So, I'm sitting here at the computer on a Sunday evening, looking back at the last four days, feeling pleasantly tired, and happy to be writing here. This year's Thanksgiving wasn't the big bang-up festival like the kind we had in 2006. Instead, it was quiet and mild and made me feel grateful for all… Continue reading Sunday evening
If I didn't feel compelled to write a blog entry tonight because I'd committed to NaBloPoMo, you wouldn't be seeing this. After a busy couple of days of cleaning, cooking, socializing, eating, reading, and having fun, I had a single margarita this evening and fell asleep on the couch while watching "Thoroughly Modern Millie" with… Continue reading Oh, Pook!
The moon is the mother of pathos and pity. When, at the wearier end of November, Her old light moves along the branches, Feebly, slowly, depending upon them; When the body of Jesus hangs in a pallor, Humanly near, and the figure of Mary, Touched on by hoar-frost, shrinks in a shelter Made by the… Continue reading Lunar Paraphrase
It's me. I'm back. Did you miss me (or notice I was gone)? No, I don't believe in child labor, but when you're feeling lazy and uncommunicative and you have a precocious, web-savvy nine-year-old begging to be a guest-blogger, well it's hard to turn that kind of offer down. Anyway, by the time you're done… Continue reading These things sent to try me
Today all of us (including Gryfe this time!) moved logs to the porch. Every time we went back for more wood I got to ride in the wheel-barrow. Once I took Gryfe with me in the wheel-barrow. He jumped out. All the skinny, flattish logs were given to Gryfe. He liked that. It was really,… Continue reading Gryfe’s dream day: firewood moving time
This evening, all three (not including Gryfe, of course) of us went to see La Damnation de Faust (The Damnation of Faust. Nice name!) at the Loew theater at Dartmouth College. The opera was broadcast live from the Met to us. There were four screens behind the singers, and the way they sang made the… Continue reading Live from the Met