Lögberg-Heimskringla - 24.01.1997, Blaðsíða 4

4 • Lögberg-Heimskringla • Föstudagur 24, januar 1997
Jestive Season HigMights
from Qimli
T
here is nothing like
beginning the Christmas
season with an evening
full of people walking about the
centre of town taking in the sights
and making a purchase during the
midnight madness sale. Such were
the sights on November 29; the
“Gimli Country Christmas” events
at the Old Public School added to
the excitement. Here one could
not only sip on hot chocolate, buy
a craft or some Icelandic food, but
also take in the caroling by the
Male Voice Choir as the tree
lighting ceremony took place
outside. As many as 300 people
enjoyed the horse-drawn hayride
and many more went inside to
hear the school band play. It
became impossible to move along
the main hall as the crowd awaited
Activities for "A Qimli Country Christmas'
Andrea cChordarson gets
a Santa painting
the unveiling of Jerry Johnson’s
latest artwork. Having the CBC
crew join in all the festivities made
sense when one could watch the
Continued on page 5
A tribute to Jenny Jonason
Continued from page 2
when she told the story of two unexpected
guests arriving from Iceland. A taxi
delivered them to her door in the early
moming. When she leamed that they had
not had breakfast, she set about preparing
a platter of four eggs, half a pound of
bacon, four pieces of toast and a steaming
pot of coffee. Inviting her guests into the
dining room, she placed the food in the
middle of the table. To aunty’s
astonishment, one of the ladies grabbed
the platter and said, “Bless you my dear,
I am just famished.” Without a moment’s
hesitation, aunty retumed to the kitchen
and prepared a similar platter for her other
guest.
Perhaps the greatest testament to a
person’s life is their children. Son Ray-
mond, a civil engineer, recently retired
as vice-president of Dominion Bridge in
Calgary. Daughter Joan, as a youngster,
helped her mother minister to ailing
family members. This quite logically led
to her pursuing a career as a registered
nurse. When Jenny’s health failed, Joan
and her husband Hunt McKay provided
for Jenny the kind of loving care that she
had dispensed so generously in earlier
times. Although nobody could accuse me
of not being biased, I state with conviction
that my cousins, their children and their
grandchildren are exemplary people by
any standard. They are Jenny’s living
Iegacy.
As I was drove to my office the day
after Jenny’s death, I could not repress a
stinging in my eyes. Again, I felt a sense
of guilt when I contrasted my reaction to
the quiet dignity and pluck with which
my 90-year-old mother faced the loss
of her beloved sister. On the radio a
musicologist explained the stmcture of
Beethoven’s symphonies. For Five years
no composition of Beethoven was
published. People believed that his career
had ended. He proved his critics wrong
with the release of his Ninth Symphony,
“An Ode to Joy” — Beethoven’s tribute
to his newly found Uni versal God of love.
I thought, how very Unitarian, aunty
would like that story.
This put me in mind of an incident in
the life of Gandhi, a man that Jenny very
much admired. A joumalist, having been
recalled to England, made a special trip
to the Ashram to bid adieu to his long time
friend. “You need not have made this
arduous trip,” the great man stated, “for
wherever you are, a part of you will be in
my heart, and similarly, a part of me will
be in yours.” As I thought about this
moment, it occurred to me that the part
of Jenny that is in my heart lives on, un-
diminished. So, it seems to me, the spirits
of our loved ones must live on. Closing
my eyes I visualized a wonderful reunion:
A young and beautiful Jenny is
greeted by a host of those who hold her
in their hearts, who have passed beyond
the veil. At the front of the group is Uncle
Oli, handsome in his suit and tie, a clean
hand outstretched in greeting to his
cherished wife. Behind my Uncle are Afi
and Amma Péturson; my aunts and Uncle
Pétur; my Father and Nephew John. In
the background a choir of Angels sing a
familiar air. What is it? Ah yes, “An Ode
to Joy.”
Góða nótt, dear Aunty. Góða nótt. □
XZetters
Continued from page 2
Kýrrassa tók ég trú,
Traust hefir reynzt mér sú.
I flórnum þvífœ ég að standa
fyrir náð heilags anda.
Another variation of the second line
is:
Trú þeirri held eg nú.
Dr. Sigurður Nordal, most likely
correctly, states that K.N. had in mind the
title of a booklet published in Akureyri
in 1859 entitled “A Manual to Recognize
Distinctive Features of Dairy Cows,”
widely known as the “Kýrrassabókin.”
The translation would then be:
“I placed my faith in the manual
(Kýrrassabókin),/Abelief that has served
me well./I am permitted to stand in the
dung channel/by the grace of the Holy
Ghost.”
An altemate translation of the second
line follows:
“That faith I hold onto now.”
Best wishes to you all for a success-
ful 1997.
Ninna Campbell
Edmonton, AB
Icelandic pianist performs
Continued from page 1
is both free yet welded together; it rarely
makes use of traditional patterns and
seems to be controlled by an individual
logic.”
While she enjoyed the pieces by
Mozart and Mendelssohn, including the
Twelve Variations on “Twinkle, Twinkle,
Little Star,” our reviewer found the most
thrilling part of the program was hearing
Tómasson’s Sonata VIII. She says, “The
Icelandic-bom pianist found in this piece,
and expressed musically, her beloved
country’s blue sky, ice-covered high
mountains, green meadows and forbid-
ding volcanoes. The piece, however short,
provided contrasts, varied colours and
musical unexpectedness.”
Nína-Margrét has just released her
first CD, recorded at Digraneskirkja in
Kópavogur by the Icelandic recording
company Skref. Luckily for us, it included
the pieces she played by Mozart and
Mendelssohn, of which our reviewer says,
“Not only did she render a deep
understanding of the spiritual space of
both composers, but she gave them a
perfect balance between contemplation
and emotions, technical exploration and
innovative mood.” She goes on to say,
“Nína-Margrét demonstrated not only
her highly-developed technique, but the
dynamism of Mendelssohn’s composition
— the language of his soul.”
We were fortunate indeed to make the
Continued on page 5