Whole Duty of Children
A child should always say what's true
And speak when he is spoken to,
And behave mannerly at table;
At least as far as he is able.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Monday, April 10, 2006
Myself
by Edgar Guest
I have to live with myself, and so
I want to be fit for myself to know,
I want to be able, as days go by,
Always to look myself straight in the eye;
I don't want to stand, with the setting sun,
And hate myself for things I have done.
I don't want to keep on a closet shelf
A lot of secrets about myself,
And fool myself, as I come and go,
Into thinking that nobody else will know
The kind of man I really am;
I don't want to dress up myself in sham.
I want to go out with my head erect,
I want to deserve all men's respect;
But here in the struggle for fame and pelf
I want to be able to like myself.
I don't want to look at myself and know
That I'm bluster and bluff and empty show.
I can never hide myself from me;
I see what others may never see;
I know what others may never know,
I never can fool myself, and so,
Whatever happens, I want to be
Self-respecting and conscience free.
by Edgar Guest
I have to live with myself, and so
I want to be fit for myself to know,
I want to be able, as days go by,
Always to look myself straight in the eye;
I don't want to stand, with the setting sun,
And hate myself for things I have done.
I don't want to keep on a closet shelf
A lot of secrets about myself,
And fool myself, as I come and go,
Into thinking that nobody else will know
The kind of man I really am;
I don't want to dress up myself in sham.
I want to go out with my head erect,
I want to deserve all men's respect;
But here in the struggle for fame and pelf
I want to be able to like myself.
I don't want to look at myself and know
That I'm bluster and bluff and empty show.
I can never hide myself from me;
I see what others may never see;
I know what others may never know,
I never can fool myself, and so,
Whatever happens, I want to be
Self-respecting and conscience free.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
The Strife is o'er
The strife is o’er, the battle done;
The victory of life is won;
The song of triumph has begun: Alleluia!
Refrain
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
The powers of death have done their worst;
But Christ their legions hath dispersed;
Let shouts of holy joy outburst: Alleluia!
Refrain
The three sad days are quickly sped;
He rises glorious from the dead;
All glory to our risen Head! Alleluia!
Refrain
He closed the yawning gates of hell;
The bars from heaven’s high portals fell;
Let hymns of praise His triumphs tell! Alleluia!
Refrain
Lord, by the stripes which wounded Thee,
From death’s dread sting Thy servants free,
That we may live, and sing to Thee: Alleluia!
Refrain
The strife is o’er, the battle done;
The victory of life is won;
The song of triumph has begun: Alleluia!
Refrain
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
The powers of death have done their worst;
But Christ their legions hath dispersed;
Let shouts of holy joy outburst: Alleluia!
Refrain
The three sad days are quickly sped;
He rises glorious from the dead;
All glory to our risen Head! Alleluia!
Refrain
He closed the yawning gates of hell;
The bars from heaven’s high portals fell;
Let hymns of praise His triumphs tell! Alleluia!
Refrain
Lord, by the stripes which wounded Thee,
From death’s dread sting Thy servants free,
That we may live, and sing to Thee: Alleluia!
Refrain
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Miracles
by Walt Whitman
Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in the bed at night with anyone I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honeybees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
by Walt Whitman
Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in the bed at night with anyone I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honeybees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
Friday, April 07, 2006
The Female of the Species
by Rudyard Kipling
When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail,
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When Nag, the wayside cobra, hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can,
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail -
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws -
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale -
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husband, each confirms the others tale -
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man, a bear in most relations, worm and savage otherwise,
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise;
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.
Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger; Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue - to the scandal of the Sex!
But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same,
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.
She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity - must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions - not in these her honor dwells -
She, the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else!
She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate;
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.
She is wedded to convictions - in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him, who denies!
He will meet no cool discussion, but the instant, white-hot wild
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.
Unprovoked and awful charges - even so the she-bear fights;
Speech that drips, corrodes and poisons - even so the cobra bites;
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw,
And the victim writhes with anguish - like the Jesuit with the squaw!
So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of abstract justice - which no woman understands.
And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern; shall enthrall but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him and Her instincts never fail,
That the female of Her species is more deadly than the male!
by Rudyard Kipling
When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail,
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When Nag, the wayside cobra, hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can,
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail -
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws -
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale -
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husband, each confirms the others tale -
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man, a bear in most relations, worm and savage otherwise,
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise;
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.
Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger; Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue - to the scandal of the Sex!
But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same,
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.
She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity - must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions - not in these her honor dwells -
She, the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else!
She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate;
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.
She is wedded to convictions - in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him, who denies!
He will meet no cool discussion, but the instant, white-hot wild
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.
Unprovoked and awful charges - even so the she-bear fights;
Speech that drips, corrodes and poisons - even so the cobra bites;
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw,
And the victim writhes with anguish - like the Jesuit with the squaw!
So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of abstract justice - which no woman understands.
And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern; shall enthrall but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him and Her instincts never fail,
That the female of Her species is more deadly than the male!
Thursday, April 06, 2006
The Naming of Cats
by T.S. Eliot
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey--
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter--
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover--
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.
from Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats
PS Comments should be working as you see I have chosen a new template and the updated model allowed by specifications to work :)
by T.S. Eliot
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey--
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter--
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover--
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.
from Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats
PS Comments should be working as you see I have chosen a new template and the updated model allowed by specifications to work :)
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Sick
"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"
Shel Silverstein
Love this poem and just about all of his. We read the books and listened to them on tape.
"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"
Shel Silverstein
Love this poem and just about all of his. We read the books and listened to them on tape.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
What Life Have You?
What life have you if you have not life together?
There is no life that is not in community,
And no community not lived in praise of GOD.
Even the anchorite who meditates alone,
For whom the days and nights repeat the praise of GOD,
Prays for the Church, the Body of Christ incarnate.
And now you live dispersed on ribbon roads,
And no man knows or cares who is his neighbor
Unless his neighbor makes too much disturbance,
But all dash to and fro in motor cars,
Familiar with the roads and settled nowhere
Nor does the family even move about together,
But every son would have his motorcycle,
And daughters ride away on casual pillions.
Much to cast down, much to build, much to restore;
Let the work not delay, time and the arm not waste;
Let the clay be dug from the pit, let the saw cut the stone,
Let the fire not be quenched in the forge.
T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)
From *The Rock*
NOTE: To my readers: I cant figure out why comments cant be posted, so I am listing my xanga site, so you can *talk* to me there.
What life have you if you have not life together?
There is no life that is not in community,
And no community not lived in praise of GOD.
Even the anchorite who meditates alone,
For whom the days and nights repeat the praise of GOD,
Prays for the Church, the Body of Christ incarnate.
And now you live dispersed on ribbon roads,
And no man knows or cares who is his neighbor
Unless his neighbor makes too much disturbance,
But all dash to and fro in motor cars,
Familiar with the roads and settled nowhere
Nor does the family even move about together,
But every son would have his motorcycle,
And daughters ride away on casual pillions.
Much to cast down, much to build, much to restore;
Let the work not delay, time and the arm not waste;
Let the clay be dug from the pit, let the saw cut the stone,
Let the fire not be quenched in the forge.
T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)
From *The Rock*
NOTE: To my readers: I cant figure out why comments cant be posted, so I am listing my xanga site, so you can *talk* to me there.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Sunday, April 02, 2006
How Sweet and Awful Is the Place
I cry every.single.time we sing this in church. Listen.
How sweet and aweful is this place
With Christ within the doors,
While everlasting love displays
The choicest of her stores!
Here every bowel of our God
With soft compassion rolls;
Here peace and pardon bought with blood
Is food for dying souls.
While all our hearts and all our songs
Join to admire the feast,
Each of us cry, with thankful tongues,
“Lord, why was I a guest?
“Why was I made to hear Thy voice,
And enter while there’s room,
When thousands make a wretched choice,
And rather starve than come?”
’Twas the same love that spread the feast
That sweetly drew us in;
Else we had still refused to taste,
And perished in our sin.
Pity the nations, O our God!
Constrain the earth to come;
Send Thy victorious Word abroad,
And bring the strangers home.
We long to see Thy churches full,
That all the chosen race
May with one voice, and heart and soul,
Sing Thy redeeming grace.
by Isaac Watts
I commend to you this article about Watts' writing.
Click on the time to comment.
I cry every.single.time we sing this in church. Listen.
How sweet and aweful is this place
With Christ within the doors,
While everlasting love displays
The choicest of her stores!
Here every bowel of our God
With soft compassion rolls;
Here peace and pardon bought with blood
Is food for dying souls.
While all our hearts and all our songs
Join to admire the feast,
Each of us cry, with thankful tongues,
“Lord, why was I a guest?
“Why was I made to hear Thy voice,
And enter while there’s room,
When thousands make a wretched choice,
And rather starve than come?”
’Twas the same love that spread the feast
That sweetly drew us in;
Else we had still refused to taste,
And perished in our sin.
Pity the nations, O our God!
Constrain the earth to come;
Send Thy victorious Word abroad,
And bring the strangers home.
We long to see Thy churches full,
That all the chosen race
May with one voice, and heart and soul,
Sing Thy redeeming grace.
by Isaac Watts
I commend to you this article about Watts' writing.
Click on the time to comment.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
The Betrothed
This poem is posted in honor of LPMcD, whose 71st birthday would have been today. He read this poem at the dinner table one night in 1980, and ever since it has been a favorite of mine. Why he loved this poem, I will never know...since he was not a smoker. However, he did like Kipling.
"You must choose between me and your cigar."
-- BREACH OF PROMISE CASE, CIRCA 1885.
Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.
We quarrelled about Havanas -- we fought o'er a good cheroot,
And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.
Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a space;
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.
Maggie is pretty to look at -- Maggie's a loving lass,
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.
There's peace in a Larranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay;
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away --
Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown --
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!
Maggie, my wife at fifty -- grey and dour and old --
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!
And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar --
The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket --
With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket!
Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a while.
Here is a mild Manila -- there is a wifely smile.
Which is the better portion -- bondage bought with a ring,
Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string?
Counsellors cunning and silent -- comforters true and tried,
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?
Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,
This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,
With only a Suttee's passion -- to do their duty and burn.
This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.
The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,
When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again.
I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.
I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.
For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.
And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,
But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;
And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
Of stums that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.
And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love.
Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?
Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider anew --
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?
A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.
Light me another Cuba -- I hold to my first-sworn vows.
If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for Spouse!
Rudyard Kipling
This poem is posted in honor of LPMcD, whose 71st birthday would have been today. He read this poem at the dinner table one night in 1980, and ever since it has been a favorite of mine. Why he loved this poem, I will never know...since he was not a smoker. However, he did like Kipling.
"You must choose between me and your cigar."
-- BREACH OF PROMISE CASE, CIRCA 1885.
Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.
We quarrelled about Havanas -- we fought o'er a good cheroot,
And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.
Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a space;
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.
Maggie is pretty to look at -- Maggie's a loving lass,
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.
There's peace in a Larranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay;
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away --
Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown --
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!
Maggie, my wife at fifty -- grey and dour and old --
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!
And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar --
The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket --
With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket!
Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a while.
Here is a mild Manila -- there is a wifely smile.
Which is the better portion -- bondage bought with a ring,
Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string?
Counsellors cunning and silent -- comforters true and tried,
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?
Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,
This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,
With only a Suttee's passion -- to do their duty and burn.
This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.
The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,
When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again.
I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.
I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.
For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.
And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,
But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;
And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
Of stums that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.
And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love.
Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?
Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider anew --
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?
A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.
Light me another Cuba -- I hold to my first-sworn vows.
If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for Spouse!
Rudyard Kipling
Friday, March 31, 2006
Day Before April
The day before April
Alone, alone,
I walked in the woods
And sat on a stone.
I sat on a broad stone
And sang to the birds.
The tune was God's making
But I made the words
Mary Carolyn Davies
Kudos to me!! I walked the neighborhood and fyi this hill is only one of nine uphills I encounter. Yes, I want a brownie point. The reason this is so important is that most of my winter walking has been in two local parks, where it is flat, flat, flat. So, the neighborhood *course* is more aerobic :) and therefore, more fat burning!
Click on the time to comment.
The day before AprilAlone, alone,
I walked in the woods
And sat on a stone.
I sat on a broad stone
And sang to the birds.
The tune was God's making
But I made the words
Mary Carolyn Davies
Kudos to me!! I walked the neighborhood and fyi this hill is only one of nine uphills I encounter. Yes, I want a brownie point. The reason this is so important is that most of my winter walking has been in two local parks, where it is flat, flat, flat. So, the neighborhood *course* is more aerobic :) and therefore, more fat burning!
Click on the time to comment.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
National Poetry Month
Understanding verse is not one of my strong points. But every now and then I run across a poem which really speaks to me. Therefore, in honor of National Poetry Month (April), I plan to post each day a poem I like.
"For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough)—they are experiences."
-Rainer Maria Rilke
Funny article in opposition to the celebration.
Click on the time to comment.
Understanding verse is not one of my strong points. But every now and then I run across a poem which really speaks to me. Therefore, in honor of National Poetry Month (April), I plan to post each day a poem I like.
"For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough)—they are experiences."
-Rainer Maria Rilke
Funny article in opposition to the celebration.
Click on the time to comment.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Swan Coach House
Today the girls and I enjoyed a ladies luncheon at an historic Atlanta restaurant. We had a lovely time. The picture of the girls had too many shadows, so you will have to enjoy this one of the swan.
Click on the time to comment or visit my xanga site.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Abdul Rahman
Is this trial a case of religious persecution or a test of the rule of law?
The news reports (Chicago Tribune and Houston Chronicle) are interesting. Chuck Colson chimes in at Breakpoint and TownHall.
Update: 3/28 The judge dismissed the case due to lack of evidence and the accused is seeking asylum in another country.
What do you think? Click on the time to comment.
Is this trial a case of religious persecution or a test of the rule of law?
The news reports (Chicago Tribune and Houston Chronicle) are interesting. Chuck Colson chimes in at Breakpoint and TownHall.
Update: 3/28 The judge dismissed the case due to lack of evidence and the accused is seeking asylum in another country.
What do you think? Click on the time to comment.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Bible Meme
1)Who is my favorite Biblical personage, other than Jesus?
I tend to relate to the *little* people....like when reading about the exodus/wandering, I tried to imagine in which tribe I would be and how we would line up in *formation* Or in the NT, I pray that I would NOT be one of those conservative, culture-preserving Jewesses, but one of the ladies who attended Jesus, meeting his boat and gathering to hear his teaching.
2)Which is my favorite OT book?
In terms of which one I read most often, THE PSALMS, hands down!
3)Which is my least favorite OT book?
I probably dont refer enough to Song of Solomon :)
4)Which is my favorite non-gospel book of NT?
Probably Romans, because of its *controversy* Guess that makes me a type *C*
5) Which is my least favorite NT book?
Revelation, simply because I'm have trouble with the imagery. Must be a genetic defect.
6)Which is my favorite Bible verse (life verse)?
John 17:3 *And this is eternal life, that they might know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent.*
Click on the time to comment.
1)Who is my favorite Biblical personage, other than Jesus?
I tend to relate to the *little* people....like when reading about the exodus/wandering, I tried to imagine in which tribe I would be and how we would line up in *formation* Or in the NT, I pray that I would NOT be one of those conservative, culture-preserving Jewesses, but one of the ladies who attended Jesus, meeting his boat and gathering to hear his teaching.
2)Which is my favorite OT book?
In terms of which one I read most often, THE PSALMS, hands down!
3)Which is my least favorite OT book?
I probably dont refer enough to Song of Solomon :)
4)Which is my favorite non-gospel book of NT?
Probably Romans, because of its *controversy* Guess that makes me a type *C*
5) Which is my least favorite NT book?
Revelation, simply because I'm have trouble with the imagery. Must be a genetic defect.
6)Which is my favorite Bible verse (life verse)?
John 17:3 *And this is eternal life, that they might know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent.*
Click on the time to comment.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Friday, March 03, 2006
Kitchen Meme
1. How many meals does most of your family eat at home each week? How many are in your family?
We eat most of our meals at home, although more have been out of late due to conflicting schedules. There are six in our family, but two are off at college.
2. How many cookbooks do you own?
I own too many cookbooks to count, since I started collecting as a teenager :) I have a nice Time-published set of cookbooks entitled Food of the World.
3. How often do you refer to a cookbook each week?
Less than I used to.
4. Do you collect recipes from other sources?
I collect recipes from all types of sources: friends, family, websites, food containers.
5. How do you store those recipes?
I have index card file boxes, a basket, and a spiral-bound *Family* cookbook.
6. When you cook, do you follow the recipe pretty closely, or do you use recipes primarily to give you ideas?
The first time I follow a recipe very closely, ie I measure. But after that, I may change it or follow it again exactly.
7. Is there a particular ethnic style or flavor that predominates in your cooking? If so, what is it?
No particular ethnic style. We like all types of food from boxed MacNCheese to gourmet five course meals.
8. What's your favorite kitchen task related to meal planning and preparation?
I like all the parts of feeding my family from coming up with the plan, preparing the plan, executing the plan, and redoing the plan.
9. What's your least favorite part?
My least favorite part is..... not have all the spots filled up around the table :)
10. Do you plan menus before you shop?
Sometimes and sometimes not. I am often persuaded to change my plan once I get to the store and find something else on sale. But I have also be known to drive a few extra miles to buy the precise ingredient for one of those elegant meals.
11. What are your three favorite kitchen tools or appliances?
My favorite kitchen tool is my food processor. Then my knives. Then the dishwasher, but I did live without one for three years.
12. If you could buy one new thing for your kitchen, money was no object, and space not an issue, what would you most like to have?
I would love two sets of Cutco knives.
13. Since money and space probably are objects, what are you most likely to buy next?
New sponges.
14. Do you have a separate freezer for storage?
Yes, we have an extra refrigerator in the garage as well as a separate freezer out there too.
15. Grocery shop alone or with others?
I have done both: once a week with all four daughters in tow, but right now I am mostly alone running in at least three times a week. I have learned to be more flexible with my meal planning based on the extra-curricular activities of the two highschoolers at home.
16. How many meatless main dish meals do you fix in a week?
At least one....I try to slip them in more often, but usually when hubby is NOT home for dinner.
17. If you have a decorating theme in your kitchen, what is it? Favorite kitchen colors?
I am lucky enough to have just had my kitchen re-wallpapered and painted, after 17 yrs of the same decor. I dont categorize it, but you might after viewing the photo on my xanga page.
18. What's the first thing you ever learned to cook, and how old were you?
Brownies....and I was 8 y o.
19. How did you learn to cook?
I learned to cook from my mother and watching others. I was fortunate to take some lessons in my late teens from Nathalie Dupree.
20. Tag two other people to play. Want to play? Click on the time to comment.
1. How many meals does most of your family eat at home each week? How many are in your family?
We eat most of our meals at home, although more have been out of late due to conflicting schedules. There are six in our family, but two are off at college.
2. How many cookbooks do you own?
I own too many cookbooks to count, since I started collecting as a teenager :) I have a nice Time-published set of cookbooks entitled Food of the World.
3. How often do you refer to a cookbook each week?
Less than I used to.
4. Do you collect recipes from other sources?
I collect recipes from all types of sources: friends, family, websites, food containers.
5. How do you store those recipes?
I have index card file boxes, a basket, and a spiral-bound *Family* cookbook.
6. When you cook, do you follow the recipe pretty closely, or do you use recipes primarily to give you ideas?
The first time I follow a recipe very closely, ie I measure. But after that, I may change it or follow it again exactly.
7. Is there a particular ethnic style or flavor that predominates in your cooking? If so, what is it?
No particular ethnic style. We like all types of food from boxed MacNCheese to gourmet five course meals.
8. What's your favorite kitchen task related to meal planning and preparation?
I like all the parts of feeding my family from coming up with the plan, preparing the plan, executing the plan, and redoing the plan.
9. What's your least favorite part?
My least favorite part is..... not have all the spots filled up around the table :)
10. Do you plan menus before you shop?
Sometimes and sometimes not. I am often persuaded to change my plan once I get to the store and find something else on sale. But I have also be known to drive a few extra miles to buy the precise ingredient for one of those elegant meals.
11. What are your three favorite kitchen tools or appliances?
My favorite kitchen tool is my food processor. Then my knives. Then the dishwasher, but I did live without one for three years.
12. If you could buy one new thing for your kitchen, money was no object, and space not an issue, what would you most like to have?
I would love two sets of Cutco knives.
13. Since money and space probably are objects, what are you most likely to buy next?
New sponges.
14. Do you have a separate freezer for storage?
Yes, we have an extra refrigerator in the garage as well as a separate freezer out there too.
15. Grocery shop alone or with others?
I have done both: once a week with all four daughters in tow, but right now I am mostly alone running in at least three times a week. I have learned to be more flexible with my meal planning based on the extra-curricular activities of the two highschoolers at home.
16. How many meatless main dish meals do you fix in a week?
At least one....I try to slip them in more often, but usually when hubby is NOT home for dinner.
17. If you have a decorating theme in your kitchen, what is it? Favorite kitchen colors?
I am lucky enough to have just had my kitchen re-wallpapered and painted, after 17 yrs of the same decor. I dont categorize it, but you might after viewing the photo on my xanga page.
18. What's the first thing you ever learned to cook, and how old were you?
Brownies....and I was 8 y o.
19. How did you learn to cook?
I learned to cook from my mother and watching others. I was fortunate to take some lessons in my late teens from Nathalie Dupree.
20. Tag two other people to play. Want to play? Click on the time to comment.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Sharp Weapons
Spurgeon's comments today on I Sam 13:20 are intriguing:
We might learn from our enemies if we would, and so make the Philistines sharpen our weapons.
Learning from our enemies is a dangerous enterprise, since one unless well-grounded might be persuaded to join their ranks. But nevertheless, today I will ponder learning from my enemies, identifying my weapons which need to be sharpened (axe, plowshare, coulter, and mattock). And then I will turn them over to the other side for sharpening? Isnt that interesting? There was no smith found througout all Israel....but all went down to the Philistines to sharpen....
First, however, I will beg the Holy Spirit to sharpen my zeal TODAY, so that I may seek whom I shall bless.
Spurgeon's comments today on I Sam 13:20 are intriguing:
We might learn from our enemies if we would, and so make the Philistines sharpen our weapons.
Learning from our enemies is a dangerous enterprise, since one unless well-grounded might be persuaded to join their ranks. But nevertheless, today I will ponder learning from my enemies, identifying my weapons which need to be sharpened (axe, plowshare, coulter, and mattock). And then I will turn them over to the other side for sharpening? Isnt that interesting? There was no smith found througout all Israel....but all went down to the Philistines to sharpen....
First, however, I will beg the Holy Spirit to sharpen my zeal TODAY, so that I may seek whom I shall bless.
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