(arquivo Fernando Correia de Oliveira)
sábado, 31 de dezembro de 2016
Relógios & Canetas online - Jaquet Droz
Um segundo a mais para 2016 - 11, 10, 09, 08 ....
Hoje, o dia terá 24 horas e... um segundo a mais. A rotação da Terra vai perdendo velocidade e os seus ciclos são relativamente erráticos face a medidores de Tempo como sejam os relógios atómicos, que hoje em dia nos regem globalmente. Para acertar o tempo da Terra com o tempo civil, a cada 500 dias, mais ou menos, fazem-se acertos, co os chamados "leap seconds", segundos extra ou intercalares. Para os sistemas informáticos à escala global, que regem satélites, espaço aéreo ou as bolsas, a incerteza da introdução de segundos extra provoca sempre algum nervosismo. à meia-noite de hoje, em vez de 23h59m59s se seguirem as 00h00, haverá um tempo de 23h59m60s, antes de ser oficialmente 1 de Janeiro. Na contagem decrescente, haverá pois que iniciar no 11, 10, 09...
Saiba mais aqui, aqui, aqui, aqui, ou aqui.
Meditações - see the sun rise upon the glad New-year
New Year's Eve
If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear,
For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year.
It is the last New-year that I shall ever see,
Then you may lay me low i' the mould and think no more of me.
To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind
The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind;
And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see
The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.
Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day;
Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May;
And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel copse,
Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops.
There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the pane:
I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again:
I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high:
I long to see a flower so before the day I die.
The building rook'll caw from the windy tall elm-tree,
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,
And the swallow'll come back again with summer o'er the wave.
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.
Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine,
In the early, early morning the summer sun'll shine,
Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill,
When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still.
When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light
You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night;
When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool
On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool.
You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,
And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.
I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass,
With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.
I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now;
You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go;
Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild,
You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.
If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place;
Tho' you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face;
Tho' I cannot speak a word, 1 shall harken what you say,
And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away.
Good-night, good-night, when I have said good-night for evermore,
And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door;
Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green:
She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.
She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor:
Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden more:
But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set
About the parlour-window and the box of mignonette.
Good-night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born.
All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year,
So, if your waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.
Alfred Tennyson
If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear,
For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year.
It is the last New-year that I shall ever see,
Then you may lay me low i' the mould and think no more of me.
To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind
The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind;
And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see
The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.
Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day;
Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May;
And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel copse,
Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops.
There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the pane:
I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again:
I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high:
I long to see a flower so before the day I die.
The building rook'll caw from the windy tall elm-tree,
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,
And the swallow'll come back again with summer o'er the wave.
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.
Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine,
In the early, early morning the summer sun'll shine,
Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill,
When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still.
When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light
You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night;
When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool
On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool.
You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,
And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.
I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass,
With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.
I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now;
You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go;
Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild,
You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.
If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place;
Tho' you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face;
Tho' I cannot speak a word, 1 shall harken what you say,
And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away.
Good-night, good-night, when I have said good-night for evermore,
And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door;
Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green:
She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.
She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor:
Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden more:
But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set
About the parlour-window and the box of mignonette.
Good-night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born.
All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year,
So, if your waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.
Alfred Tennyson
sexta-feira, 30 de dezembro de 2016
Relógios & Canetas online - Harry Winston
Entre no espírito latino e ganhe este relógio Cuervo y Sobrinos Historiador
Registe em fotografia situações onde esteja patente o "espírito latino", inspire-se na história da Cuervo y Sobrinos e... habilite-se a este relógio Historiador Pequenos Segundos.
A Diarsa é a representante para o mercado ibérico da marca Cuervo y Sobrinos, com raízes em Cuba e precisão e fiabilidade que só os relógios Swiss Made conferem. Numa parceria com o Anuário Relógios & Canetas, e assinalando os 20 anos do mais antigo título do seu género no mercado nacional, a Diarsa oferece um Historiador de recorte clássico ao leitor do Anuário que tenha a melhor fotografia com "espírito latino".
Para participar neste passatempo, comece por preencher com o seu nome e morada e enviar pelo correio para o Anuário Relógios & Canetas (Av. Infante Santo, nº 23 - 12º Esq. - telefone 218 027 912) a cinta que rodeia a edição de 2017. Depois, é inspirar-se no "espírito latino" e captar situações onde ele esteja expresso. Envie até 30 de Setembro de 2017 as fotografias (mínimo 3 megas) para o email anuariorelogioscanetas@gmail.com.
Não há limite, pode enviar o número de fotos que entender. Só podem participar no passatempo adultos, residentes em Portugal. A fotografia considerada vencedora, numa edcisão tomada pela Diarsa e pelo Anuário, será anunciada até 15 de Outubro de 2017 na página do Anuário Relógios & Canetas no Facebook e outras plataformas digitais onde estamos presentes.
O Cuervo y Sobrinos Historiador Pequenos Segundos segue o ADN de uma marca a que não falta tradição e história. A casa nunca perde de vista as suas origens e a sua personalidade multifacetada, uma mistura de identidade latina e tradição relojoeira suíça.
Cuervo y Sobrinos Historiador Pequenos Segundos
Caixa: aço, 40 mm, estanque até 30 metros
Movimento: automático, com data
Rotor: personalizado com gravação CyS
Vidro: safira, antireflexo, estilo anos 50
Bracelete: pele de crocodilo da Luisiana
Referência: 3195
Preço: 3.140 €
Meditações - a morte do ano velho
The Death Of The Old Year
Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
Old year you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year you shall not die.
He lieth still: he doth not move:
He will not see the dawn of day.
He hath no other life above.
He gave me a friend and a true truelove
And the New-year will take 'em away.
Old year you must not go;
So long you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.
He froth'd his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho' his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho' his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.
Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,
I've half a mind to die with you,
Old year, if you must die.
He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er.
To see him die across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he'll be dead before.
Every one for his own.
The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,
Comes up to take his own.
How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro:
The cricket chirps: the light burns low:
'Tis nearly twelve o'clock.
Shake hands, before you die.
Old year, we'll dearly rue for you:
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.
His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone,
Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,
And waiteth at the door.
There's a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.
Alfred Tennyson
Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
Old year you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year you shall not die.
He lieth still: he doth not move:
He will not see the dawn of day.
He hath no other life above.
He gave me a friend and a true truelove
And the New-year will take 'em away.
Old year you must not go;
So long you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.
He froth'd his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho' his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho' his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.
Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,
I've half a mind to die with you,
Old year, if you must die.
He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er.
To see him die across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he'll be dead before.
Every one for his own.
The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,
Comes up to take his own.
How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro:
The cricket chirps: the light burns low:
'Tis nearly twelve o'clock.
Shake hands, before you die.
Old year, we'll dearly rue for you:
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.
His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone,
Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,
And waiteth at the door.
There's a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.
Alfred Tennyson
quinta-feira, 29 de dezembro de 2016
Exposição de jóias da ourivesaria e joalharia Gomes, Póvoa do Varzim, 1995
in Casa & Jardim (arquivo Fernando Correia de Oliveira)
Voe na TAP e leia o Relógios & Canetas online
Os passageiros da TAP podem ler gratuitamente as edições mensais do Anuário Relógios & Canetas. Para tal basta fazerem o descarregamento no quiosque virtual TAP. Em seis meses, 1.754 já o fizeram.
Janela para o passado - Galo de Ouro, o grande cabaret da Europa, Lisboa, 1931/32
in Repórter X, 1931 /32
Hora Legal em 2017 - relógios adiantam uma hora a 26 de Março e atrasam uma hora a 29 de Outubro
Dados do Observatório Astronómico de Lisboa
Relógios & Canetas online - Greubel Forsey
Meditações - o momento certo
A verdade é que um esforço firme e constante é irresistível, pois é assim que o Tempo domina e vence as maiores forças da terra. Ora, o Tempo, devem lembrar-se, é um bom amigo e aliado de quem usa a inteligência para escolher o momento certo, e um inimigo perigosíssimo de quem se precipita na hora errada.
Plutarco, in A Vida de Sertório
Plutarco, in A Vida de Sertório
quarta-feira, 28 de dezembro de 2016
Relógios Ebel com garantia internacional de 5 anos, 1995
in Casa & Jardim (arquivo Fernando Correia de Oliveira)
Eclipses em 2017 - em Portugal, parcial do Sol a 21 de Agosto
Dados do Observatório Astronómico de Lisboa
Relógios & Canetas online - Girard-Perregaux
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