Susan Boyle Sings Into History

This morning my husband told me he had sent me a you tube video that was amazing. Since he mentioned it a couple of times, as soon as I sat with my breakfast at my computer I opened the link. Incredible! Susan Boyle, an unknown 47-year-old from Scotland absolutely stunned the studio crowd watching Britain's Got Talent, and the cynical, smart-mouthed Simon Cowell broke into a broad smile which only left his face when his chin dropped in utter amazement. Way to go, Susan.
I've now listened to Susan enough times that her solid throaty voice rings in my ears and her down home smile, frumpy hair, kind smiling eyes and yellow taffeta dress have become iconic. This unemployed woman now has a career.
The studio audience was unkind in its laughter at Susan when she appeared and as she answered Simon's questions. Play the link above and you'll see. But as soon as the music rang out and Susan started to sing, mouths gaped and hands began to applaud all over the hall. How quickly the crowd can change its mind. I thought of the inate ability humans have to recognize quality in others. For all our cynicism, our worldliness, our snappy, jaded comments, when something really good comes along, we SEE it. We drop our put-on personalities and we give a genuine response.
Susan, you seem like a lovely, ordinary, wonderful lady who has lived life simply. You've never even been kissed! How fantastic that this miracle should occur for you. And good for you for having the guts to face down that negative vibe in the studio and sing for your life. Oh, yes. That's what you did, because your life will never be the same again. That voice will be heard all over the world. Yay, Susan!

Swan River

A week or so ago, on a sunny Sunday, Ron and I decided to take a drive to Stratford and do our usual circle walking around the beautiful Avon river. It has so many wonderful memories for us that whether the day is cold or hot, sunny or 'seasonal', we love to get out and hoof it.
Imagine how happy we were to arrive by chance about a half hour before the annual trooping of the swans, a regular spring thing for Stratforders. We tried to join in last year last year but on the appointed day the river was still covered with ice, leaving no place for the swans to, well, troop.
We started our walk on the far bridge heading for the less-traveled path on the far side of the river.

Can you see that spring is just itching to get out and green up here?

And this big old tree elicited some discussion between us as to what its age might be. Do you have a guess? Oops, sorry. I don't know the answer.

We made our way over to the more popular side and found ourselves in huge crowds. This kid up in the tree reminded me of Zacheus, short fellow that he was, scrambling up in a tree to have a better view of Jesus.

We stood in the three-deep crowd for a few minutes and waited but I didn't like the tight standing room. There would be no place for me to get an unobstructed picture of the swans when they finally waddled their way down the street to the river. We moved away from the crowds and stood looking back for the swans.

Here they come! Oh, it's only one. Is that all there is? People around us were disappointed.

Then the black pair set sail and the show started in earnest.

That got things going and a whole, well, troop of swans tumbled into the river. Yay!

It was like the waltz of the sugar plum fairies, only on the water. Now I understand the term Swan Lake!

Amazingly a few of the swans paired up. Someone near said there are only three or four pairs allowed on the river. As the others pair off apparently they are moved to other water places to prevent fighting among them all for supremacy. Ah, the swans are just like people. Too many cooks in the kitchen, etc.

We moved to the little bridge access to the island and the swans just kept swimming, heading for who knows where.

A number of them couldn't keep from swishing their wings and trying to fly, but of course their wings would be clipped to keep them from leaving the Avon. They are a big tourist attraction.

I tried to get this centre pair doing the heart swan picture thing, with their two heads together, but wasn't successful.

Are they not magnificent? So stately and serene. Just makes me relax to watch them.

And here the whole gang got in a flurry to fly in their joy to be out on the river again.

Come swim with me, they seemed to be saying.

Oh, I want to take right off! Watch me, guys!

The larger view.

And we continued on our walk, accompanied this time and for the rest of the summer by the swimming swans under the beauteous blue sky.

If you haven't yet found Statford, Ontario, put it on your bucket list. Oh, and you might love the fabled Stratford Festival Theatre located adjacent to this natural joy.

Support Our Troops

No, I don't have a yellow sticker on my car and I'm not actively haranguing people in support of our troops. But I do have a stake in it. Last night we had a wonderful surprise when the phone rang and we were invited to my sister's for an impromptu party. Andrew had surprised them by popping in suddenly--along with his wife, Tamsin--for a couple of days here in Ontario before they return to New Brunswick and he ships out for his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Of course we jumped at the chance to have this goodbye with them all.
Andrew is a wonderful young man in the first fresh bloom of life, with a laughing and vibrant wife--a nurse--and thousands of plans for the future. He is happy to be doing his tour in Afghanistan helping the Afghani people achieve their freedom. Quite candidly he discussed his part in the mission. He is part of a special unit to find explosives and detonate them and feels he has been well trained to do that. I pray that is so.
He stands tall and blonde, strong and vital but readily stoops to enfold me in one of many hugs that evening. He has never been shy about sharing his feelings, one of his many endearing qualities. His blue eyes smile, too, as he talks and listens. I watch him across the table, drinking in his confidence and his love of life and joy at being with his family. Oh, how we all care for him!
At the end of the evening for my husband and I, we try to think of something appropriate to say, something really meaningful to leave with him, but for once my words fail me and I have to be content with holding and hugging him for the last time before he goes. Eight months, he says, until his tour is over. My sisters and I have planned a girls' drive to New Brunswick to see his wife, Tamsin, in June and that helps a bit. I cannot imagine how she is facing this, newly wed in February, but the strength in both her and Andrew helps us all.
And so now I have a really personal stake in supporting our troops. A day will not go by that we do not think of our nephew so far away walking with death every day, believing that he is one of the lucky ones and will come back safe to us. Support Our Troops. With your tax dollars, your good wishes and your prayers.

Three Best Things Again

At night when I put aside my book, turn out my bedside light and lie on my back for just a few moments, I let the day wash over me. I think of all the good things that happened, that made me smile. Of course the day usually had some bad things, too, but I try to let them go and concentrate on the good. And it works.

Last night I thought of how much I enjoy the Cantabile Ladies Choir and my membership in it. I am the oldest by far but that is part of the fun. I can listen to all those younger--some, MUCH younger--voices and match my sound to them. During breaks, the chatter is of jobs and kids, hit songs and movies, babysitting and babysitters, with nary a word about aches and pains, groans and grouches. They keep me young. And at last night's practice, when I didn't sing because of my cold, I got a chance to just listen. It was lovely. A marvel to me, though, was how much I missed hearing my own voice with the rest.

Before I went to sleep I also thought back to our short visit with our son yesterday when he took time from working on computers, video conference units and networking to just sit and chat for about 20 minutes. Like so many he is struggling in this economic climate and his health has been rotten the last few months. I don't think there is a cold or flu bug that he hasn't harbored this winter. Nevertheless, he keeps going working out the way of his life--with his wife and son--for the next few months. He is always thinking, always planning, always doing what's best. We are so blessed.

And the third thought that came to me was my novel and the way it has opened my life, changed my life for the better, and is nearing completion. Oh, I finished the first draft a year ago but now I am honing in on the final copy. This long, hard process has changed me. I thought last night about the fact that now I talk openly about my writing, about my hopes for it, about the process, about the hard work, about the dedication needed to get where I am going with it. And I have found many others who understand. So many, in fact, that when I talk to those who don't answer or can't relate I realize that has nothing to do with me and I shouldn't worry about it. Here I am, 62, and I finally don't worry about what other people think. My Eureka! is a little late coming but it's brightening my life anyhow.

I wonder what today's three, four, five, twenty zillion best things will be?