So, Bones tagged me for this so I would be forced to update this blog. So here goes..
5 things in my purse wallet
1. Drivers License
2. Natural Ice "Lip Protectant"
3. Gym membership card
4. Cell phone
5. A ridiculous amount of change
5 things in my refrigerator
1. Grovestand Orange Juice
2. Roast beef
3. A variety of pickles
4. Milk
5. Mango flavored water
5 things in my closet
1. Candle sconces
2. Bride's maid dress I wore in my sister's wedding
3. John William Waterhouse prints I haven't framed yet
4. Xbox 360 and Nintendo DS boxes (just in case...)
5. Empty picture frames
5 things in my car
1. Proof of insurance
2. A partially melted crayon
3. Jewel cases for Saliva and Willie Nelson CDs
4. A lab coat
5. 2 pairs of sunglasses
As for who gets tagged next, well, I think I'll just take volunteers. Anyone?
Monday, July 24, 2006
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
A Poem by W. B. Yeats
Based on the poems I have previously posted, you may have thought I only liked Dorothy Parker. And I will admit that Mrs. Parker is a favorite, but I do have collections of other poets on the bookshelf. One of those other poets is W.B.Yeats. And among my favorites of his, is "The Stolen Child." (Note: If you don't have the patience to read the poem, there is a music rendition of it posted at the bottom of this entry. The musical version is by Loreena McKennitt, from the cd "Elemental.")
The Stolen Child
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats.
Full of berries,
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout,
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that frop their tears
Over the young streams,
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside;
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.
W.B. Yeats
I'm not sure how good the sound quality will be, but I thought we'd give it a try!!
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The Stolen Child
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats.
Full of berries,
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout,
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that frop their tears
Over the young streams,
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside;
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.
W.B. Yeats
I'm not sure how good the sound quality will be, but I thought we'd give it a try!!
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Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Friday, April 28, 2006
Dogwoods and Daffodils
Many people who have never visited the south have a very Faulknerian idea of what the spring and summer are like here. There is the idea of watching life pass from the front porch while sipping a mint julep or a sweet tea. (Ok, the sweet tea part is true.) The South as seen in movies like The Long Hot Summer doesn't really exist anymore, if it ever did. At least not for the majority of southerners.
Sometimes, it's hard to remember why I have stayed in the South.
But there's a few weeks every year, usually the 2-3 weeks leading up to Easter, when the only trees in bloom are the Dogwoods and Red Buds. The daffodils and tulips are in bloom, as well. Everyone has begun cutting their grass again.
As you drive along, you can see small clusters of Dogwoods covered in white and pink blooms in between the oaks and pines with wild daffodils scattered about and the sun dappled by the taller trees, and it feels almost like nature is sharing a secret with you. And in those moments, I can't imagine living anywhere else.
The song "Southland in the Springtime" by the Indigo Girls always reminds me of that feeling, so I hope you'll enjoy it, too.
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Sometimes, it's hard to remember why I have stayed in the South.
But there's a few weeks every year, usually the 2-3 weeks leading up to Easter, when the only trees in bloom are the Dogwoods and Red Buds. The daffodils and tulips are in bloom, as well. Everyone has begun cutting their grass again.
As you drive along, you can see small clusters of Dogwoods covered in white and pink blooms in between the oaks and pines with wild daffodils scattered about and the sun dappled by the taller trees, and it feels almost like nature is sharing a secret with you. And in those moments, I can't imagine living anywhere else.
The song "Southland in the Springtime" by the Indigo Girls always reminds me of that feeling, so I hope you'll enjoy it, too.
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