldn't help but really really really liking and respecting Gareth, and this article indicates that I am not alone, for everybody seems to love this guy.
But where was he when I needed him?
... to be continued ...
Note: I will be away this week in unreliable internet territory. Although I have pre-posted a few blogs, it's almost certain that I will be unable to visit yours until sometime next week.
... continued from The Incredible Gareth Malone (see previous post) ...
