Happy Birthday FamilyWiggs!

[Moo]

That's really tragic news. Is there any possibility of some sort of treatment for it in the not-too-distant future?

 

[FamilyWiggs]

Well Moo - I am researching quickly. Thankfully it seems CF is not quite as devastating a diagnosis as it was 20 or 30 years ago. Whilst still life-shortening and limiting, it seems advances in treatment mean that an expectation of a relatively normal life is not unreasonable for some people with the condition. I hadn't realised how common a condition it was - or that around 1 in 25 of us carry the gene. There seems to be quite a lot of genetic research going on, so who knows what novel treatments mught be available in the future.

 

[Penners]

The lucky old soul had decided to have forty more winks and just didn't wake up again.
That's how I want to go.

Me too. But let's agree to wait a while, shall we?

 

[Moo]

Ooh, yes. I'm certainly not in any hurry.

 

[jocelyn plummer]

Strangely enough my Mother would not allow bunches of snowdrops in the house, she believed them to be unlucky. Reading some of your associations with snowdrops I turned to my Great Aunt's charming little book called 'The Language of Flowers'. For snowdrop it says:'Sweet are the memories that ye bring of the pleasant leafy paths of spring.
They also signify hope.

 

[Flyfisher]

That sounds a lovely book, although I've always thought of snowdrops as being an indication that spring is on its way rather than actually having sprung. Probably because the weather can still be cold, wet and generally miserable but the snowdrops are cheering and promising better things to come soon.

I wonder what your book says about the daffodil, my favourite flower, which is truly indicative of spring having sprung.

 

[MdB]

These were planted by our neighbours uncle when she was a child in the wood at the end of the lane. She is now 93.

(Picture by Mrs MdB who is a bit better than me at taking pictures)

 

[jocelyn plummer]

There is not a picture for the Daffodil, but it says in the list:

Daffodil:
Regard. Unrequited love :shock: :roll:

I absolutely love that book, the flowers that are illustrated are gorgeous. I've been trying to work out how old it is. My Great Aunt died in 1960 aged 95, and she has signed the book to her Aunt, wishing a bright and Happy New Year. There is a way to tell the age of early books which do not carry the date of publishing--- any one know?

 

[worms]

There is a way to tell the age of early books which do not carry the date of publishing--- any one know?

You could look it up on Google Books.

Is it this one?

Title: The language of flowers and floral poesy: a book for all seasons ; illustrated
Publisher John W. Lovell, 1880
Length 547 pages

 

[Penners]

the daffodil, my favourite flower, which is truly indicative of spring having sprung.

"Spring has sprung!", said the bumble bee.
"How do you know?", said the old oak tree.
"I just saw a daffodil
"Blooming on a windy hill!"

Spring is sprung, the grass is riz
I wonder where dem boidies iz.
Da liddle boid is on da wing,
But dat's absoid,
Da liddle wing is on da boid.

 

[FamilyWiggs]

With a quick nod to Wordsworth...

I wandered lonely as a cloud,
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I came across,
My dog being sick on the daffodils.

 

[JoceAndChris]

Grrr. Everyone knows the original version should be "I wandered lonely as a cow" - an image which should be resonant with you Robin, and which was unfortunately altered by that incestuous sister.

 

[jocelyn plummer]

Not that one Worms, but the date is about right. I will have a look on google. Thanks

 

[FamilyWiggs]

Grrr. Everyone knows the original version should be "I wandered lonely as a cow" - an image which should be resonant with you Robin, and which was unfortunately altered by that incestuous sister.

But cows don't float.

Do they? :shock:

 

[Gareth Hughes]

Grrr. Everyone knows the original version should be "I wandered lonely as a cow" - an image which should be resonant with you Robin, and which was unfortunately altered by that incestuous sister.

Lynn Peters, Why Dorothy Wordsworth is not as famous as her brother

" I wandered lonely as a...
They're in the top drawer, William,
Under your socks--
I wandered lonely as a --
No not that drawer, the top one.
I wandered lonely by myself --
Well wear the ones you can find,
No, don't get overwrought my dear,
I'm coming."

" I was out one day wandering
Lonely as a cloud when --
Softboiled egg, yes my dear,
As usual, three minutes -- As a cloud when all of a sudden --
Look, I said I'll cook it,
Just hold on will you --
All right, I'm coming.

" One day I was out for a walk
When I saw this flock --
It can't be too hard, it had three minutes.
Well put some butter on it.
-- This host of golden daffodils
As I was out for a stroll one --

"Oh you fancy a stroll, do you,
Yes, all right William. I'm coming.
It's on the peg. Under your hat.
I'll bring my pad, shall I, in case
You want to jot something down?"

 

[LadyArowana]

But cows don't float.

Do they? :shock:

View attachment 1



They float when they are ex cows in water too, but I don't think anyone wants to see that at breakfast time.

 

[essexbearhunter]

Cows are amazing creatures - we spotted this pair in the old town of Malaga watching the Carnival a couple of weeks back.

 

[JoceAndChris]

:lol: :lol: :lol:

The Lynn Peters poem on Dotty is not one I knew - brilliant! Dipping into the Lakeland Journals again, which I haven't looked at for years, she comes across as the most unbelievable fusspot with an unhealthy obsession with every detail of her brother's life:


"William was looking at The Pedlar when I got up. He arranged it, and after tea I wrote it out -280 lines. In the meantime the evening being fine he carried his coat to the tailor's, and went to George Mackareth's to engage the horse. He came into me at about 1/2 past nine pressing me to go out, he had got letters which we were to read out of doors - I was rather unwilling, fearing I could not see to read the letters, but I saw well enough...

The horse is come - Friday morning - so I must give over. William is eating his broth. I must prepare to go. The swallows, I must leave them, the well, the garden, the roses, all. Dear creatures!!"

Their journey is to Rivaux (boiled milk and bread), then Beverly, (the Minster she describes as being very much injured with Grecian architecture) Hull (she hates it), Lincoln (duck and peas and cream cheese), Peterborough, London (W writes the famous Westminster Bridge sonnet), then Dover, then Calais, where she had to share him with French wife and child for a bit, and he wrote "It is a beauteous evening, calm and free!"

A fascinating life, and although you can't argue for much literary merit in the Journal, I like it more for the picture it gives of the turn of that century than many of the brother's turgid efforts.