This is the post I was supposed to write yesterday. I had decided on a mostly pictorial post, featuring signs that make me laugh, and I had quite a few of them. In particular, the one about the US military’s identification chart always cracks me up. They have a blanket policy of denying the existence of any new military craft until they have no choice but to tell the truth ; par for the course for any security-minded government. However, as I was thinking about that, the post took on a darker tone as I ruminated on the more harmful lies we’ve been told by our leaders in all sectors of society– business, military, governmental, and my light-hearted pictorial post became a polemical rant about the venality and mendacity of those in positions of power and trust. Earlier that day, I’d been reading Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address. If you are not familiar with it, I’m quoting it here now:
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
It is one of the most amazing speeches of all time. Every time I read it, I get goosebumps. Four minutes long, and he actually says he doesn’t think anyone will remember his words. Abe, if only you knew. These are the speeches that make mankind follow leaders even to the gates of Hades. Words can be deployed as a weapon, for good or for bad and yet, as I was getting into full rant-mode, I felt a check in my spirit and I cancelled the post.
Today’s main story in the papers was about Tony Blair apologising for, and admitting culpability for his part in the mess the Middle East and a substantial part of the Arab world has become. Two simple words 12 years later, ‘I’m sorry.’ Of course that does not make up for the nightmare that has ensued, and it’s pretty cold comfort for the bereaved, the maimed, and the refugees. Does he mean it or is he just trying to save himself? I’m not sure it matters that much. The words themselves won’t fix what has been broken. And yet, and yet. We all do terrible things and have them done to us. The acts that we find hardest to forgive are those where the culprit shows no remorse, where they think they can bluff their way out of trouble because we’re too stupid to believe the evidence of our own eyes. I guess I’m going to try and use my words carefully, at least until I get carried away again…..
To leave you in the light-hearted spirit I had intended, Craig Brown writes an occasional series of columns imagining 21st century responses of the Twitterati et al to past events. My favourite is one in response to Martin Luther King’s equally astonishing ‘I have a dream’ speech. I bring you Tony from Basildon’s response:
‘We all have a dream, mate. But you don’t hear us going on and on about it’
Comedy gold. Apologies to all Basildonians; blame Craig Brown, not me. Have a fabulous and inspired week.
Ode to Pasta
I was going to write about All Saints Day but quickly realised that I could not better the William Walsham How hymn, ‘For all the saints, who from their labours rest’. I decided not to embarrass myself, or distress you with my pathetic efforts. As usual, inspiration came after a short nap. I was changing the display picture on my BBM app to that of a meal I had the last time I was in Italy and I thought, ‘Of course, an ode to pasta’. Long overdue, I don’t know why there isn’t one. I aim to rectify this sadly neglected branch of poetry. (Yes, from the sublime to the ridiculous. Bur bear with me, it’s Monday and we all need cheering up). I have composed not one, but two poems in praise of pasta.
I sing the gnocchi electric
O Tortelli, what ecstasy
I emanate when you I see
Once Penne held me with its charms
To Ziti I owe countless sighs
‘Twas Spaghetti while overseas
Now all three are nonentities
For you eclissare you see
Ti voglio Torti to a T
(with apologies to Louise.J.Walker and Walt Whitman)
Comparative eatology
Rice is nice
But Pasta is fasta
(with apologies to Ogden Nash)
AlaraApothecary, we supply all your poetic needs. Have a fab and groovy, carb-laden week.
Fibonacci Mon Amour
Today’s post is mostly pictorial. I was messing about putting images on our Pinterest page and I came across a picture of a spiral staircase and it hit me like a thunderclap. I realised that at the back of my mind I’ve been looking at the trees and the falling leaves and the flight patterns of birds for the last couple of weeks and it’s like I’ve had an itch at the back of my mind. I’m a bit obsessed with trees anyway (don’t ask. But, really – are fractals amazing or what?) so I tend to ignore any tree-related madness on my part. I finally figured out that I’ve been trying to find the patterns in the things I see and of course, that reminded me of the wonderful Leornado Bonacci, aka Fibonacci. I don’t know what was in the water in Tuscany during the later Middle Ages to the Renaissance but that area certainly produced more than its fair share of geniuses.
The Fibonacci sequence of numbers and the Golden Ratio is everywhere in nature, and I mean everywhere – pine cones, cauliflower heads, broccoli, ocean waves, cloud patterns, petals on flowers, leaf arrangements on plants, pineapples, hurricanes, galaxies, not to mention the family trees of honeybees and rabbits (I’m not making it up!) and the famous Nautilus shell. Of course as a Christian I think it is more apt to call it by its other name – the Divine Proportion. I’m not going to bang on about how beautiful it is, that is self-evident. This wonderful balance is what every decent designer is trying to achieve. For me, this is the acme of perfection – to steal a phrase, it feels like touching the face of God Himself. Look and marvel.
The Power of Words
This is the post I was supposed to write yesterday. I had decided on a mostly pictorial post, featuring signs that make me laugh, and I had quite a few of them. In particular, the one about the US military’s identification chart always cracks me up. They have a blanket policy of denying the existence of any new military craft until they have no choice but to tell the truth ; par for the course for any security-minded government. However, as I was thinking about that, the post took on a darker tone as I ruminated on the more harmful lies we’ve been told by our leaders in all sectors of society– business, military, governmental, and my light-hearted pictorial post became a polemical rant about the venality and mendacity of those in positions of power and trust. Earlier that day, I’d been reading Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address. If you are not familiar with it, I’m quoting it here now:
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
It is one of the most amazing speeches of all time. Every time I read it, I get goosebumps. Four minutes long, and he actually says he doesn’t think anyone will remember his words. Abe, if only you knew. These are the speeches that make mankind follow leaders even to the gates of Hades. Words can be deployed as a weapon, for good or for bad and yet, as I was getting into full rant-mode, I felt a check in my spirit and I cancelled the post.
Today’s main story in the papers was about Tony Blair apologising for, and admitting culpability for his part in the mess the Middle East and a substantial part of the Arab world has become. Two simple words 12 years later, ‘I’m sorry.’ Of course that does not make up for the nightmare that has ensued, and it’s pretty cold comfort for the bereaved, the maimed, and the refugees. Does he mean it or is he just trying to save himself? I’m not sure it matters that much. The words themselves won’t fix what has been broken. And yet, and yet. We all do terrible things and have them done to us. The acts that we find hardest to forgive are those where the culprit shows no remorse, where they think they can bluff their way out of trouble because we’re too stupid to believe the evidence of our own eyes. I guess I’m going to try and use my words carefully, at least until I get carried away again…..
To leave you in the light-hearted spirit I had intended, Craig Brown writes an occasional series of columns imagining 21st century responses of the Twitterati et al to past events. My favourite is one in response to Martin Luther King’s equally astonishing ‘I have a dream’ speech. I bring you Tony from Basildon’s response:
‘We all have a dream, mate. But you don’t hear us going on and on about it’
Comedy gold. Apologies to all Basildonians; blame Craig Brown, not me. Have a fabulous and inspired week.
Joie de Vivre
I met a friend earlier today as I was walking through my local park and she had her son with her. Or rather, her son was one mile ahead of her trundling happily along, pushing his trike. Looking at him and the other children in the park, I was astonished to see how wonderful their skin looked. You know how you know that young children have amazing skin on some level, but you don’t really tend to notice it. Once in a while it really strikes you though- beautiful, clear skin and eyes; it’s wonderful to behold. And of course I thought to myself – ‘If you could formulate a lotion to replicate that, oh my’ (Yes, I am working on it–patience!)
Then I started thinking about how happy all those children were, despite the miserable, rainy, overcast day. And I started wondering about when we lose that capacity for joy. I’m all about the joy, even my name is all about the joy (Thanks,Mater. Excellent choice 🙂 ) I started thinking about my nephew who will never walk if he can skip, and will never skip if he can run, and how he will then pass out at night and sleep the soundest sleep ever. I remember how I would never walk down stairs as a child but would always jump from landing to landing, and of course slide down bannisters where possible. It’s a miracle I survived without breaking any bones. Another thing that makes me marvel is how children can be happy anywhere. No matter how poor or affluent their surroundings, as long as they are left alone to mess around, they’ll be happy. It’s incredible.
I encourage you all to embrace your inner child at least once this week. Splash in a puddle, have a twirl in the street even if people are looking, do a little shimmy as you wait at the bus stop. And if you can’t afford one of our creams this week, buy a child an ice-cream and we’ll be just as happy at AlaraApothecary. No, it doesn’t matter that it’s getting colder. In fact, have an ice-cream yourself.
Practical Magic
Procrastination is the thief of time. To which we at Alaraapothecary say- yeah, whatevs. Applying oneself to outstanding tasks is of the utmost importance when you are running a business but I have also found that I get my best creative ideas when I’ m just musing and doing nothing in particular. The mind and spirit can wander and free-associate, so to speak; it’s an invaluable skill. This is what I told myself yesterday as I frittered the day away. I’m in the middle of altering the liquid labels–yes, all 20 different products are having their labels re-formatted, resized and the text etc needs checking. It’s a good thing I enjoy detailed work. I’d actually done all the work, it just needed to be checked and then emailed to the printers.
Instead I called my aunt and in Nigeria and spent half an hour reminiscing about her superlative fish pies and fairy cakes. She is a fantastic cook–just think of tiny, piping-hot fish empanadas and light-as-air-fairy cakes. She had a catering business but never made any money as her ‘helpers’ practically bankrupted her by consuming all the stock.Then I called my ward in Canada but she was out participating in Canadian-style mayhem.
Then I called my niece in the States. I always hit the mother lode with her. We can discuss how amazing Newtonian physics is, and she understands why Euclid is such a rock star. She’d also been spending the day doing stuff like taking pictures of the changing autumnal scenery and patiently waiting for the Charles River to freeze over. She wants to walk from Cambridge to Boston across the ice. That sound like tremendous fun but, Prithee, O Beloved Niece, is that not a tad dangerous? But Oh No, she has an excellent rescue plan involving a bright green overcoat and frantically waving her arms around, presumably whilst shouting ‘Au secours, Au secours.’ Well, that’s Health and Safety sorted; I mean, what could go wrong? Brains are a prerequisite for University admission but sanity is apparently very much an optional extra. Let’s just say I can see a strong genetic link.
So, not the most practical of days, but I had great fun. To prove to you that the practical response can be extremely overrated, I have two stories.
The first is from the actor James McAvoy who was approached by a member of the public and told, ‘I am a great fan of most of your work’. Thanks pal, that’s just the type of compliment-lite that makes an artist reach for the Valium at 4am, having spent all night wondering which of his work you hated. Praise the man or let him be, you charmless, loon-faced poltroon!
Second story is a joke told by Colin Dunne about a dying Yorkshire farmer. Now, we all know Yorkshire folk are canny and hard-headed and candles were expensive in those days. Farmer Tarquin (not his real name) had been pleading with his wife to leave a candle burning overnight as he didn’t want to die in the dark should the unhappy day arrive. She reluctantly agreed to do so in the end, with one proviso:
Farmer Tarquin :Please leave the candle lit, my love. I feel the time is near and I do not wish to die alone in the dark.
Mrs Tarquin: All right. But if you feel yourself slipping away, try and blow the candle out.
Do not go gentle into that good night….. ;-). Hope you have brightly-illuminated, compliment-filled week.