HYDROECONOMICS

“And the hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain.” - HenryWadsworth Longfellow

How wonderful it is to lie in bed and hear the sound of rain falling on the roof, listen to the gurgling of the water as it runs down the gutters and the sound of cars on the wet streets. One is grateful and the mind turns to places affected by drought, California for example. Australia is often affected by severe droughts and we sympathise with our cousins across the great ditch…

We live on a planet whose surface is largely water, with 71% of it covered by water. However, this water is largely unusable because of its high solute content. Water locked away as ice in the polar regions is fresh, but inaccessible.  Lakes and rivers are becoming increasingly polluted and climate change in many cases reduces their water capacity, with water levels decreasing. Rain falls torrentially in some parts of the world, causing floods and destruction, with little possibility of long-term storage and alarm bells are ringing in many temperate regions where rain is becoming scarcer and scarcer.

Desalination of seawater has been suggested as a possible way of ensuring a reliable, and potentially limitless, fresh water supply for our major urban centres, many of which are coastal. Desalination is already operating in some countries and is providing water, although at a cost! The Middle East Desalination Research Centre, which is located in Muscat (Sultanate of Oman), was conceived out of the Middle East Multilateral Peace Process as an international organisation, which is dedicated to research in desalination technology. As water resources in the region are already under stress and future population and economic growth will require an increased supply, the Centre will seek to bring together scientists, engineers, water policy-makers and water system operators in the Middle East/North Africa region to work on areas of research that will reduce the cost of desalination. The economy of the Middle East is tied to desalination of seawater and brackish ground water.

Another way that can be used to generate fresh water is based on the principle of condensing water from humid air. This technology is already in use in small scale and machines are available for use in the home to produce drinking water directly from the air. To scale up this process is another suggestion for resolving our fresh water supply problems. Cost-effectiveness is the real limiting factor in this process and unless one has access to a cheap, renewable supply of energy, the process becomes too expensive in order to be scaled up. The use of nuclear power to run desalination and condensation plants has various attendant difficulties and raises a host of concerns.

Other ways of ensuring reliable fresh water supplies for big urban centres have been proposed, including increasing use of recycled water from waste water, building larger reservoirs in water catchment areas, better utilisation of groundwater and aquifers and also building urban water supplies that are more water efficient and allow recycling of grey water in applications that would allow its safe use (flushing toilets, watering parks and gardens, some industrial uses).

In any case, increasing public awareness of climate change, water shortages, green-efficient solutions, recycling and cognisance of the importance of reducing waste will help in more effective use of our precious resources.

My word for this Thursday is a neologism that describes what will become an increasingly major issue around the world:
Hydroeconomics |ˈhīdrōˌekəˈnämiks| (noun, pl.)

The study of the physical, cultural, political, and financial aspects of human interaction with the water cycle. The study of hydroeconomics will attract more interest in the near future as human populations find it necessary to make more efficient use of our dwindling fresh water supplies.

A LULLABY

“Mankind must put an end to war before war puts an end to mankind.” - John F. Kennedy

Another of my short stories today, one which is unfortunately perennially current and relevant as mankind continues to go to war…

A  LULLABY

“Mama, I’m scared…”

“I’m here my treasure, I’m holding you.” Her voice gentle and her hands firm around the fragile little body that trembles against her racing heart.

“Mama, the walls might crash down on us and kill us…”

“The walls are strong, your grandfather built this house with his own hands. The walls have stood firm for many years now and they will be here for your children to grow up in.” Her eyes wide open, the whites shining in the darkness. The face haggard and dirty, every now and then illuminated by the flash of an exploding bomb. The small window in the basement that would not close fully was enough to let the fear in. The smell of death encircled them and the noise of battle surrounded them.

“Where is my father, Mama?” The little voice was shaky, the trembling of the little body in her embrace not only caused by the cold.

“Your father is helping injured people, my love. He is at the hospital, you know that.”

“Why do they want to kill us, Mama?”

“They do not want to kill us, my darling, they are bombing the bad people.”

“Was my friend next door bad?”

The woman closed her eyes and stifled a wave of emotion. She should not cry now. She should be strong. Strong for her daughter’s sake.

“No, our neighbours were not bad, just unlucky…” She hugged the child tightly. “They were hit by mistake as they were coming back from the market.”

There was a respite in the awful sound of warfare outside and the flashes of light gave way to an unearthly greenish light. The sudden quiet in the cellar was more foreboding to her ears than all of the unholy uproar previously. She shuddered to think of the future, yet that future was only moments ahead. The concept of ‘next week’ was something that had become foreign to her. To survive this day, to keep herself alive for her daughter, that was her only purpose now. If tomorrow dawned for them she could thank God and try her best to survive that tomorrow also.

“Mama, when is my father coming back?”

“Hush darling, you know he is needed where he is more than here.” Her voice was hardly a whisper and it took great restraint not to cry out the pain that was bottled up inside her for days now. She felt her heart beating and it seemed to her to be a hand grenade, ready at any moment to explode and devastate her whole being. Her husband would not come back, she knew that. Her daughter must not know, now.

“Is he helping the sick people?”

“Yes, my heart of hearts, he is at the hospital and he is operating on the injured, helping them to get better.” She embraced the girl and started to sing her a lullaby. A soft, peaceful sound that reverberated in the darkness and calmed herself more than the child. A lullaby that was sung to her by her grandmother and her mother. A lullaby that she wanted her daughter to sing to her own children when she had them. But that was light years away, the priorities of the here and now dictated otherwise.

The whistling sound of a bomb falling, a flash of brilliant light and an explosion were followed by more. The child started in her arms and screamed. These bombs were falling too close! Her blood turned to ice and her eyes closed as she hugged her daughter to her breast.

“Mama! I wish he was here now! He would protect us…”

“I’m here for you, my darling, I will not let them harm you, hush!” Her voice rang out above the sounds of explosions. The ground was shaking around them and the old timbers above them creaked. Showers of dust fell around them and the flash of the explosions illuminated them making them seem like a golden rain.

The house collapsed as if it were made of cards. Debris was hurled around the neighbourhood and the charred timbers pointed up accusingly as the bomber planes disappeared over the horizon. The village had been razed to the ground. Smoke billowed in dark clouds over slowly burning piles rubble and whimpers of the survivors under fallen walls were the only sound that could be heard now. Deep in a cellar a woman is quietly singing a lullaby clutching the child in her arms. She rocks her precious daughter in her arms amidst the ruins, and her tears stream down her face. The blackened skin of her cheeks is bleached as each hot droplet trickles down. Her voice breaks as she looks at the face of the lifeless child on her lap.

HEMINGWAY'S BELLS IN BELGIUM

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are stronger at the broken places.” Ernest Hemingway

Today is St Praxedes’ Feast Day (Roman Catholic); Symeon the Holy’s and John the Holy’s Feast Day and St Marcella’s Feast Day (Greek Orthodox). It is Belgium’s Independence (National) Day (since 1831) and Guam’s Liberation Day.

Today is also the anniversary of the birth of:

Sixtus IV (Grancesco della Rovere), Pope of Rome (1414);

Paul Julius von Reuter, founder of famous news service (1816);

Hart Crane, poet (1899);

Ernest Hemingway, writer (1899);

Isaac Stern, violinist (1920);

Don Knotts, comedian (1924);

John Gardner, writer (1933);

Cat Stevens (Josef Islam), musician/Islamic fundamentalist (1948);

Robin Williams, actor (1952);

Jon Lovitz, comedian (1957).

Today’s birthday flower is the Canterbury bell, Campanula medium.  In the language of flowers, it is a plant signifying gratitude and constancy in the face of adversity.  It is dedicated to St Augustine.

Belgium is one of the Low Countries, formerly called Flanders, gaining its independence from the Netherlands in 1830. It has a low coastline onto the North Sea, which gives way to a fertile plateau in the North and then the land rises to the South towards the forested mountains of the Ardennes. Rainfall is frequent, the climate cool and mild, the weather changeable. The major crops are cereals, root crops, vegetables and flax. Meat and dairy products are also produced and the only mineral resource is coal. Metal and engineering industries are important contributors to the economy. The capital is Brussels, which is also the headquarters of the European Union. Other important cities are Ostend, Antwerp, Ghent, Liège, Charleroi and Bruges.

MOVIE MONDAY - THE MONUMENTS MEN

“Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable.” - George BernardShaw

Nazi plunder refers to items stolen as a result of the organised looting of European countries during the time of the Third Reich by agents acting on behalf of the ruling Nazi Party of Germany. Art theft constituted a large proportion of this plunder. Plundering occurred from 1933 until the end of World War II, particularly by military units known as the Kunstschutz, although most plunder was acquired during the war.

In addition to gold, silver and currency, cultural items of great significance were stolen, including paintings, ceramics, books, and religious treasures. Although most of these items were recovered by agents of the Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives program (MFAA), affectionately referred to as the Monuments Men, on behalf of the Allies immediately following the war, many are still missing. There is an international effort under way to identify Nazi plunder that still remains unaccounted for, with the aim of ultimately returning the items to the rightful owners, their families or their respective countries.

Adolf Hitler was an unsuccessful artist who was denied admission to the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts in his youth. Nonetheless, he thought of himself as a connoisseur of the arts, and in his ideological manifesto, “Mein Kampf”, he ferociously attacked modern art as degenerate, including: Cubism; Futurism; and Dadaism; all of which he considered the product of a decadent twentieth century society.

When in 1933 Hitler became Chancellor of Germany, he enforced his aesthetic ideal on the nation. The types of art that were favoured amongst the Nazi party were classical portraits and landscapes by Old Masters, particularly those of Germanic origin. Modern art that did not match this was dubbed degenerate art by the Third Reich, and all that was found in Germany’s state museums was to be sold or destroyed. With the sums raised, the Fuhrer’s objective was to establish the European Art Museum in Linz. Other Nazi dignitaries, like Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering and Foreign Affairs minister von Ribbentrop, were also intent on taking advantage of German military conquests to increase their private art collections.

Yesterday we watched a film that related directly to this Nazi plunder and efforts to recover the stolen art and return it to its rightful owners as WWII was ending. This was the 2014 George Clooney movie, “Monuments Men”, starring George Clooney, Matt Damon, Bill Murray, Cate Blanchett, John Goodman and Jean Dujardin. George Clooney was also involved in the writing of the screenplay together with Grant Heslov, based on the book by Robert M. Edsel and Bret Witter.

The film is an action drama focussing on an unlikely World War II platoon, which is tasked by FDR to go into Germany in order to rescue artistic masterpieces from Nazi thieves and returning them to their rightful owners. A difficult mission, as it receives little support from the ally forces intent on winning the war at whatever cost. The art is trapped behind enemy lines and the German army is under orders to destroy everything as the Reich fell, while the Russians are intent on taking the looted art back to Moscow with them. The seven men are museum directors, curators, architects and art historians, all more familiar with Michelangelo than the M-1, do the impossible and infiltrate enemy lines to find and recover the art. The Monuments Men, as they were called, find themselves in a race against time to avoid the destruction of 1000 years of culture, risking their lives to protect and defend mankind’s greatest achievements.

The basic premise of the film is good and the events it depicts are worthy of being more widely known – the making of such a film being a good way to increase public awareness. However, there are flaws, one of the most important being a weak script and lack of character depth. Add to that uninspiring direction by Clooney (who directs himself playing Clooney) and the film is a rather mediocre exposition of a wonderful true story.

The film repeatedly asks viewers whether a piece of art is worth a human life, and despite the platoon being composed of art lovers, we never get impression of why these people think that art is worth that much. The buddied up rescuers exchange mildly amusing repartee, trudge enemy lines and walk unopposed into unguarded treasure troves, recovering huge amounts of loot (at a cost) and in the end are congratulated by a grateful politician for what they have done, and once again the ponderous question is asked: “Was saving a piece of art worth a human life?” The question is not satisfyingly answered. This is an important question, especially as the film makes a couple of veiled references to the Holocaust, which is the elephant in the cinema that gets ignored…

Bill Murray and John Goodman act much better than do Damon and Clooney, but get less air time. Dujardin is too clichéd to take seriously and Blanchett is unfortunately cast as a token female and love interest in what is a essentially a guy-movie. Although we are shown seven Monuments Men, the real task force numbered around 350 (more believable, of course, but one has to bow to artistic license.

We watched the movie and it kept us engaged to a certain extent, but while watching it the flaws were irksome. It needed more experienced hands writing the script and directing it. It needed more structure, it needed a more coherent view of what art is and what its value to society is. It needed better development and exposition of the storyline with memorable scenes being built up to mini climaxes. Overall, the more I think about it, the more disappointing it seems… Watch it and make up your own mind.

ART SUNDAY - VALENTIN SEROV

“Russia is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.” - Winston Churchill

Valentin Aleksandrovich Serov, (born Jan. 7 [Jan. 19, New Style], 1865, St. Petersburg, Russia—died Nov. 22 [Dec. 5], 1911, Moscow), was a Russian artist whose works reflect a turning point in Russian art in the late 19th and early 20th centuries as well as the shift from realism by way of Impressionism to Art Nouveau. Serov himself seemed to manifest the link between opposing artistic views and cultural eras.

His father, the composer Aleksandr Serov, died when Valentin was six years old. His mother, a musician and writer, was a woman with progressive ideas who was close to the Peredvizhniki (“Wanderers”) group. Serov’s first teacher was Ilya Repin, and later, at the Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg, he studied with Pavel Chistyakov. A student of the Peredvizhniki, Serov did not diverge from the style of his teachers.

He exhibited with the Peredvizhniki (which he joined in 1894) and with the Union of Russian Artists, taught at the Academy of Arts and the Moscow Institute of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture (1897–1909), and was a member of the council of the Treyakov Gallery. At the same time, he was also a member of the group involved with Mir Iskusstva (“World of Art”; late 1890s) and the Munich Secession, which was disseminating the “new style” of Art Nouveau.

Such was the dynamism of Serov’s growth that he managed in a short period to assume various aesthetic directions. The first modern formalist of Russian art, Serov was also the first artist to consciously choose a particular style out of the many then available. His first famous portrait of Vera Mamontova “Girl with Peaches” (1887), displays his complete mastery of the Impressionist idiom. Yet another portrait of the same period, “Girl in Sunlight: Portrait of Maria Simonovich” (1888), already shows a Post-Impressionist approach to form.

The yellowish brown hues and the bravura of the brushstrokes of Serov’s Portrait of the Italian Singer Francesco Tamagno (1891–92) are reminiscent of Peter Paul Rubens and Diego Velázquez, while the Portrait of the Italian Singer Angelo Masini (1890) shows some similarity to Repin’s style.

Serov always sought an allusive pictorial sign that would give depth to the theme of the subject painted. In his landscapes of the countryside surrounding Moscow, for instance, he adopted the lyrical landscape reminiscent of Aleksey Savrasov. In his later monochrome portraits (Mariya Yermolova, 1905 - Feodor Chaliapin, 1905) and in his historical and mythological compositions (“The Rape of Europa”, 1910), Serov expressed, respectively, the essence of the St. Petersburg “painterly graphics” and the Art Nouveau style seen in much of the work of the Mir Iskusstva group.

Serov was unique in having discovered the intersection between the portrait genre and the formal ideal of Art Nouveau. At times Serov’s portraits border on exaggeration, but his mordant characterizations do not conflict with his subjects’ imposing qualities. Ostentation, ever the object of parodic portraits, is characteristic of Serov’s later works (Portrait of Olga Orlova, 1911). At times, as in “Ida Rubinstein” (1910), the striking portrayal expresses the very essence of an artistic persona.

Serov’s innovation is manifested not only in portraits but in other artworks as well. He almost merged genre painting with landscape, keeping a link with the peasant lyricism characteristic of the Peredvizhniki group. Serov also worked for the theatre: he designed the sets for his father’s opera Judith at the Mariinsky Theatre (1907), painted the curtain used by the Ballets Russes for its 1911 production of Nikolay Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, and created a superb theatre poster with an image of a dancing Anna Pavlova (1909).

Serov was one of the first Russian artists to use graphic art, which appears in his portraits, satirical caricatures, and illustrations of the fables of Ivan Krylov, on which Serov worked from 1895 until his death. For many Russian artists of several styles, Serov embodied the high aesthetic mission of the ideal artist. In the years in which the gulf between so-called high art and the demand for realism was sharply felt, Serov managed in both life and art to overcome this apparent dichotomy.

Serov travelled a lot, participating in exhibitions in Russia and abroad. In 1897-1909, Serov taught at the Moscow School of Painting, Sculpture and Architecture. His students noted that Serov was a superb technical master of many painting media. Among his pupils were N.N. Sapunov, M.I. Mashkov, P.V. Kuznetsov, N.P. Krymov, Kuzma Petrov-Vodkin, C.Y. Sudeykin, K.F. Yuon and others. In 1903, he was elected member of the St. Petersburg Academy of Arts. Serov died in 1911.

The painting above is “The Overgrown Pond. Domotcanovo” 1888. Oil on canvas. The Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow, Russia.

MUSIC SATURDAY - GIUSEPPE TORELLI

“The violin sings.” - Joshua Bell

Giuseppe Torelli (22 April 1658 – 8 February 1709) was an Italian violist, violinist, teacher, and composer. Torelli is most remembered for his contributions to the development of the instrumental concerto, especially concerti grossi and the solo concerto, for strings and continuo, as well as being the most prolific Baroque composer for trumpets.

Torelli was born in Verona. It is not known with whom he studied violin though it has been speculated that he was a pupil of Leonardo Brugnoli or Bartolomeo Laurenti, but it is certain that he studied composition with Giacomo Antonio Perti. On 27 June 1684, at the age of 26, he became a member of the Accademia Filarmonica as suonatore di violino.

On 1687 Giuseppe Corsi da Celano, played Torelli’s music, from Op. 3, in Parma at the Sanctuary of Santa Maria della Steccata. By 1698 he was maestro di concerto at the court of Georg Friedrich II, Margrave of Brandenburg-Ansbach, where he conducted the orchestra for “Le pazzie d’ amore e dell’ interesse”, an idea drammatica composed by the maestro di cappella, and the castrato Francesco Antonio Pistocchi, before leaving for Vienna in December 1699.

He returned to Bologna sometime before February 1701, when he is listed as a violinist in the newly re-formed cappella musicale at San Petronio, directed by his former composition teacher Perti. He died in Bologna in 1709, where his manuscripts are conserved in the San Petronio archives. Giuseppe’s brother, Felice Torelli, was a Bolognese painter of modest reputation, who went on to be a founding member of the Accademia Clementina. The most notable amongst Giuseppe’s many pupils was Francesco Manfredini.

Here are Catherine Weiss (violin); Crispian Steele-Perkins (trumpet); David Blackadder (trumpet) and the Collegium Musicum conducted by Simon Standage playing some concerti by Torelli:

Concerto for two violins, Op. 8 No. 2 in A minor (0:00)

Concerto for violin, Op. 8 No. 8 in C minor (6:56)

Sinfonia for trumpet in D major; G 8 (13:44)

Concerto for two violins, Op. 8 No. 5 in G major (18:59)

Concerto for two violins, Op. 8 No. 6 in G minor in forma di Pastorale per il Santissimio Natale (26:37)

Concerto for two trumpets in D major (32:49)

Concerto for two violins, Op. 8 No. 4 in B flat major 39:01

Concerto grosso for violin, Op. 8 No. 11 in F major 48:21

Sinfonia for two trumpets in D major G 23; in D major (58:40)

Concerto for violin, Op. 8 No. 9 in E minor (1:05:37)

FOOD FRIDAY - FAST FOOD

“We don’t walk. We overeat because we’ve made it easy to overeat. We have fast-food joints on every corner. By the way, the ‘we’ is all of us. It’s not the government. It’s all of us doing this together.” - Mehmet Oz

Some days there is no time to cook and while the belly is rumbling, one has to raid the fridge and put together something simple and satisfying rather than reach for the phone and order take aways.

This is a fast-food favourite, and provided one has the magic ingredients on hand it can be made as gourmet as one wishes. A green salad fresh from the garden usually accompanies this. And it is really more healthful than a lot of other fast food!

HAM, CHEESE AND TOMATO TOASTIES

Ingredients

4 English muffins (or 8 slices of multigrain bread)

Olive oil

Sliced smoked leg ham

Sliced tasty cheese

Sliced tomatoes

1 tub of spring onion dip

French mustard

Salt and pepper

Method

Slice muffins in half and spread liberally with olive oil. On one half spread some French mustard and lay ham slices on it. Add the cheese slices and tomato. Season with pepper and salt. On the other half, spread some spring onion dip and close the sandwich. Toast or grill until muffin is golden and cheese has melted.

One can also substitute the muffins with wholemeal bread or with flatbread, in the latter case making wraps around the filling. The wraps can then be put in the oven or griller to cook.

Use the Linky tool below to add your own favourite recipes:

WATER LILIES

“Just living is not enough... one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.” - Hans Christian Andersen

Nymphaeaceae is a family of flowering plants. Members of this family are commonly called water lilies and live as rhizomatous aquatic herbs in temperate and tropical climates around the world. The family contains eight large-flowered genera with about 70 species. The genus Nymphaea contains about 35 species in the Northern Hemisphere. The genus Victoria contains two species of giant water lilies endemic to South America.

Water lilies are rooted in soil in bodies of water, with leaves and flowers floating on the surface. The leaves are round, with a radial notch in Nymphaea and Nuphar, but fully circular in Victoria. Water lilies are a well-studied clade of plants because their large flowers with multiple unspecialised parts were initially considered to represent the floral pattern of the earliest flowering plants, and later genetic studies confirmed their evolutionary position as basal angiosperms.

Analyses of floral morphology and molecular characteristics and comparisons with a sister taxon, the family Cabombaceae, indicate, however, that the flowers of extant water lilies with the most floral parts are more derived than the genera with fewer floral parts. Genera with more floral parts, Nuphar, Nymphaea, Victoria, have a beetle pollination syndrome, while genera with fewer parts are pollinated by flies or bees, or are self- or wind-pollinated. Thus, the large number of relatively unspecialised floral organs in the Nymphaeaceae is not an ancestral condition for the clade.

Horticulturally water lilies have been hybridised for temperate gardens since the nineteenth century, and the hybrids are divided into three groups: Hardy, night-blooming tropical, and day-blooming tropical water lilies. Hardy water lilies are hybrids of Nymphaea species from the subgenus Castalia; night-blooming tropical water lilies are developed from the subgenus Lotos; and the day-blooming tropical plants arise from hybridisation of plants of the subgenus Brachyceras.

The flower is named after the Nymphae, water nymphs of classical mythology.  In German folklore, the lilies are water nymphs that have transformed themselves into flowers to escape the advances of lustful males.  The flower is symbolic of chastity, silence and purity.  The flowers are spotlessly pure even if they emerge from the murkiest waters. Numerous cultivars of the various species are known, ranging in colour from white, cream, through yellow, orange, pink, red, mauve and blue. Astrologists claim the water lily is under the rule of the moon.

IN PACE REQUIESCAT

“I am a part of everything that I have read.” John Kieran

I have been rather busy these last few days and have had to revise my daily schedule several times. Today, I offer you a short story that I wrote several years ago, in response to a challenge that involved writing a story with the requirement that it begin with the last line from a favourite books. I chose as my first line, the last sentence in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado”, which ends: “In Pace Requiescat!” Now, read on!

In Pace Requiescat! On the gravestone a sad memorial, the letters eroded and barely legible. The filmy curtain of falling rain makes the task of reading the inscription even more difficult, the twilight seeming to be darker and gloomier in the moisture-laden air. As the heavens weep, the gentle sound of rain is a distraction, further lessening the sharpness of vision. A sudden noise behind him. Was that a twig breaking? He looks back. Nothing. Only the massive outlines of the cypresses around the cemetery looking at him threateningly - an army of cyclopean dimensions ready to attack. And yet, they stand firm. His jaw clenches tightly.

He stands motionless and looks at the grave, one of many, so many, in the old cemetery. He sighs and despite his urgency he stands his ground and scans the graveyard, struggling to read the faint inscriptions of more gravestones ahead. Time, he needs more time. This will never do. He will not be able to find the grave in time. His hand tears down a creeper that obscures the lettering on a stone. The darkness steals upon him with each passing moment and he kneels to decipher the inscription. Not this one, either. He blinks to free his eyes of rain that clings to his eyelashes and as if they are tears, the drops run down his cheeks.

The sodden earth sticks to his boots as he strides forth to the next group of memorial stones. They rise from the ground as if bleak bystanders turned to rock. His gloved fingers brush away cobwebs that have captured a myriad diamond-like raindrops and he stoops to read. Lichens and moss further hamper the task of making out the old writing on the dark grey stone. Laura… Could this be what he searches for? A ray of hope is lit in the darkness of his heart of hearts. A weight seems to be lifting, but as he clears the lichen away the caption of another life long gone is revealed: Wife of Thomas, here interred… He sighs and sinks into despondency again. Time – time is running out as the last failing light is giving way to night.

Another sharp sound behind him makes him rise and turn abruptly. A shadow dashes into the dark yews, becoming part of them. A faint susurration merges with the sound of dripping rain and quietly disappears as if a snake were disturbed and slowly slithers away. They will be here soon! Time! He runs to the next grave, a large crypt, its gaping maws black and menacing through the half-open grille of the ironwork gate. In the murky wetness he looks up to see what name is graven on the ancient stone, as he pulls down an obscuring creeper: Wexway… This is it! This is the name he searches for! Behind him shadows move, and a fetid odour mixes with the cold dampness of the moist earth smell. Wet moss and decayed wood. He ignores the approaching noise and dashes into the tomb, slamming the gate behind him. He looks for a latch, a lock, and finds a bolt that he draws shut securely. Fiery eyes regard him from the gathering darkness outside and the hissing sounds are clearly heard through the fainter sounds of rain.

He takes a tinderbox from his greatcoat pocket and strikes. The sparks fly ineffectually and he strikes again, this time a flame jumping up. It burns brilliantly and he lights the lantern that he had concealed in his knapsack. The hissing outside increases in volume and the fiery eyes move a little more distantly. He looks around, shaking the rain off him. The tomb is so quiet after the drone of the rain outside. The smell of death and seeming aeons of decay assails his senses and the oppressive weight of stone above him makes him shudder. There is a stairway hewn into the rock ahead leading downwards. The gloom below impenetrable, his lantern light too weak to penetrate the depths. Resolutely he descends. This must be done!

The flickering light of his lantern plays upon the rough walls and shadows dance as he descends the steps. The hissing above him mixes with banging sounds on the ironwork of the gate. It must hold fast! He hurries downwards and enters the burial chamber, his lantern a promise of hope and salvation in the dank shadows that surround him. A dais made of stone is in the centre of the chamber and on it a sarcophagus. This must be she! Laura! The banging on the doorway upstairs echoes down the steps into the chamber. The furious hissing sounds rise in frustration as the doorway remains shut. He breathes heavily as he approaches the platform and his heart all but stops.

On the stone of the cover, her name is carved in simple letters: “Laura”. His Laura? His eyes well up and hot tears stream down his face. They drop heavily on the stone. He hastily wipes them away and rests the lantern on a ledge opposite him. The flame flickers and then begins to burn more steadily. How can she be lying here dead when only last night they spent the night together? No, it cannot be. This is some trickery, the old man was wrong. He misled him. Even if this is her coffin, even if it is his Laura’s coffin, surely it must be empty… He must look inside. Make sure.

He takes the iron bar from his knapsack and he hesitates only a little, aware of the rapid beating of his heart and his raspy breath. Outside the hissing has not stopped and still a thwarted bang echoes on the ironwork. He grasps the iron bar firmly and he prises the tip under the lid. With great effort and a harsh sound, stone grinds against stone and slowly the lid begins to shift. He stops as a thought grips like a vice his whole being. What if she is here, lying motionless within this tomb? His mind echoes with a silent scream that his heart lets out. Laura cannot be here. He pushes the lid determined and it crashes to the floor, breaking and raising a veil of dust. The sounds from above are silenced momentarily and as he opens his eyes he looks inside the coffin.

A white shroud encloses the shape of what could only be a corpse. The cloth shines out in the darkness as if it were phosphorescent. He extends his trembling hand to touch but lightly and withdraws it, as though the winding sheet were white hot. His heart races, as his breath comes out roughly, gasping. His hand slowly extends towards the shroud once again. What would he do if his eyes beheld what he could not bare to see? What if this body were to be Laura, his beloved? Then he had to commit an act that he cannot bear even to contemplate. Laura!

The noises upstairs have started again, this time with the enraged energy that frustration breeds. He glances towards the stairs and then with one swift movement drags the shroud away from the coffin. His blood freezes. Laura in all her beauty is lying there, serene, as though asleep. Her dark, shining hair, her beautiful face, her red full lips… He whimpers and he knows it all is true. The noises up the stairs have reached a fever pitch. Her creatures are almost upon him. He brushes away hot tears and with rapid motion takes a wooden stake and mallet from his knapsack. Her eyelids part and her eyes regard him with a strangely vacuous stare. This must be done, and then In Pace Requiescat…

HELLO PLUTO

“O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world That has such people in’t!” - William Shakespeare (The Tempest Act 5, scene 1, 181–184)

NASA’s New Horizons spacecraft is about to reveal to us earthlings a new alien world for the first time. At 7:49 am ET today, the probe became the first spacecraft to fly by Pluto, our solar system’s outermost dwarf planet. This is a historic day for astronomy and science, but also for all people who are curious about our universe, life and everything…

New Horizons has been en route for the last nine years, travelling more than 3 billion miles. The flyby was over in a matter of minutes, as the probe frantically took hundreds of photos and collected data on Pluto’s atmosphere, geology, and moons. All this data will be enormously valuable to scientists as they seek to understand our solar system and how it formed billions of years ago.

New Horizons embodies a fundamental characteristic of our curious, rational species: Our urge for exploration, our desire to see a new world simply because it’s there. It represents the best of humanity, the heights of what we can accomplish through ingenuity, focus, and cooperation. More than anything, this mission is about broadening our horizons — taking in just a little bit more of the impossibly vast universe we live in.

It’s hard to really comprehend how far away Pluto truly is from us. If we think of Earth as a basketball, comparatively speaking, Pluto would be just a little larger than a golf ball. To keep to the planetary scale in our analogy, we’d have to put that golf ball incredibly far away: 80 to 130 km (depending on its location in orbit)! This goes to show how vast even our own little corner of the universe is…

Pluto was discovered by Clyde W. Tombaugh in 1930 and was originally considered the ninth planet from the Sun. After 1992, its status as a planet fell into question following the discovery of the Kuiper belt, a ring of objects beyond Neptune that includes Pluto among other large bodies. In 2005, Eris, which is 27% more massive than Pluto, was discovered, which led the International Astronomical Union (IAU) to define the term “planet” formally for the first time the following year. This definition excluded Pluto and reclassified it as a member of the new ‘dwarf planet” category (and specifically as a plutoid). Some astronomers believe Pluto should still be considered a planet.

Pluto has five known moons: Charon (the largest, with a diameter just over half that of Pluto), Styx, Nix, Kerberos, and Hydra. Pluto and Charon are sometimes considered a binary system because the barycenter of their orbits does not lie within either body. The IAU has not formalised a definition for binary dwarf planets, and Charon is officially classified as a moon of Pluto.

As the new high resolution images of Pluto trickle in in a few hours, watch and learn, wonder and ponder, speculate and surmise! A rare glimpse into the bottomless pit of creation, a taste of eternity, a wild beauty, and an awe-inspiring view of primordial mysteries. Pluto is part of our solar system, a neighbouring world, an alien planet that nevertheless is built of the same cosmic dust that we are built of.

MOVIE MONDAY - VALE, OMAR SHARIF!

“Although for some people the cinema means something superficial and glamorous, it is something else. I think it is the mirror of the world.” - Jeanne Moreau

Omar Sharif (born Michel Demitri Chalhoub; 10 April 1932 – 10 July 2015) was an Egyptian actor. He began his career in his native country in the 1950s, but is best known for his appearances in both British and American productions. His films included “Lawrence of Arabia” (1962), “Doctor Zhivago” (1965) and “Funny Girl” (1968). He was nominated for an Academy Award. He won three Golden Globe Awards and a César Award.

Sharif, who spoke Arabic, English, Greek, French, Spanish and Italian, was often cast as a foreigner of some sort. He bridled at travel restrictions imposed during the reign of Egypt's Gamal Abdel Nasser, leading to self-exile in Europe. The estrangement this caused led to an amicable divorce from his wife, the iconic Egyptian actress Faten Hamama, for whom he had converted to Islam. He was a lifelong gambler, and at one time ranked among the world's top contract bridge players.

Sharif's first English-language role was that of Sharif Ali in David Lean’s historical epic Lawrence of Arabia in 1962. This performance earned him a Best Supporting Actor Oscar nomination and a Golden Globe Award for Best Supporting Actor – Motion Picture, as well as a shared Golden Globe Award for New Star of the Year – Actor. He went on to play several more character roles, until he collaborated with Lean again in 1965, to create one his most characteristic roles, Doctor Zhivago.

“Doctor Zhivago” (1965) was an adaptation of Boris Pasternak’s 1957 novel, which was banned in the USSR for 30 years. Set during World War I and the Russian Revolution, Sharif played the role of Yuri Zhivago, a poet and physician. Film historian Constantine Santas explained that Lean intended the film to be a poetic portrayal of the period, with large vistas of landscapes combined with a powerful score by Maurice Jarre. He notes that Sharif’s role is “passive”, his eyes reflecting “reality” which then become “the mirror of reality we ourselves see.” In a commentary on the DVD (2001 edition), Sharif described Lean’s style of directing as similar to a general commanding an army. For his performance, he won the Golden Globe Award for Best Actor – Motion Picture Drama, while the film received ten Academy Award nominations, but Sharif was not nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actor.

Sharif was also acclaimed for his portrayal of Nicky Arnstein in “Funny Girl” (1968). He portrayed the husband of Fanny Brice, played by Barbra Streisand in her first film role. His decision to work alongside Streisand angered Egypt’s government, because of her support for Israel during the Six Day War, however, and the country condemned the film. It was also immediately banned in numerous Arab nations. Streisand herself jokingly responded, “You think Cairo was upset? You should’ve seen the letter I got from my Aunt Rose!” Sharif and Streisand became romantically involved during the filming.

Among Sharif’s other films were the western “Mackenna’s Gold” (1969), playing an outlaw opposite Gregory Peck; the thriller “Juggernaut” (1974), which co-starred Richard Harris, and the romantic drama “The Tamarind Seed” (1974), co-starring Julie Andrews, and directed by Blake Edwards. Sharif also contributed comic cameo performances in Edwards’ “The Pink Panther Strikes Again” (1976) and in the 1984 spy-film spoof “Top Secret!” In 2003, he received acclaim for his leading role in “Monsieur Ibrahim”, a French-language film adaptation of the novel “Monsieur Ibrahim et les fleurs du Coran”, as a Muslim Turkish merchant who becomes a father figure for a Jewish boy. For this performance, Sharif received the César Award for Best Actor. Sharif’s later film roles included performances in “Hidalgo” (2004) and “Rock the Casbah” (2013).

Sharif once ranked among the world’s top 50 contract bridge players, and played in an exhibition match before the Shah of Iran. With Charles Goren, Sharif co-wrote a syndicated newspaper bridge column for the Chicago Tribune for several years, but mostly turned over the writing of the column to Tannah Hirsch. He was also both author and co-author of several books on bridge and licensed his name to a bridge video game.

In 1954 Sharif starred in the film “Struggle in the Valley” opposite Faten Hamama, who shared a kiss with him, although she had previously refused to kiss on screen. The two fell in love; Sharif converted to Islam and married her. They had one son, Tarek El-Sharif, born in 1957 in Egypt, who appeared in Doctor Zhivago as Yuri at the age of eight. The couple separated in 1966 and the marriage ended in 1974. Sharif never remarried; he stated that since his divorce, he had never fallen in love with another woman. In later life, Sharif lived mostly in Cairo with his family. In addition to his son, he had two grandsons, Omar (born 1983 in Montreal) and Karim. Omar Sharif, Jr. is also an actor.

Vale, Omar Sharif!