Saturday, May 28, 2022

Niño & Niña - 29 May 2022

 

Anthropomorphism is the attribution of human traits, emotions, or intentions to non-human entities. It is considered to be an innate tendency of human psychology.

Personification is the related attribution of human form and characteristics to abstract concepts such as nations, emotions, and natural forces, such as seasons and weather.

Both have ancient roots as storytelling and artistic devices, and most cultures have traditional fables with anthropomorphized animals as characters. People have also routinely attributed human emotions and behavioral traits to wild as well as domesticated animals. Wikipedia

 

How could I have possibly known that when Rosemary and I returned from a trip to Buenos Aires in September 2019, that to replace our Casi-Casi cat that had died before we left, that we would find a pair of cats that would make us happy? And how would I have known then, that someday (now with Rosemary gone on December 9 2020) this pair, Niño and Niña, make my daily life an almost cheerful one?

My neighbours are constantly asking me how I am. Because I am a tad paranoid I think that they may ask me this because they hear me talking a lot, and since they know I live alone, they must think I am loony. My conversations with Niño and Niña are elaborate, affectionate and in Spanish.

I have written here and more on how one of the most important pleasures and duties of my every day is to walk Niño around the block. I cannot stress enough how wonderful it is to have a pair of cats that are siblings, that they look much alike (Niña is smaller than Niño) and how the get along well except when Niño runs playfully after her like most cats are known to do. It is almost as if I were living with twins.

If I had one cat I would share my little house with the cat. By having two cats, it seems like the sharing is communal. 

Any Roman Catholic who is up on Catholic Doctrine knows that Catholics do not worship the Virgin Mary. She is simply and important person (Jesus's mother) who has pull. When these Catholics pray to her they want her to intercede for them. I see in my cats a form of a direct link to my Rosemary. That communal feeling of living with Niño and Niña is one of seeing them as a link to Rosemary.

A couple of days ago, Niña was inside our closet. A little bit later she was trying to pull something out of it. I only saw a bit of it and did not pursue the matter. But some moments later I could see it was one of Rosemary's garden hats. And of course I wondered.

One of  my feline pleasures is that when one lives alone there are few patterns, obligations to the daily routine that matter and my cats provide me with them. These two cats have a routine. They tell me when they want to be let out, when they want attention when I am sitting at my oficina chair, when they want to be fed and Niño has now learned the expression “walk-walk” and both know what to expect when at around 8 in the evening I loudly say, “treats”.

The photograph illustrating this blog is not a very good one. Taking it was limited to the length of my arm. But you can see how both cats get on top of me and for me to read a book it can be a bit difficult (I manage).

 

Friday, May 27, 2022

 

Rosa 'Sir Thomas Lipton' & Rosa 'Benjamin Britten' 27 May 2022

Sir Thomas Johnstone Lipton, 1st Baronet KCVO (10 May 1848 – 2 October 1931) was a Scotsman of Irish Protestant parentage who was a self-made man, as company founder of Lipton Tea, merchant, philanthropist and yachtsman who lost 5 straight America's Cup matches.

He engaged in extensive advertising for his chain of grocery stores and his brand of Lipton teas. He boasted that his secret for success was selling the best goods at the cheapest prices, harnessing the power of advertising, and always being optimistic. He was the most persistent challenger in the history of the America's Cup yacht race.

Wikipedia

Sir Thomas Lipton & Benjamin Britten

In 1962 I met a friend at the University of the Americas in Mexico City. Andrew Taylor was Yorkshire-born and sometime later in the year he played a 45RPM record and asked me if I liked the singers. This was my first awareness of the Beatles.

In 1970 Rosemary and I moved to Arboledas, Estado de México. We lived near a posh closed development called Club de Golf Hacienda. Taylor lived there with his parents. His father, Colin Taylor was the first to expose me to English composers like Benjamin Britten and Michael Tippet. Not long after I was listening and enjoying the music of Ralph Vaughan Williams

 

Andrew Taylor, Esquire

 

In those days it was virtually impossible to buy good black tea. Sometimes we got lucky and some friend would return from the US with a box of Lipton’s tea bags. Rosemary and I would re-use these bags. I swore that if I ever left Mexico I would have the best tea and not drive a VW.

That is exactly what happened. Presently I drive a Chevrolet Cruze and I have at least 10 varieties of very good loose tea.

In this city that people say has no culture I was able to listen live, not too long ago Benjamin Britten’s string quartets. With my graphic designer friend Graham Walker we went to a performance at the Orpheum of Britten’s Peter Grimes with Ben Heppner in the title role.

Now in 2022 I would not be caught dead drinking Lipton Tea bags. But I long to visit Andrew Taylor in Guadalajara and take some tins of the best loose tea that is available here in Vancouver and not in Guadalajara.

Today my English Rose Rosa ‘Benjamin Britten’ was in bloom as well as a circa 1900 white rose Rosa ‘Sir Thomas Lipton’.

This will be a no nonsense blog about two Englishmen. And one more.

Thursday, May 26, 2022

 

Rosa 'Princess Alexandra of Kent' 26 May 2022

The platypus (Ornithorhynchus anatinus), sometimes referred to as the duck-billed platypus, is a semiaquatic, egg-laying mammal endemic to eastern Australia .

Wikipedia

If cats could name themselves would they? From Genesis we know that one of the primary obligations of Adam and Eve was to name the plants and animals in paradise. Luckily for us, until recent times, Adam and Eve had nothing to do with naming the Australian flora and fauna.

Perhaps one of my most scanned rose is the English Rose Rosa ‘Princess Alexandra of Kent’. As soon as this rose was introduced Rosemary immediately bought it. It is dark pink flower with all kinds of overtones, But it does not have a strong scent.

It was one of Rosemary’s favourites because roses and their names can beguile us. Our oldest daughter is called Alexandra. We have another English Rose, one with only five petals called Rosa ‘The Alexandra Rose’. I have not seen it yet in the garden so it may not have made the cold winter and wet spring.

Rosa 'Princess Alexandra of Kent' & Rosa 'The Alexandra Rose' 20 May 2021

 

My name is Jorge Alejandro. There were rules in place when I was born I Buenos Aires in 1942 that prohibited names in foreign languages. I could not be George like my father or Alexander like my Argentine godfather Alejandro Ariosa from Mendoza. If my name would be correct it would have to be George Alejandro. That sounds awfully strange.

We name our second daughter Hilary. Rosemary was a proto-feminist who told me to hem my own jeans and sew my own buttons. She thought that a person should be able to become the sex of their choice and impose it on their name. She said that Hilary was an epicene name that could be used to name a man or a woman.

The name is lovely in English but sounds terrible in Spanish. Hilary would be Hilaria.

For me to see and scan Princess Alexandra of Kent is to bring back my memory of Rosemary and how she pushed me then dragged me into liking roses. Any rose in my garden has Rosemary’s face. Even my daughter’s both namesake roses have my Rosemary’s countenance.

There is some relief in my present sadness. This is that my clogged kitchen sink might not be unclogged by morning. Will I have to call a plumber? It is a distracting worry. If Rosemary were here now somehow I would not worry in the least. A shared worry is always a lessened one.

 

As days go from one to the next it what seems to be an instant I reflect on my importance in this world. I ask myself, “Do I serve a purpose? Am I useful? Am I contributing to my society in general and to the smaller one in my surrounding Kitsilano?

At one time I had the duty to help Rosemary to be a breadwinner. I looked for work and when I got it I felt useful.

Now I reflect on what Rosemary went through when she stopped working and no longer drove her big Audi to the office.

I have come to know exactly what it was that she did besides the pleasure of tending our garden and doing her volunteer work as a Master Gardener and working part-time at the Shop-in-the-garden at the UBC Botanical Garden.

Rosemary was doing our finances. A job she did so well that I do not have to worry of that aspect in my life.

She cared and was preoccupied in helping her two daughters and two granddaughters. She was our most efficient travel agent and managed to get good airplane tickets and good seats. She kept and American Express card for the express purpose of being able to use airport lounges.

With her gone I look at my daily life and have come to an important conclusion.

I do have routines like breakfast in bed with the papers and feeding Niño and Niña. I look forward to the phone calls from my daughters and these are more than a routine. They are special. 

Niña &Niño

 

Now it is the scanning season in the garden. Every day there is a new flower or rose in bloom. I cut it and scan it and save it in two exterior hard drives. I am not sure these scans serve any important purpose. I do know that I relax when I do them.

There is then, one singular moment in my daily life that I consider to be an important one. This is to walk Niño around the block when the weather permits it. I explain to surprised passers-by that Niño thinks he is a dog even though we walk without a leash. When either Benji or Scout (two large dogs owned by neighbours) is out on the street they approach Niño and lick his face. He likes the two.

Walking - An ode to a cat

Walking around the block brings melancholic memories of Rosemary doing this. I sometimes accompanied her. When I took him on my own she would tell me, “Don’t shout at him. Be patient and just wait.”

I don’t believe in ghosts but because we take Rosemary’s route I can feel a presence in me which makes me sad. Then Niño looks at me with that placid face of his and I know that things are all right. I wonder sometimes if he remembers Rosemary.

The latest with Niño, particularly now that it is getting warmer and I leave the door of my oficina open, is that he comes in and meows. Sometimes it is because his dish is empty of food. But most of the time he wants my attention. I place my photo studio chair by mine and he gets on it.

And so have company. I feel useful.  I have a purpose.  

Wednesday, May 25, 2022

 

In 1958 while at my boarding school in Austin, Texas I was a member of the Doubleday Book Club. Somehow through them I purchased H.G. Wells’ The Outline of History in two volumes.

In the early 70s I had them bound in leather by a Frenchman in Mexico City called Millioud. Perhaps in the late mid 90s I bought the complete literary output of Wells which is in 6 volumes.

For years I had admired the man until around 1998 I read all the Father Browns by G.K. Chesterton. While leafing through one of my many books by Borges I discovered that Borges was a great admirer of Chesterton.  Read link below.

A face as round &  dull as a Norfolk dumpling

I reread Wells’ The Sleeper Wakes and comparing it with the Father Browns I found that Wells had not aged well into the end of this century.

In 1987 Rosemary, our two daughters and I went to France, England and Spain. In London we visited Westminster Abby. I looked for H.G. Wells place on the floor and I remember stepping on it with vigour and I said, “How are you H.G.?”

That moment has come to haunt me these days. When my mother and grandmother died I arranged the funeral arrangements but I did not go to my mother’s burial. My friend Raúl Guerrero reminded me that indeed I had helped carry my grandmother’s coffin at the cemetery even if I have no memory of it.

My father’s burial also has left a blank in my memory.  My father died with enough money in his pocket (he was saving it so he could bribe some admiral to get me out of the Argentine Navy and send me back to my mother in Mexico) for his service. But there was not enough for a tomb in perpetuity. After 7 years his grave was unearthed at the Chacarita Cemetery and somebody else was buried there. A nephew of mine visited where my father would have been buried and picked up a stone. He then came to visit me and almost through it at me saying, “This stone perhaps was there with George.”

 

 

We know that the Roman Catholic Church did not allow cremation. In medieval times criminals were drawn and quartered or simply dismembered. The idea behind that is that in Christ’s second coming only bodies that were buried in totality would rise up. I do not quite understand this and I believe that the Church does not prohibit cremation now.

When Rosemary died her shrouded body was removed from our house. I saw it leave. I have not forgotten that image of the last corporal awareness that I had of Rosemary.

And now that I know that Rosemary’s ashes are in a container and my daughter Ale takes it out on windy days to her garden so that some of the ashes follow the direction of the wind. Rosemary loved Ale’s big garden and often worked in it when she went for a visit. Ale thinks this is an appropriate gesture.

I may be old-fashioned but I cannot grasp that when I am on our bed I can feel that she is not there. If I were to go to a cemetery, and had she been buried there, could I stomp on her as I did on H.G.?

I don’t know.