Quiet, and Peace

Six years ago on the Mountain at Blaendigeddi Fawr, it was peaceful but not so quiet. The bleating of sheep was nearly constant. It was a peaceful noise and maybe that’s why you’re supposed to count them to go to sleep. Other than the sheep, it was very quiet and certainly peaceful.

This excursion began, as per usual with every muscled strained and tightened to the max as I held the wheel of our tiny Toyota only occasionally, and more naturally I might add, the left hand slipping to the gear shift hoping not to slip the gears. Standards are very popular here and much less expensive to rent. I thought that was compelling reason enough to be economizing and not extravagant as my wife would usually prefer. But apparently her muscles were tighter than mine when she tearfully said, “You’ve known me for 36 years, so you should know!”

“Know what?” I wisely said only to myself. As we went along, she explained that she would expect me to know how nervous it made her for me to drive in Britain and how I should have paid the extra money to get an automatic as that would be one less thing for her to stress about. And I thought I was a male hero for economizing. Venus and Mars.

Our marriage is still intact and I didn’t hit anything at all except for a small rabbit for which I am very sorry. It wasn't the rabbit that bothered her.

Back to the quiet. Our inn at Three Cocks (the proprietor told us that some overly sensitive Americans prefer to call it “Three Roosters”), was so quiet with its thick stone walls and modern windows inside the thick casement of the older window. And there was not a sheep to be seen or heard for at least a quarter of a mile!

Royal Post "Bingo!"

In the ancestral land where even I would be a Republican, I took on the challenge of one of our BYU Welsh Professors to take photos of the different British (of generally German descent) kings and queens on royal post boxes since they were first put into use under Victoria. It is a bit of a challenge because there are only a couple of dozen boxes with Edward VIII, the Abdicator, in the whole of the British Isles. One of them happens to be in Cardiff, it is. I'm not telling where I found it but other less mysterious sites on the web might list it, they do.

Here is my collection:

We start, of course, with Victoria. "R" stands for "Regina," Latin for "queen."

Racism Is Still the National Curse: Exhibit No. 1, Donald Trump

Please excuse the use of the N----- word. But this is the keystone to the historical problems of our Nation. And it still is.

A meme popped up illustrating the point. (This is where the racial epithet apology applies):

Not All Who Wander Are Lost

My favorite portrait of Tolkien by Lord Snowdon

My portrait inspired by Tolkien's. Sadly neither photo is in Wales, but Lord Snowdon's title is from Wales.
It is in Avebury, Wiltshire. I ought to get points for that.

There's a lot you can check out on your own regarding J.R.R. Tolkien's interest in the Welsh Language and Celtic legend. I have always loved his maps. And I was recently struck in reviewing my maps of the South Wales Mountains, home of my ancestors, when I came across what appeared to be a portion of Tolkien's map off the edge of the Shire.

Trump Bites Off More Than He Can Chew

In spite of the Constitutional provisions of Freedom of Religion, no Establishment, and No Religious Test (for the Pharisaical Hypocrites out there). See Art. VI of the U.S. Constitution as reference. Hillary Clinton seems to be consistently Methodist, maybe of a Welsh* strain, throughout her life. Your can check out this article from The Atlantic.

And another article of interest from the the British Guardian, is one that Trump should take as a warning. His bullying bluster is going to come up against a man of real integrity, morality, and American principle, President Barack Obama. Mark my words. Trump is a man of poor moral character as most LDS or Mormon voters have figured out, some following the lead of Romney, others of us having long figured it out on our own.

Summer Solstice Strawberry Moon, Lilacs, and the Invisible Gnome

I admit that I "pinked" it up a bit for the Strawberry moon. While the edges seem fuzzy, what detail otherwise!!

It didn't go exactly as idealized. The moon trajectory did shine its light on the newly planted lilacs but I couldn't wait for it as it was waaaaay past my bedtime. Hence, the flash. And it's not that easy planting in the late eventide even on a Solstice because, unlike Alaska, it does get dark. The sister of the now triplets purchased rather inexpensively at Smith's Marketplace, AKA the store formerly known as Fred Meyers, is thriving and if these Oregon delights thrived in this heat at Fred's in the tiny, black plastic containers, they should transplant very well without too much shock.

And the tags. I only noticed this morning that the lilacs came from Mount Angel, Oregon. Could there be a better place name! ("No," is my answer). I got another "Firmament" and a "President Poincaré" harkening back to the days of the Great War. If you are President of France I'm sure it would be no greater honor to have a flower named for you, pinkish even. (Well, after a wine or some food dish--with sauce). And trying to find out more about President Poincaré, I came across this about Syringas (lilacs in generis):

Land of my Fathers: Holy Land

Very touched reading Isaiah passages in Second Nephi last night. 

For the Lord will have mercy on Jacob, and will yet choose Israel, and set them in their own land; and the strangers shall be joined with them, and they shall cleave to the house of Jacob.

And the people shall take them and bring them to their place; yea, from far unto the ends of the earth; and they shall return to their lands of promise. And the house of Israel shall possess them, and the land of the Lord shall be for servants and handmaids; and they shall take them captives unto whom they were captives; and they shall rule over their oppressors.

And it shall come to pass in that day that the Lord shall give thee rest, from thy sorrow, and from thy fear, and from the hard bondage wherein thou wast made to serve. (2 Nephi 24:1-3, cf., Isaiah 14).

Now, I'm well aware that original context is Babylonian captivity and even because of that some scholars say that Isaiah may not have even written it or whatever. That doesn't really matter to me because it spoke something else in my own context to me. Or the Spirit "likened it unto" me. Or something like that.