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“Candles are funny things, you know. You lay them by every spring, knowing that a summer storm may knock out the power. And when the time comes, they hide.” An excerpt from the short story, “The Mist” by Stephen King from the collection “Skeleton Crew” published in 1985 by the New American Library. I was thankful my candles didn’t hide over the weekend when the power went out in our neighborhood. There wasn’t a mad scramble to provide light since I had already lit them earlier in the day. It was actually quite pleasant when the harsh glare of electric light disappeared to be replaced by the soft glow of the candles in their holders.

 A candle’s flame can be almost as mesmerizing as the light generated by the dancing flames in a fireplace. It’s very relaxing to sit back and watch a candle burn slowly, even if you’re only savoring the moment by yourself. It can transform one’s mood on long, dark nights. If you’re really quiet, not only is the visual effect soothing, so too is the sound of it burning, or “weeping,” as Boris Pasternak alluded to in one of his poems.

 This comes from a very old edition of the Britannica. “By the end of the 18th century, candles were used more than lanterns to light rooms.” The great writers down through the ages penned the books we refer to today as classics by the light of a single burning candle. Great symphonies were composed in its tremulous flame. Great love affairs kindled in its glow, while others flickered out just as the flame died.

 You can do a lot of things by candlelight. The comfort we derive from them must be deeply ingrained.

 In one of my ancient encyclopedias about Hallowe’en was this. “The date marked the end of summer, or the time when the sun retreated before the powers of darkness. All the dark underworld characters then had their wicked carnival of triumph, when they were supposed to engage in all sorts of malicious mischief. Against them, any kind of light was considered a protection. Hence there arose the custom of building great bonfires on hilltops and carrying blazing torches all around the fields.” “According to an Irish legend, jack-o-lanterns were named for a man called Jack, who could not enter heaven because he was a miser.” This writer goes on to say that Jack couldn’t enter the underworld either, because he had dared to play jokes on the Devil himself. “As a result, Jack had to walk the earth with his lantern until judgement day.”

 We carve the outside of the pumpkin, hollow out its interior, and place a candle inside. Something about the light seems comforting during one of the darkest nights in the year.

 There are many superstitions about candles. There are many superstitions about mirrors. Together they can spell really bad luck. In the Reader’s Digest edition Why In The World? All You ever Wanted To Know About The World Around You But May Never Have Thought To Ask! was this.. “A European superstition asserts that it is courting tragedy to see yourself in a mirror by candlelight.”

 Tonight we’ll share a little firelight. If you don’t have a fireplace, or wood to burn, a candle is the next best thing. Turn down the lights, light a candle or two, and see how your living space is suddenly transformed. I’ll do my best to provide the appropriate soundtrack to accompany the candle’s flame…

 Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “I love thee to the level of everyday’s / Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.”

 ***

 Don Jackson

 This was written by an 83-year-old woman to her friend, and sent to me by e-mail from a listener. “I’m reading more and dusting less. I’m sitting in the yard and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden. I’m spending more time with my family and friends and less time working. Whenever possible life should be a pattern of experiences to savor, not to endure. I’m trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them. I’m not ’saving’ anything: we use our good china and crystal for every special event such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, or the first amaryllis blossom. I wear my good blazer to the market. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries. I’m not saving my good perfume for special parties but wearing it for clerks in the hardware store and tellers at the bank. ‘Someday’ and ‘one of these days’ are losing their grip on my vocabulary.”

 We had our first fire of the season over the weekend. It just so happens that something caused a power blackout in our neighborhood and the wood-burning fireplace came in handy to keep us warm. Looking back, it’s as if I knew something was going to happen that night. I lit candles around the house while doing the dusting earlier in the day. The candles were still burning when the power went down. My wife had just finished preparing dinner as well. It was on the dining room table and the meal was just about over when the house was plunged into darkness. We didn’t have to scramble looking for a flashlight in order to use its illumination to find the candles.

 This truth was included in the short story “The Mist” by Stephen King from his collection “Skeleton Crew.” It is a Signet Book published in 1985 by the New American Library. He wrote, “Candles are funny things, you know. You lay them by every spring, knowing that a summer storm may knock out the power. And when the time comes, they hide.”

 I opened the glass doors of the fireplace today and realized it’s now time to clean out the cold ashes. This may have been the first fire of the season, but it certainly won’t be the last.

 Watching the burning wood Saturday night, I remembered what author Jack London wrote. “I would rather be ashes than dust. I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stiffled by dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in the magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”

This is a poem that was sent to me through my e-mail. It was written by an unknown author. If you ever do find out who wrote it, please let me know so that I can give credit where credit is due. “Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better / To paint a picture or write a letter, / Bake a cake or plant a seed, / Ponder the difference between want and need? / Dust if you must, but there’s not much time, / With rivers to swim and mountains to climb! / Music to hear and books to read,  / Friends to cherish, and life to lead, / Dust if you must, but the world’s out there. / A flutter of snow, a shower of rain, / This day will not come round again. / Dust if you must, but bear in mind, / Old age will come - and it’s not kind. / And when you go - and go you must - / You, yourself, will make more dust. / Remember, a house becomes a home when you can write, ‘I love you’ on the furniture…”

It was J.S. Owens who invented the first dust counter. A suction pump was devised to draw dust-laden air through a tube that was lined with wet blotting paper. This helped to moisten the air passing through the tube. Dust particles would then be able to stick to a glass plate which was then taken to a microscope to be counted. I read this in a very old encyclopedia. These are the numbers they came up with at the time. “Normal country air contains about 2,000 particles per cubic inch; city air about 115,000…”You can just imagine how those numbers for the city have increased over the years.

“There are songs that come free from the blue-eyed grass, from the dust of a thousand country roads.” An excerpt from Robert James Waller’s modern day romantic classic, “The Bridges of Madison County” published in 1992 by Warner Books. Its ISBN is 0-446-51652-X. He also wrote, “I live with dust on my heart. That’s about as well as I can put it. There were women before you, a few, but none after.”

 A portion of tonight’s show is devoted to dust. Some of it comes from the archival dust. Some it was inspired by dust even more ancient. You will hear some recent findings about our origins on this planet. Dust seems to have played an important role in our being here. Researchers had to look clear across the galaxy to a black hole and a quasar for some of the answers.

 We rose from the dust and to the dust we will all return. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

“She is coming, my own, my sweet; / Were it ever so airy a tread, / My heart would hear her and beat, / Were it earth in an earthly bed; / My dust would hear her and beat, / Had I lain for a century dead, / Would start and tremble under her feet, / And blossom in purple and red.” The words of Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

 Centuries ago, Han Wu Ti wrote this on the death of his mistress. It comes from “Chinese Poems” translated by Arthur Waley. “The sound of her silk skirt has stopped. / On the marble pavement dust grows. / Her empty room is cold and still. / Fallen leaves are piled against the door. / Longing for that lovely lady, / How can I bring my aching heart to rest…”

 ***

 Don Jackson

Helen Keller believed, “Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. The fearful are caught as often as the bold.”

 Film Noir is described in the Gage Canadian Dictionary as, “…a movie that is shot in sombre tones, often set in corrupt, urban environment, and characterized by a mood of cynicism, despair, and fatalism.”

 Our city looks like a scene from one of those classics in the genre of Film Noir when a light rain is falling, the raindrops lit by the streetlamps. I’m also reminded of this kind of movie on an October night when the leaves are being carried by the wind along a deserted street.

 There is a whole list of films that fit right into the genre of Film Noir. Some of the best that truly define the category are shot in black-and-white, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enhance the mood with color. These are but a few: “The Asphalt Jungle,” “The Big Heat,” “The Maltese Falcon,” and ”The Postman Always Rings Twice.” There is a new variation on the same theme called Contemporary Noir with films such as, “Against All Odds,” “Blade Runner,” “Blue Velvet,” “Cape Fear,” “Chinatown,” “L.A. Confidential,” “Pulp Fiction,” and a whole host of others, including the most recent addition, Frank Miller’s “Sin City.” The violence in some of them is implied while others have the violence right over the edge, right in your face, like the extremely dark and disturbing “Sin City.” The love scenes are usually steamy. For our purposes tonight on the show, though, the best are those that hint at the passion, that have a certain romantic tension. When things heat up, the blinds are drawn, the lights turned down, the door closes, leaving what’s to come to our imagination.

 The characters are colorful even if the film is shot in black-and-white. The male lead has a day’s growth of beard, usually comes with a checkered past and, more often than not, is battling some inner demons. These leads are rugged types ready to lend a strong shoulder. They also know the difference between right and wrong and seem not afraid to make that choice.

 The female leads are usually mysterious with their own host of issues that need resolving. Some are very strong characters played by strong actresses. Bette Davis comes to mind as the perfect actress to be cast in one of these roles. Mary Astor is another actress to give a strong performance, and let’s not forget Lauren Bacall.

 In the Contemporary Noir category, Kim Basinger, Cameron Diaz, and Jessica Biel fit the bill. At first you might be unsure what the real motives are behind the story of the lead actress. The bad guys, however, are just that. They seem to have no redeeming qualities. The writers and directors want to create a clear boundary between the two opposing sides. Peter Lorre made a great villain. He fits the description perfectly and so did Edward G. Robinson. There is something about the male lead that suggests he could momentarily cross over in order to get the job done.

 Tonight at 9, a tribute to the genre since October 3rd marked the anniversary of the premiere of “The Maltese Falcon.” I’ll be featuring some thoughts on Humphrey Bogart’s best film moments and his romance with Lauren Bacall.

 Raymond Chandler in his 1940 “The Simple Art Of Murder” wrote,              “Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean.“

 ***

 Don Jackson

In the film ‘Amelie’, there is a very funny segment that may have been inspired by a website on the internet…

In the film, we’re led to believe that her father refuses to leave his home for any reason. In his garden there is a garden gnome. Amelie makes arrangements with a flight attendant to have this gnome accompany her on flights around the world. Pictures keep arriving in his mail of the gnome in front of some of the world’s most famous landmarks. It reminded me that I once heard there was a website on the internet that featured digital photos of a garden gnome taken all around the world as it accompanied one traveler on his many trips, and also photographed at familiar landmarks like the Taj Mahal. There is even a TV commercial that has a gnome dispelling travel myths. The idea of a travelling gnome seems to have been firmly entrenched in our popular culture.

My next door neighbour has a few garden gnomes on the property. One has a fishing line that dangles just above their backyard pool. But every year at this time, as the night air turns chilly, the gnomes disappear…I know for a fact that my neighbour puts them away for the winter, but after seeing Amelie, I’d like to believe that maybe some of these comical garden statues pack up their meager belongings and take flight for warmer climes, only to return in the Spring.

My wife and I have some small garden statuary that will need to be put away before the snow flies.We have a fairly large rabbit that peers over the stone stump of a tree that also serves as a bench to rest on. There is another that I bought my wife for Mother’s day some years back. It’s quite a large piece that is carved from stone. It portrays an angel kneeling and seems to be offering protection to a few small creatures that have come up to her. Out of all the small statues that are hidden amongst the flowers and bushes, this is the one that I brush off and bring in to the house to a special place reserved for it in our living room.

In my radio show tonight, I talk about a cat languishing in the garden. If you watch a cat as the animal stalks a butterfly on the wing, it is almost like seeing an animated garden ornament rise from its resting place. Watch it closely as it makes its stealthy approach through flowers, pausing occasionally, as if to enhance the effect of a statue in motion. After a time, the animal returns to its place in the sun, as the butterfly floats away on a breeze. The writer in the book “The Literary Garden - Bringing Fiction’s Best Gardens To Life“, a Berkley book published in 2001, suggests that a living creature creates a more stunning tableau against the backdrop of our garden than any gnome could.

Rather than be content with the simple beauty of nature, we sometimes like to enhance our surroundings with garden statuary. Some of it is to elicit a smile, like the garden gnome. And then there are others. like the angel statue, that give us reason to wonder about the mystery of nature, and maybe a glimpse of an unseen world that is all around us.

I thought this poem appropriate for tonight’s show…

Sara Teasdale wrote, “There will be stars over the place forever; / Though the house we loved and the street we loved are lost, / Every time the earth circles her orbit / On the night the Autumn Equinox is crossed, / Two stars we know, poised on the peak of midnight / Will reach their zenith; stillness will be deep; / There will be stars over the place forever, / There will be stars forever, while we sleep.”

Maybe there is an unseen presence in the garden…

***

Don Jackson

May Sarton quoted in the October calendar of the 1996 Old Farmer’s Almanac, said, “On random wires the rows of summer swallows/Wait for their liftoff. They will soon be gone/Before All Saints and before All Hallows/The changing time when we are most alone.”

 The summer swallows may be on their way south but there is a murder of crows about.

 Author and naturalist Ernest Thompson Seton wrote of his many exciting adventures in the 1870s when he explored the valley around the Don River and other wild places around Toronto. One of his stories was about an old crow who was very wise. He took it upon himself to teach the younger birds how to avoid the attention of owls and hunters. The story was called “Silverspot.” It doesn’t surprise me that he encountered crows during his many adventures. These creatures are everywhere. Seldom do you see them alone. It’s not uncommon for them to be seen in huge numbers.

 Yesterday while I was raking leaves I heard a terrible racket overhead. I turned to see the sky filled with these birds. A few landed on a neighbor’s old tv antenna. The rest were close by, probably on fences and maybe even backyard jungle gyms. I will always remember that scene in the 1963 Alfred Hitchcock classic film, “The Birds,” when Tippi Hedren’s character is waiting for the schoolteacher and her students to emerge from that old schoolhouse. She is completely oblivious to all the birds that are gathering behind her as she waits outside the school. They arrive one by one, and then in groups, until there doesn’t seem room for even one more bird. Yesterday their arrival was noisy but I was still uneasy about their numbers. We see crows throughout the year but their appearance in October seems to complete the backdrop to the season.

 The Alfred Hitchcock film was based on the short story by Daphne Du Maurier. Did you realize there was a sequel? It was the 1984 film, “The Birds 2: Land’s End,” that had a flock of killer seagulls that begin to attack the inhabitants of Gull Island off the east coast. You didn’t miss much. It tried to recapture what Hitchcock created but failed miserably. Believe it or not, Tippi Hedren was even in the film as one of the town’s shopkeepers, but it was about as memorable a role as the film itself.

 I recently read a very interesting article by Mark Sunlin in the 1994 Almanac For Farmers and City Folk about this creature. I’d like to feature an excerpt from his article.

“One of the more puzzling crow habits is that the big birds sometimes gather in enormous flocks numbering not just in the hundreds or thousands, but in the tens of thousands. In the spring of 1863, W. E. Endicott, an army private, was stationed along the Potomac River between Washington, D.C., and Harper’s Ferry standing Civil War duty as a sentinel when he noticed ‘two or three crows fly over, then five or six more, followed by nine or ten,’ as he reported to American Naturalist.

“Nothing curious in that, but they just kept coming. ‘Seeing them increase,’ he went on, ‘I thought to count them, and for half an hour was able to do so. After that they formed a continuous stream flying in perfect silence, and I could only estimate their number by calculating how many had passed a given point in a minute. When it finally grew dusky, they still presented the appearance of a low, black cloud. I estimated their number was 80,000.’ Endicott’s estimate was one-upped by an army doctor who guessed 90,000. In 1889, not long after this sighting, ornithologist Arthur C. Bent estimated there were no fewer than 150,000 crows living along the Potomoac. For some reason, crows like to flock in huge congregations during fall and winter nights at wooded sites called ‘roosts.’ They may travel as far as 80 miles daily between their foraging grounds and a roosting site, where they gather in numbers ranging ‘from a few hundred to a million birds,’ says naturalist Bill Gilbert, who is founding member of the American Society of Crows and Ravens. The reasonfor these massive get-togethers is unclear, however. It certainly doesn’t help the food situation, for a crow requires some 11 ounces of food daily, so these megaflocks would consume between 250 pounds and 11,000 tons every day!

“It has been suggested that perhaps the birds’ combined body heat helps them stay warm during the cold season evenings.”

 Mark Sunlin goes on to write that he once braved a walk on a frigid morning in Minnesota. It was 20-degrees-below-zero. He saw a lone crow sitting atop a 100-foot tree cawing in the freezing wind, defiant as ever.

 The article is well worth a second glance if you have a copy of the almanac.

 I’ve always believed that in the bird kingdom the crow is the ‘T-Rex’. The description of it alone on top of that tree where the winds were at their worst only confirms my belief.

 Tonight between 9 and 11pm we’ll take flight and follow this mysterious bird.

 The only shadow against the harvest moon this night, is a single crow in flight…

 ***

 Don Jackson

 I mention in tonight’s radio show between 9 and 11pm that for some reason I’ve seen more squirrels this long weekend trying to make it across the streets of my neighborhood. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to hit the brakes to avoid an accident. It’s not just my neighborhood either. In all my travels over the past three days I’ve witnessed the same thing. No sooner do I begin to drive down a quiet residential street then I see squirrels racing from one side of the street to the other. They seem to be in a hurry to find food and get it buried for the winter. They don’t seem to be fooled by the warm weather. They know a change is on the way. They  also know that even though the road is a dangerous place to be, they need to get to the other side.

 It reminded me of this old story. It was told by Oscar Schisgall called “Once There Was A Squirrel,” published in the August 1941 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine.

“I looked up and saw a squirrel jump from one high tree to another. He appeared to be aiming for a limb so far out of reach that the leap looked like suicide. He missed–but landed, safe and unconcerned, on a branch several feet lower. Then he climbed to his goal, and all was well.

“An old man sitting on the bench said, ‘Funny, I’ve seen hundreds of ‘em jump like that, especially when there are dogs around and they can’t come to the ground. A lot of ‘em miss, but I’ve never seen any hurt in trying.’ Then he chuckled. ‘I guess they’ve got to risk it if they don’t want to spend their lives in one tree.’

“I thought, ‘A squirrel takes a chance–have I less nerve than a squirrel?’

“Since then, whenever I have to choose between risking a new venture or hanging back, I hear the old man on the park bench saying, ‘They’ve got to risk it if they don’t want to spend their lives in one tree.’

“So I’ve jumped again and again. And in jumping I’ve learned why the squirrels so often do it: it’s fun.”

 I can’t believe the squirrels think racing across the road in front of oncoming traffic is fun. They seem to be taking risks in order to prepare for the long cold winter ahead. I’m also reminded of this excerpt from the book “The Carousel” by Richard Paul Evans, author of “The Christmas Box” and “The Locket.” “The Carousel” was published in 2000 by Simon and Schuster. Its ISBN is 0-684-86891-1.

 Evans writes, “We want to believe that we have control of our lives. But we don’t. We can’t even promise our time. The best we can promise is our hearts. And the most we can hope for is to live each moment as if it’s our last.”

 ***

 Don Jackson

Thanksgiving. It’s the one time of the year we set aside to give thanks for our bountiful harvest. Not only thanks for what comes from the fields, but also the rich bounty of our friends and family who make up our lives the rest of the year.

We have so much to be thankful for: being able to see the world around us through the eyes of our children, knowing there is someone who will help us close the door on our daily trials and tribulations.

In tonight’s radio program, Lovers and Other Strangers  between 9 and 11 pm, I mention a very old chestnut tree in Amsterdam. Anne Frank did not have a lot to be thankful for, but she did have that tree. The top of it was just visible through the only window that wasn’t blacked out. It was an attic skylight. She and her family were in hiding because of the Nazi occupation. One can’t imagine the fear they lived with every day. I will read an excerpt from her diary in the show tonight that specifically mentions that 150-year old Horse Chestnut tree. It was written a year before her death in a concentration camp…

If a young girl could be thankful for a tree at a time when her very existence was threatened, imagine all that you have to be thankful for, living here in Canada.

We have so much to be thankful for: our health, our happiness, a roof overhead…and windows that are not blacked out. We can also be thankful for the kindness of strangers. We are thankful for being able to see the world around us through the eyes of our children, knowing that they are healthy and happy, knowing they live at a time of relative peace. We should be thankful for the sacrifices being made by our servicemen and women overseas.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for your continued support of my efforts to bring you this radio program every weeknight between 9 and 11 pm.

It doesn’t take much to show our appreciation in our quiet moments; all it takes is a simple ‘thank you’.

****

Don Jackson

Some time back, there was a TV commercial that began with a young girl skipping a stone out across the water, a stone that eventually makes it halfway across the world and into the canals of Venice. It’s a good effect to show how far one’s actions can reach.

In summer we, as kids, liked to skip flat stones across the serene waters of a pond deep in the woods. Those stones only skimmed the surface. To make a profound change, you have to drop a stone into the water and watch the ripples branch out in all directions. I have ‘dropped that stone’ by sponsoring my son’s jersey that he proudly wears during away games when he plays on his Peewee AA Rep Hockey team. Now I am curious to find out how far it travels….

In all his years playing hockey, this is the first year I have taken the extra step to invest even more money into his passion for his sport. If you have a son or daughter involved in any athletic endeavor, then you know that the financial commitment parents make can sometimes be steep. It’s not just our fair share of the team’s budget, either. Equipment is expensive. We just bought him a new set of goalie pads that cost over one thousand dollars. A new goalie stick last year cost well over one hundred dollars. Then there is the catching glove, the blocker he wears on his other hand, the chest protector - the list goes on and on. Tending goal on a Rep Hockey team is probably the most expensive position to play.

Our team budget is well over $30,000 for this season alone. Renting ice for practices and games is expensive. We pay for the referees, linesmen, and score keepers. We rely on the parents to pay a percentage of that. We have fund-raising events that augment the team’s overall budget. Team sponsors also contribute to the success of the team with advertising on the jerseys. This year I decided to be one of the team’s sponsors by advertising my evening radio show on his jersey. I did this because he has made a commitment to his team, and more importantly, he has made a commitment to himself.

My son has been involved in goalie schools to take his game to another level. His hard work has paid off. He went from the AE team last year to being selected for the AA team this year. Now he is involved in goalie development sponsored by his league’s association. He runs after school to help develop stamina and strength. We play road hockey with him in front of our house to warm him up on game days. I’ve seen him spending time alone before a game trying to focus his mind and get into what some athletes refer to as ‘the zone’ prior to a game.

Julie Logan , a writer in Los Angeles, quoted in the April 1996 issue of Glamour magazine’s Private Time column, said this about her enjoyment of ballroom dancing for one: “I’m not one of those people who can meditate to clear my mind, but I find that by doing something so physical there’s this release of joy, this moment where it stops being steps and starts being - dancing, and that’s when it belongs to me, that’s when it’s magic. Athletes call it being in the zone. That’s what quiets my mind.”

I’ve observed my son try to ‘quiet his mind’ on game day so that he is prepared for whatever comes his way during the game. What will come his way are pucks being shot at an amazing speed. Out of all hockey players, goalies are a breed apart. It takes a tremendous amount of courage to stand in the net as the last line of defense. At the level he plays, the game in front of him can be intense. He needs lightning-quick reflexes and an eye that must follow that little puck, no matter where it is, in order to do his job right.

He’s made the commitment and now so have I….

If you visit a Peewee AA hockey game in the near future, look carefully at the back of the jersey of the goalie. If you see my name with the CHFI logo, and his number ‘30′, then you know the other team is facing a young man who has set his sights high in this world.

William Cullen Bryant wrote,

“He who, from zone to zone, / Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, / In the long way that I must tread alone, / Will lead my steps aright.”

****

Don Jackson

 Thomas Hood, wrote, “Gold! Gold! Gold!/Bright and yellow, hard and cold,/Molten, graven, hammered, and rolled;/Heavy to get, and light to hold;/Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold/To the very verge of the churchyard mold;/Price of many a crime untold;/Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!/Good or bad a thousand fold!”

 From ‘Stainless Steel’ … to ‘Gold’!

 In a very old Encyclopedia Britannica, ancient even by today’s standards, was this: “According to Greek legend, the Phrygian King Midas once did a favor for Bacchus (Dionysus), the wine god. In gratitude Bacchus offered the king any reward he might choose, and Midas asked that everything he touched be turned to gold.

“This request was granted, but it soon proved to be a curse. In the hand of Midas, bread turned to gold. Wine became molten gold as soon as it touched his lips. Even his body turned to gold wherever he laid his hands on it. Finally Midas prayed to Bacchus for deliverance and the god told him to bathe in the river Pactolus. By doing so the king lost his magic touch, but the river sands have ever after been golden.”

 I would like to believe that he touched one last thing before bathing in the river and turning the sands into the golden color they have since remained. While in his magnificent royal gardens one day, he gently caressed a beautiful rose at the peak of its perfection, so enamored was he by its magnificence. He may have brushed by others in that same passing. I’m sure he would have shed a tear down his cheek that turned molten for his gaff, but I wonder if the legend of the gold rose was secretly whispered by his advisers and servants and passed down through the ages, along with the perfect gold rose still on its stem. 

 …I would like to believe that story that I have embellished because I have in my possession two gold roses…

 Now, the roses I have were definitely not one of the few that may have been hastily removed from his stately gardens and hoarded in secret, but the seed of an idea may have sprouted in the mind of a modern day alchemist, inspired by the touch of Midas. An idea to preserve a perfect rose for all eternity…

 It was a brilliant concept. The alchemy was made real by dipping this unblemished specimen of nature’s beauty in rich 24-karat gold. Two of the world’s most prized possessions: a rose picked at just the right moment before it begins to fade, and the world’s most sought-after metal. In this case, the “Philosopher’s Stone” is gold itself, transforming the ephemeral in nature to a state that would preserve its beauty forever.

 The company I purchased both of these roses from was careful to select a fresh rose for its shape and quality. The rose was then electroformed and finished in 24K gold. I bought one for my wife and its sibling for my mother. After my mother’s passing, I felt her gold rose needed to be with the other. Now they both share a crystal vase on a glass shelf in one of our curio cabinets.

 The Midas story is pure legend and the rest is speculation on my part, but roses have adorned the gardens of royal palaces through the ages. We know this to be true. One case in point is the story of Malmaison.

 According to the 1984 Avon Calendar of Roses, the Empress Josephine grew some of the the most beautiful roses in the gardens of Malmaison. She would stroll through these gardens late at night with her husband, the Emperor Napoleon, and together they would become intoxicated by the cloying fragrances vying for their attention. She had a magnificent collection of roses, varieties from every part of the known world. When the French navy captured a ship at sea, it was searched for new species of roses. She had 250 species in all growing in her lush gardens. It was said that her private rooms in Malmaison were saturated with their fragrance. She commissioned the artist, Redoute, to make folios with his artistic interpretation of these flowers. These folios have survived and can be seen today.

 Josephine died with the Emperor’s name on her lips, and I would imagine the heady perfume of the rose filling her senses. In time, Malmaison was almost completely destroyed, but it is said that over 200 years later you can still catch the lingering scent of the roses in her private quarters.

We preserve the roses we receive by hanging them to dry and using the petals for a potpourri. Josephine had another way to preserve the rose. She would advise that you fill your gardens with them and then saturate the rooms in your home with the scent.

 Sirach, wrote: “Gold is tried in the fire and acceptable men in the furnace of adversity.”

 Such was the case with the Emperor Napoleon and King Midas, but thanks to the Empress Josephine and a company with the Midas Touch, the rose abides…

 ***

 Don Jackson

There was some feedback from some listeners that wanted to re-read this poem.  I decided to post it here so that anyone could take another look.

The Fern and the Bamboo–Author Unknown

“One day I decided to quit…. I quit my job, my relationship, my spirituality.
 I wanted to quit my life. I went to the woods to have one last talk with God.
‘God,’ I said. ‘Can you give me one good reason not to quit?’
His answer surprised me…
‘Look around,’ He said. ‘Do you see the fern and the bamboo?’
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘When I planted the fern and the bamboo seeds, I took very good care of them. I gave them light. I gave them water. The fern quickly grew from the earth. Its brilliant green covered the floor. Yet nothing came from the bamboo seed.
 But I did not quit on the bamboo.
‘In the second year the Fern grew more vibrant and plentiful. And again, nothing came from the bamboo seed. But I did not quit on the bamboo.’
He said, ‘In the third year, there was still nothing from the bamboo seed. But I would not quit. In the fourth year, again, there was nothing from the bamboo seed. But I would not quit.’
He said. ‘Then in the fifth year a tiny sprout emerged from the earth. Compared to the fern it was seemingly small and insignificant. But just 6 months later the bamboo rose to over 100 feet tall. It had spent the five years growing roots. Those roots made it strong and gave it what it needed to survive. I would not give any of my creations a challenge it could not handle.’
 He said to me. ‘Did you know, my child, that all this time you have been struggling, you have actually been growing roots. I would not quit on the bamboo. I will never quit on you. Don’t compare yourself to others.’
 He said, ‘The bamboo had a different purpose than the fern, yet, they both make the forest beautiful.’Your time will come,’ God said to me. ‘You will rise high!’
‘How high should I rise?’ I asked.
‘How high will the bamboo rise? He asked in return.
‘As high as it can?’ I questioned.
‘Yes,’ He said, ‘Give me glory by rising as high as you can.’
 I left the forest and brought back this story. I hope these words can help you see that God will never give up on you…….
 Never regret a day in your life.
 Good days give you Happiness.
 Bad days give you Experiences.
Both are essential to life.
 Keep going…
Happiness keeps you Sweet, Trials keep you Strong, Sorrows keep you Human, Failures keep you Humble,
Success keeps You Glowing. But Only God keeps You Going!
 Have a great day!
 God is so big He can cover the whole world with His Love and so small………
 He can curl up inside your heart!”
This is a quote from Lewis Timberlake from Timberlake Monthly, and featured in the Points to Ponder column of the May 1997 issue of the Reader’s Digest
“While on a tour of California’s giant sequoias, the guide pointed out that the sequoia tree has roots just barely below the surface of the earth.
‘That’s impossible,’ I exclaimed. ‘I’m a country boy and I know that if the roots didn’t grow deep, strong winds will blow the trees over.’
‘Not sequoia trees,’ said the guide. ‘They grow only in groves, and their roots intertwine under the surface of the earth. So, when the strong winds come, they hold each other up.’
 There’s a lesson here. In a sense, people are like giant sequoias. Family, friends, neighbours, the church body and other groups should be havens so that when the strong winds of life blow, these people can serve as reinforcement and can strive together to hold each other up.”
 This is an excerpt from something called There I Grow Again–Author Unknown,and posted on the internet at a site that posts inspirational stories and poetry.
“Maybe you have seen the Great Barrier Reef, stretching 1,800 miles from New Guinea to Australia. Tour guides regularly take visitors to view the reef.
 On one tour, the guide was asked an interesting question.
‘I notice that the lagoon side of the reef looks pale and lifeless, while the ocean side is vibrant and colorful,’ a traveler observed. ‘Why is this?’
 The guide gave an interesting answer. ‘The coral around the lagoon side is in still water with no challenge for its survival. It dies early. The coral on the ocean side is constantly being tested by wind, waves, storms–surges of power. It has to fight for survival every day of its life. As it is challenged and tested, it changes and adapts. It grows healthy. It grows strong. And, it reproduces.’
 Then he added this telling note: ‘That’s the way it is with every living organism.’
 That is how it is with people. Challenged and tested, we come alive. Like coral pounded by the sea, we grow. Physical demands can cause us to grow stronger. Mental and emotional stress can produce tough-mindedness and resiliency. Spiritual testing can produce strength of character and faithfulness.
 So you have problems–no problem. Just tell yourself, ‘There I grow again.’”
 –Author Unknown

 This is called Neeeding Others. Again, it’s author is unknown, and was posted on the internet once at a site that posted inspirational stories and poetry.
“Many living things need each other to survive.
 If you have ever seen a Colorado aspen tree, you may have noticed that it does not grow alone. Aspens are found in clusters or groves. The reason is that the Aspen sends up new shoots from the roots. In a small grove, all of the trees may actually be connected by their roots!
 Giant California redwood trees may tower 300 feet into the sky. It would seem that they would require extremely deep roots to anchor them against strong winds. But we’re told that their roots are actually quite shallow in order to capture as much surface water as possible. And they spread in all directions, intertwining with other redwoods.
 Locked together in this way, all the trees support each other in wind and storms. Like the aspen, they never stand alone. They need one another to survive.
 People, too, are connected by a system of roots.
 We are born to family and learn early to make friends. We are not meant to survive long without others.
 And like the redwood, we need to hold one another up. When pounded by the sometimes vicious storms of life, we need others to support and sustain us.
 Have you been going it alone? Maybe it’s time to let someone else help hold you up for awhile.
 Or perhaps someone needs to hang on to you?”
 Here’s another from last night’s show..
 This story is called “The Tree”, that was once posted on the internet at a web site that posted inspirational stories. It is Author Unknown. If you ever do find out who wrote it, again, please let me know so that I can give credit where credit is due. If this is not what you heard me air, please get back to me so that I can find the one you were interested in.
 The Tree-Author Unknown
“‘How can I do what you say,’ asked the child, ‘and still be me?’
‘Look at me,’ said the tree. ‘I bend in the wind, droop in the rain. Yet I always remain myself, a tree.’
‘Look at me,’ said the man. ‘I can’t change.’
‘Look at me,’ said the tree. ‘I change every season from green to brown to green again, from bud to flower to fallen leaf. Yet I always remain myself, a tree.’
‘I can’t love anymore,’ said the woman. ‘With my love, I have given away all that I am.’
‘Look at me,’ said the tree. ‘There are robins in my branches, owls in my trunk, moss and ladybugs living on my bark. They may take what I have, but not what I am.’
 Whether we know it or not, we are like the tree. Only our pride hangs on to a false sense of self, wanting to keep everything, refusing to follow advice or spiritual direction.
 What we do doesn’t matter; how we do it is what counts. Change and growth is as natural as the sun coming up every morning and the setting of it every night. Go with what is inside and listen to what your heart tells you. Why not if even for just today, reach out once more to a place that exists outside yourself without fear or judgment for yourself or from others…just once more.
 ’We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.’
–Plato”
  –Author Unknown.