But What Did We Do With the Baby?

This is one last look at my September blogs - with a secret Yukon recipe at the end and it isn't for boiled moose nose.  For that you will have to wait.

Read carefully, your name might be here!


The Union House

Hurray! The locals will be able to go in and buy a beer again. It's being turned into a pizza joint.

Thanks for the info, Kim!



Deconstructing Brian

This was a rant about opinionated journalists. Bloggers are the Internet free spirits - we're allowed to have opinions, (unless you blog in Saudi Arabia).

Journalists are only allowed to have opinions if I agree with them.



You Who? Me Velda

I sure have a lot of relatives. I now have the names and e-mail addresses of 902 people who share my DNA.

This could get out of hand...



Love Story North of Sixty

Best comment went to Lynne M who said she would have had her way with him before she ditched him.

Maybe I left out parts of the story, Lynne.

:D



Grave Faces II

This is the second in a series.



Ghosts Among the Grapes

This one ran in mypelham.com but nobody from Henry of Pelham sent over a free case of wine.



Get Your Burka Ready, Girls

I asked how Iran could possibly be a part of the UN's Commission on the Status of Women (they who are threatening to stone Ashtiani) and was horrified to learn from Doug Jamieson, (aka Geezeronline) that Crazyman Gadhaffi, (remember Lockerbie, Scotland?) was elected to chair the UN's Commission on Human Rights.

Very disturbing.



Big Bad Facebook

Ha ha. After weeks of agonizing over how to stop facebook from posting my blog to my wall instead of letting people use my URL, I finally thought to ask google. In two seconds I had the information I needed.



Pumpkin and Chocolate - Together at last

I was surprised at how many pumpkin and chocolate recipes there are out there. Not that anyone sent me any but they talked about them and how yummy they are. If anyone wants to send me a recipe I will post it.

I'm looking at you Chris and Barb.



Gun Down

It was a squeaker but the registry stays.

For now.

 I doubt if this fight is over.



Down and Out in the Superstore

I am driving and walking much slower after my fall. I also notice the Superstore has moved their displays away from the door and careening customers.



Let the Dead Bury the Dead, Let the Living Play Cricket

I'm so tired of this Liberal government.


*


Now just because you have read this far,  I'm passing along a special treat. It is a recipe I found in my old files.  It is from a Yukon baby shower I attended. It has the exciting name of "Punch".

Yukon women aren't big on adjectives.

It was a great shower though!

I just can't remember what we did with the baby!



Punch

1 cup orange juice
1/2 cup lemon juice
1/2 cup sugar
1 bottle of champagne
1 bottle sparkling white wine
1/2 cup of cointreau
pineapple - crushed and chunks
strawberries
ice

*
Now I'm going to catch up on some reading.

See you on Saturday morning!

Let the Dead Bury the Dead, Let the Living Play Cricket

Image via Wikipedia

To say I was shocked when I read Christina Blizzard's article, "Liberals Balk at 1812 Memorial", Sept. 25/10, St. Catharines Standard, would be an understatement.

In case you didn't get a chance to read it during this busy weekend, she wrote that Paul Miller, MP, Hamilton East & Stoney Creek, asked the Provincial Legislature to consider moving the remains of our soldiers and American soldiers who fell during the 1813 Battle of Stoney Creek. He suggested they be reinterred in a more dignified setting.

Liberal Tourism and Culture Minister Michael Chan deep sixed the idea.

No money is forthcoming.

Then Ms Blizzard reminded us that this is the same Liberal government that gave a cricket club $1,000,000.



***



So let's recap what we know.

A.

The Americans invaded on May 27, 1813 and captured Fort George. The British, Canadian Militia and First Nation Warriors retreated to Stoney Creek. The Americans were right behind them. The Battle of Stoney Creek followed on June 6. The Americans were forced to retreat back to Fort George.

Laura Secord took her famous walk through enemy lines a few weeks later On June 22.

The terrible war continued for another year.

The frozen bodies of women and children were found in the snow drifts after the American burned Newark in December of 1813.

We retaliated by burning Buffalo.

Thousands died on Canadian soil at the Battle of Fort Erie in August of 1814.

Those were desperate times  and pivotal in the building of our nation.

The remains of the men who died during the conflict in Stoney Creek are scattered across Battlefield Park. Bone fragments are coming to the surface as the soil erodes.

There is no money to bury them properly.

B.

A cricket club someplace has $1,000,000.




Jeesh.

Down and Out at the Superstore

Yesterday morning I was late for my aerobics class.

I leapt out of bed, wolfed my flax and fibre, fed the patriarch and put the spy car into warp speed. At the gym, which is above the Superstore, I screeched to a stop, jumped out, thundered across the tarmac and entered the building at full throttle.

My mind registered that a young woman was ahead of me, gawking at the early Hallowe'en displays and blocking my way with her grocery cart.

Desperate to make up for lost time, I deked around her.

As I did so, I stepped off the entrance mat and onto the shiny, smooth floor.

Did I mention it was raining and my shoes were wet?

I went into a slow motion, mind boggling free fall, and ended up flat on my back.

A crowd gathered. A crowd of concerned citizens full of sympathy I didn't deserve.

And because I know you are wondering, let me assure you of one thing:

There is absolutely no dignified way for a rain soaked sixty year old lady in spandex shorts to crawl out from under a pile of Wonder Bread.

Jeesh. 

Time to slow down and smell the autumn flowers.



Wes Crow's Market, 381 Canboro Road, Ridgeville



And enjoy the gathering of the pumpkins.



Wes Crow's Market, 381 Canboro Road, Ridgeville



 And hide out from the 300 billion or so people who witnessed my total humiliation.



Gun Down

Image by Getty Images via @daylife

"Citizens under the age of 18 but over the age of 12 may procure a Minor’s Licence which does not allow them to purchase a firearm but allows them to borrow a firearm unsupervised and purchase ammunition. Children under the age of 12 that are found to need a firearm to hunt or trap may also be awarded the Minor's Licence."


Sounds like a law that may have been in place around the time of Confederation, doesn't it?

It is actually one of the many unpleasant surprises I found when I went wading through Canada's murky present day gun laws this morning. If you ever want a good scare try reading what is allowed and isn't allowed in this nation that has such 'strict' gun control.

I confess that I haven't paid much attention to the Bill C-391 vote set for today. A gun registry is necessary and although I was aware that it was going to be a tight vote, I was sure good sense would triumph.

Then I read the letter to the editor from Karen Vanscoy, Margaret Pinard, Priscilla de Villier and Donna French in the St. Catharines Standard last night. Women who have lost children to acts of violence. Names we all know. Women we have walked with on their terrible journey. They were obviously concerned that the outcome might not be what we all had assumed it would be.

I began to worry that the Bill might pass.

My belief is that guns, long, short, or in between must be registered. No exceptions for farmers, hunters, First Nations people or intruders from the planet Zajeeb X.

Here's hoping our M.P.s do the right thing today.

Pumpkin & Chocolate, Together At Last

I don't just like pumpkins. I love pumpkins!
I love big pumpkins, small pumpkins, even the new white pumpkins!

If pumpkins were Liberals I would vote for Dalton McGinty that's how agreeable I find them. Fortunately for me pumpkins don't do politics.

What pumpkins do is feed people.

This is a recipe I got from my fearless friend, Elaine, who lives in Whitehorse, Yukon.

I say fearless because she once came to my house and killed ten bizzillion hornets with a rolled up newspaper. You have to respect a recipe from a woman like that.

Besides, this recipe combines pumpkin and chocolate. 

How sexy is that?





Elaine's Harvest Loaf

Step 1

Combine in the order given:

1/2 cup butter or margarine

1 cup granulated sugar

2 eggs

3/4 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Step 2

Combine these items separately and stir well:

1 & 3/4 cup flour

1 tsp soda

1 tsp cinnamon

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp nutmeg

Step 3

Combine steps 1 and 2 and then add 3/4 cup of canned pumpkin

Step 4

Bake at 350 for 1 & 1/2 hours

Step 5

This step is the most important part of the recipe. 

Do not omit it!

Add:
 one hour for yourself,
one dog
 one cup of tea
and whatever thriller you are reading at the moment.

Great recipe, eh?

Bad Bad Facebook

 

Image via Wikipedia

There is something creepy about The-Entity-That-Is-Facebook.

Recently it snuck into my blog site, grabbed my blog and posted it to my wall before I even decided I was going to post to fb. Okay, I always post to fb, but that doesn't matter.

Computer programmes shouldn't be wandering around the internet thinking things like, "Oh there's another blog by Francie. Won't she be surprised when she wakes up!"

I was surprised. Horribly.

And spooked.


It seems that every few months The-Entity-That-Is-Facebook has taken another liberty.

It's like being on a date with Roman Polanski when you are only 13.


So, keeping Erma Bombeck's advice in mind, i.e., "If you can't be a good example, be a terrible warning." (Thanks, Barb), I decided to take matters into my own hands and walk where no sixty-year old, female non-geek has walked.

Yes folks, I went into the blogsite toolbox.

Alone.

I fiddled with more things that I didn't understand than Dalton McGinty does just before an election.

So either The-Entity-That-Is-Facebook, will start respecting me and my link or the whole blog site will come crashing around my ears and I will have to pay some grade eight kid to come and fix everything for me.

Jeesh.

I hate being the terrible warning.

Get Your Burka Ready, Girls

Image by david_shankbone via Flickr

I'm beginning to suspect that Canadian newspapers have given up on reporting the news and have taken to printing bad jokes instead.

Yesterday the local paper reported that the United Nations has elected Iran, a country in which stoning is enshrined in law and lashings are required for women who are judged immodest, to its Commission on the Status of Women .

As far as jokes go, it isn't very funny, guys.

I mean, really...

You or I would win the lottery before Iran would be elected to the UN's Commission on the Status of Women.

Rick Mercer would announce that he had actually been born in Buffalo before Iran would be elected to the UN's Commission on the Status of Women.

The Leafs would win the Stanley Cup again before Iran would be elected to the UN's Commission on the Status of Women.

Gilles Duceppe and his hair net would tour another cheese factory before Iran would be elected to the UN's Commission on the Status of Women.

And for sure, Canada would immediately and unconditionally condemn such an outrage!


Right.

The UN has some 'splainin' to do.

Ghosts Among the Grapes

 

Henry of Pelham Family Estate, 1469 Pelham Rd., St. Catharines
905-684-8423 or 1-877-Pelham7.  Open daily.

The grape harvest is celebrated in Niagara during September.

Henry of Pelham is the only winery that has its own graveyard.

I think.

Actually I guess I shouldn't make such a bold statement without knowing the facts. For all I know having a graveyard might be part of the licensing requirement to grow grapes.

Chardonnay grapes like these.

Or these Riesling grapes.

But how many wineries have ghosts?

Rumours that Henry of Pelahm has at least one ghost have been around for years but I found the workers reluctant to talk about it.

I had to badger one of them into admitting that things 'have been seen'.

I suppose the stories make for good  publicity but when you step into the old building it is easy to imagine that it might be haunted.

But for wine lovers the trip to Henry of Pelham's is worth facing an irate 'spirit' or two.

Wine tastings and tours are offered daily in the summer and by appointment in the winter.

If you can squeeze a trip in before Thanksgiving the Coach House Cafe and Cheese Shoppe will be open for lunch!

Just make sure you order Henry of Pelham Chardonnay with your Baco Barrel Smoked Trout with Horse Radish Cream,

or a Sauvignon Blanc with your Spicy Eggplant Capponata,

or a Pinot Noir with your Roasted Niagara Peaches, Prosciutto and Brie Cheese Panini Sandwich.

It's  all so frightfully good!

Grave Faces II

Cemeteries are full of whimsy
and hope.

 

This tiny little fellow is not engaged in angelic work yet. 
He is far too young. 
As I snap his picture I wonder if angels are born or just magically appear.
If they are born, it means that angels ...

hmmm.

.

I love the look on her face.
It is the look that children get  when they are absorbed by the story they are hearing. 

I imagine that this angel is hearing the life story of the person upon whose tomb she rests.
Must have been a rip snorter of a life!

 Not quite old enough to guard the living or welcome the dead,
this child is engaged in tending the gardens. 
He takes his new responsiblity very seriously
like a child in charge of cleaning the chalk board brushes at school.

A pre-teen! 

 Because of the impish little smile, I keep expecting one eye to pop open

as she checks to see whether her friends have their eyes closed too. 

 I was tempted to put an ipod in the ear of this angel before I took her picture.
She looks lost tin her music like any teenager.

Such a compassionate face. 

 She looks like the kind of girl a teacher would pick to take care of the new kid in the class. 

I imagine this is the angel who greets new arrivals.

I hope she was on duty last week.

As I was leaving the cemetery today a butterfly landed in front of me.

A comforting symbol at the end of a sad week.

A Love Story From North of Sixty

Image via Wikipedia

Alaska is a remarkable place. It is full of beautiful snow capped mountains, fresh air, turbulent history and an assortment of the most interesting people you could ever hope to meet. When I was teaching in the Yukon I was so taken with the forty-ninth state that on one of my holidays home to Ontario I told my family that I hoped to find an Alaskan to marry so that I could stay there.

My brother, who'd had a hockey scholarship to a New England college for four years, and was therefore an authority on all things American, snorted and said, "And what are you going to do when he decides that he wants to move back to Muncie, Indiana?"

"Humph!" I said.

A few years later during the early summer I was driving from Whitehorse over the Top of the World Highway to Skagway, Alaska. I was going to take one of the Alaska State ferries down to Vancouver Island.

Much to my surprise, because I was in the middle of nowhere, two big hitchhiking men suddenly appeared in my line of vision.

In the north you do not leave anyone standing on the side of the road.

I stopped.

The younger one got in the back and the older one climbed in beside me. It turned out to be a father and son team from New Jersey who had spent a few weeks together hiking in the Alaskan wilderness.

The father and I talked for hours as we headed into Skagway. We got along so well that I was actually sad to say goodbye to him when I dropped them off downtown and headed to the ferry terminal.

I drove my car onto the ferry, shaking my head at the way things go in my life.

Just before the ferry hove away from the dock I was leaning against the railing, staring at the water feeling sorry for myself when I felt someone come and stand beside me. I looked up into the rugged face of my hitch hiker.

"I should come with you," he said gruffly.

For a second my knees went weak, I swooned and my mind was suddenly full of images of a little house with a white picket fence. I saw dogs, maybe even kids and it was all happening in...











Uh oh.













"No you shouldn't," I said hastily.

I practically pushed him down the gangplank.

"But have a great trip home to Muncie!

...I mean Trenton!"










I waved goodbye and really enjoyed the rest of my trip.

You Who? Me Velda

Image via Wikipedia

When I was small my mother used to tuck me in at night and say, "Never forget that you are a Highlander."

And because both of my paternal grandparents were also born in Scotland I grew up thinking that I had heather instead of blood in my veins. I didn't know then that my last name was Irish and I probably had more potatoes in my veins than heather.

My mother was so enamoured with her Scottish ancestors that she neglected to tell me about the other half of her family until I was much older. Her father's family was mostly German UEL with a little Iroquois thrown in.

The point is that you might think you know a lot about your family tree but a little research can uncover some big surprises.

I blogged about Y Chromosome Adam and Mitochondrial Eve awhile ago. National Geographic is researching the patterns of human migration. It is called the Genographic Project.

I was so excited about their project that I ordered the kit.*

I received the results yesterday.

I found out that I am descended from a line of women in the 'Velda Clan', or to put it less romantically, I am part of Haplogroup V.

My grandmothers left Africa through the Sinai Peninsula.

Though we are small in number compared to some of the other groups, we do have our own face book page!

Haplogroup V people are found mostly in northern Scandinavia herding reindeer and the Iberian Peninsula drinking wine.

Oh, and one blogs in North Pelham.

No mention of Scotland.

Sorry, Mom.



*Note: If you order the kit, watch the DVD first. I found out that there is a reason they ask for two samples. Teachers are notorious for not following directions and true to my kind I ruined the first sample.

Deconstructing Brian

I love this eye catching headline.


The first sentence is even better. The article isn't just going to be about the left wing, it is going to be about the far left wing! Holy cow there's even a cherry on top for paranoid Canucks who are touchy about being thought of as American puppets: far left wing Americans invading Canada without our knowledge and doing scary things to us.

As I hunkered down with my coffee, a delicious shiver ran up and down my spine. This was going to be a real bodice ripper.

"Those naughty Yankee devils," I thought picturing Fabio's hair blowing in the wind.

I read on.

It got sexier. Far left wing American church groups!

OMG! Christians!

Even Margaret Atwood was up in arms about that!

We have our standards in Canada. We might not mind taking a little heat from pleasant Americans like Ann Coulter, but you peace mongering American church goers get out of our backyard.


Thank heavens we've got people like Brian Lilley to tell us the unbiased facts, Canada.



Note: This fun little read appeared in the St. Catharines Standard on Sept. 2, 2010. Sorry it isn't clear. If you missed it and really feel you want to read it you can google his headline.

The Union House

Image via Wikipedia

Black and empty now, Hallett's Bar has been standing on Merritt Street in my home town of Merritton, Ontario, since 1875.

Hallett's Bar is also known as 'The Union House'. I never knew how it had earned its nickname until last year when my 94 year old aunt told me a little of its history.

When she was a young girl she managed to land a job in one of the factories in town. The working conditions were grim; long hours, low pay, no breaks and a boss who terrified the girls.

Then one year the union came in from Toronto and organized the workers. They got a pay raise, breaks, a real bathroom and the boss was forced to stop his bullying.

Happy ending, right?

Well sort of.

The new problem was the union meetings.



You see, Merritton was settled by Irish Protestants and Catholics who came to build the first Welland Canal. They had been fighting with each other since before the earth was formed.

 When they first arrived in this area in the early 1800s their battles were murderous and often required intervention by the local militia.


The Toronto Union leaders had no idea of what they had gotten themselves into, because suddenly the descendents of the original Irish workers had a common enemy .

The first rule was that every worker, male or female, had to attend the union meeting. The second, (unofficial), rule was that on the appointed day the men had to get off work, go straight to Hallett's Bar and get drunk first.

Hallett's became a clubhouse for the male workers. Hence the name, 'The Union House'.

Unfortunately, the female workers often got caught in the ensuing mêlée.



Well the factories are all gone now, moved to Mexico I suppose, and the unions are also gone, (but not likely to Mexico), and if you tried to find it on a map, even my old home town of Merritton is gone, swallowed up by St. Catharines.

But 'The Union House' is still there - closed and quiet, a reminder of a time when the labour movement was young and the factories of Southern Ontario kept this country running.

Have a great Labour Day Weekend, everybody!

I Am Teacher. Watch Me Sweat.

Image via Wikipedia

Okay, it isn't my business anymore.

I'm retired.

I'm not heading back into a sweatbox next week.

Why should I still care?

I tried to do something about it when I was still working.

When I was close to retirement and not afraid that I'd be transferred to the-school-in-Hell, I phoned the Director of Education's secretary and asked to speak to Himself, himself.

"What's this about?" his admin ass asked.

"It's about the fact that our Jk classroom is 38 degrees."

My own classroom was directly above the Jk room and had a similar temp but the kids were older. The other classrooms weren't any better. I was the union rep.

"And it has been this way for days!" I added.

"I'm sorry, He's busy."

"Well, what are we supposed to do?" I asked the ass.

"You should take your class and sit under a tree. That's what I would do," said she from her air conditioned office as she hung up on me.

An inner city school, we had two trees - one in the front of the school and one in the back and over 300 kids.



It still bothers me.

I wonder how important kids are in our society. The work they produce is important. We compare it to the work other kids do in other schools, boards, cities, provinces, countries. We congratulate ourselves or beat ourselves up over the results.

But are the kids themselves important?

How many adults would work in airless, 38 degree rooms packed with thirty or so sweaty bodies for at least eight weeks a year?


Just because it hasn't been done, doesn't mean it shouldn't be done.













We need to invest in air conditioners for our schools.













It just ain't getting cooler out there, folks.

A Back to School Story

Image by Thorne Enterprises via Flickr

I managed to weasel out of teaching music for twenty-five or so years. Eventually the day came when try as I might, I just couldn't figure out how to get someone else to teach it for me.

I did what any teacher caught in a similar situation would do.

I ordered a class set of recorders.

"How hard could it be?" I thought. "You blow in one end and music comes out the other."

When the recorders arrived I pestered the kindergarten teacher until she took pity on me and taught me how to play 'Hot Cross Buns'.

Realizing that I was born to rock I spent the next few day playing my song for anyone who crossed my path.

Eventually I passed the recorders out to my grade fours. I explained that we wouldn't be making beautiful music until we learned about the instrument. I pointed out that the round holes were given letter names; the top one was B, the second A, the third G and so on. I showed them how to cover the openings with their fingers.

I said, "Now we'll have a little test. I'll call out the letters and you use your fingers properly. Is everyone ready?"

Enthusiastically they all nodded.














At this point I have to tell you that for years after this happened I got down on my knees every night and thanked the Good Lord that I wasn't teaching grade eight that day.















How was I supposed to know that in the music world they are called apertures?














I told thirty ten year old kids to put their fingers on their A holes.

Spiders, Insects, Weeds and Birds - Yikes!

Nature makes the transition to autumn before we do. Here are four sure fire ways you can recognize the changing of the seasons.

The creepy crawlies are trying to get inside to find a cozy home for the winter.

I had to wrestle this garden spider to the ground last night - right in my bedroom! I wasn't about to snuggle up with the big fella till next April. A girl has her standards. He spent the night in this glass jar and in the morning was given a stern lecture and quickly ushered back outside.

The monarchs are congregating in the trees getting ready for the long trip to Mexico. I counted fifteen on this one branch.

I wouldn't mind visiting them in Mexico round about the middle of January, but so far, although I have hosted hundreds, not one return invitation has been issued!

The golden rod behind the barn is as tall as I am. I can't think of a plant that causes more misery.

Okay, okay, I suppose poison ivy and poison oak cause more misery. Oh - and what about that new plant that is now in Ontario, Giant Hog weed? It looks like Queen Anne's Lace, but, and I'm sure I heard this on CBC, it is so evil it sucks your brains out through your nostrils if you try to sniff it.

















And the last sign.

It is a bit of a dire warning.











It happened almost three weeks early this year.

 

The martins are gone.

Welcoming the Third Sister

Last week I went tromping into a muddy field in North Pelham looking for the third sister. When I got to a likely spot I parted the huge leaves and peered along the ground.

It didn't take long to spot sister squash. I quickly snapped her picture as proof, (see above), and then I high tailed it back to the road in case the farmer came along and thought I was a vegetable thief.

The Third Sister - Squash

Hick's Farm, Tice Road, Ridgeville, Ontario

In the Iroquois legend of the Maid of the Mist, Lelawela goes to her death over Niagara Falls in a canoe laden with corn, beans and squash because the three sisters were sacred sustainers of life.

If you aren't familiar with the legend, in a nutshell, it goes like this:

The people were sick and dying. It was decided to sacrifice the chief's beautiful daughter, Lelawela, to appease the Thunder God, Hinam.

Lelawela went willingly to her death but as she paddled over the edge of the Falls one of the sons of the Thunder God fell in love with her and caught her before she hit the rocks below. She promised to live with him in the Spirit Kingdom if he would tell her why her people were dying. He told her that an evil serpent was living in the Niagara River and poisoning the water. He allowed Lelawela to go and tell her people.

The people were so angry they caught the serpent and tied its head to one side of the river and its tail to the other. After it died the curve of its body became the brink of the Horse shoe Falls.

Great story, eh?  A story with a lesson because the poison is back in the Niagara River and its from the serpent called 'Industrial Waste'.

The people need to get angry again.

Anyway as this the last of my three sisters blogs* I thought I'd pass along a recipe that includes all three of them.

THREE SISTERS SOUP 

 2 cups (19 oz. can) corn kernels

(I used the kernels from two left over cobs of corn cooked the day before)
2 cups chopped green beans
 (processor or blender or by hand)
2 cups cubed butternut squash
(I used sweet potato squash because that is what I had on hand)
1-1/2 cups diced potatoes
2 tbsp. flour

2 tbsp soft butter
3/4 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp pepper
2 chicken bouillion cubes (optional)

In a large pot combine corn, green beans, squash, potatoes and 5 cups of water. Bring to boil Reduce heat, simmer, covered for 1 hour. Mash all vegetables in the pot with potato masher. Blend the flour and butter together and stir into soup. Cook another 5 or 10 minutes stirring occasionally. Add salt and pepper.




Garnish with a bit of shredded cheese.

This is a great soup for a chilly, autumn day!


*


* This is my last blog about the three sisters. 
I will, however,  be blogging about pumpkins at a later date!

Grave Faces

I love cemeteries.

The dead, when I see them in their coffins, don't always look comfortable. Being returned to the earth seems to bring peace.

This is an unusual monument because it is a realistic portrait of a 19th century woman and it stands in a part of the cemetery that is filled with sculptures of angels and saints. 

She gazes down directly into the eyes of anyone who pauses at her grave. She neither judges us, nor tries to save us. Her gaze is so impassive, it looks as if she is on a journey and is waiting for us to pass before she continues.

I wonder about purgatory as I snap her picture.

I found this little fellow standing all alone. This is not an angel, it is a little boy.

I wonder if it is his own or his mother's grave he is forever contemplating. There is no inscription on the statue and the area around him has returned to its natural state.

Such a pensive angel! She isn't praying, she is lost in thought. When I look like that I'm ususallly thinking about what's for supper.

Before I take her picture I wonder what an angel would daydream about while on duty.

Okay, here we have an angel who is definitely at work. She is watching someone intently and she looks ready to spring into action.

Definitely the guardian angel of someone who had a little trouble staying on the straight and narrow while among the living.

This angel is not only praying, she is also pointing the way to heaven in case I have forgotten where it is.

A beautiful, serene angel lost in prayer.

As I walk around this tomb, I hope this playful sculpture of three lost toddlers brought some comfort to their parents.  The inscription and the lamb make me think of the Bible verse I learned as a child:

"Let the little children come to me, and do not forbid them, for of such is the Kingdom of God.

Luke 18:16

Such is the Kingdom of God, indeed.

Have a peaceful, rainy Sunday, everyone!