This has always been my favorite poem. Isn't it wonderful that a click on Google will bring it once again to life for me?
Alan Seeger. 1888–1916
"I Have a Rendezvous with Death"
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.
I always had trouble identifying the rhythm of that poem, but its music still lulls my ear. It is a source of endless amazement that simply by typing the first line of the poem, i was able to get the entire poem before my eyes. What would we do without Google?
Friday, January 23, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Feet
I wrote this a couple of years ago but thought I would put it in today's blog. My writing class enjoyed it.
Feet
Glance down at the appendages at the end of your lower limbs. Do you like what you see? Do you feel affection for your feet? There are a good many people in this universe who feel not only affection for their own feet, but actually fall passionately in love with the feet of others.
How do I know this? Because I found, on the internet a web site dedicated entirely to the fetish of feet. The warning on the introduction conveyed the information that it was a restricted site, to be entered only by those persons over the age of eighteen. I clicked recklessly on, and proved once again that it is always possible to learn something new. These people were enamored with feet, and the descriptions of the activities they engaged in were graphic and embarrassing, even to a person sitting alone at the computer. Delicacy prevents further delving into this subject. Click onto Google and type in the word “feet” and find out for yourself.
I had hoped to get information on the subject of binding feet, practiced by the Chinese culture in days gone by. This cruel custom caused intense pain to the poor child so afflicted, and made her a virtual prisoner, since she could obviously not run away. A secondary benefit to her husband was the ectasy he experienced in the contemplation of her tiny shoes, used for purposes we can only guess at.
In our own culture, a code of secrecy prevailed. Why, I cannot imagine. The truth is, however, that a husband of the early years of our civilization was expected to see the feet and legs of his wife only after marriage. The female was allowed only to let the toe of her shoe peak out from under her skirt . Her ankle was never to be shown, and if she inadvertently lifted her skirts too high, as in descending from a carriage, the gentlemen present were expected to avert their eyes. Any man caught staring at a lady’s ankle could expect to be promptly knocked to the ground, or challenged to a duel. This seems incomprehensible to our descendants today, with the views front and back of the string bikinis paraded on the beach and from the edges of swimming pools. The movie star Billie Burke has been quoted as saying that her husband, Florence Ziegfeld would never have married her if he had seen her large feet and thick ankles before he proposed to her
But I have wandered far afield from the intent of this essay. I had intended to explore the damage we do to our feet in our usage of high heels, in our development of corns by the wearing of ill fitting shoes, by our bunions and funguses and ingrown toenails. My grandson has perfectly flat feet and my brother-in-law was handicapped with hammer-toes. If we can dredge up no affection for our own feet, we can take comfort in the sure and certain knowledge that out there, somewhere, there are perfect feet, viewable on the internet. Go click Google.
Seek and you shall find.
Feet
Glance down at the appendages at the end of your lower limbs. Do you like what you see? Do you feel affection for your feet? There are a good many people in this universe who feel not only affection for their own feet, but actually fall passionately in love with the feet of others.
How do I know this? Because I found, on the internet a web site dedicated entirely to the fetish of feet. The warning on the introduction conveyed the information that it was a restricted site, to be entered only by those persons over the age of eighteen. I clicked recklessly on, and proved once again that it is always possible to learn something new. These people were enamored with feet, and the descriptions of the activities they engaged in were graphic and embarrassing, even to a person sitting alone at the computer. Delicacy prevents further delving into this subject. Click onto Google and type in the word “feet” and find out for yourself.
I had hoped to get information on the subject of binding feet, practiced by the Chinese culture in days gone by. This cruel custom caused intense pain to the poor child so afflicted, and made her a virtual prisoner, since she could obviously not run away. A secondary benefit to her husband was the ectasy he experienced in the contemplation of her tiny shoes, used for purposes we can only guess at.
In our own culture, a code of secrecy prevailed. Why, I cannot imagine. The truth is, however, that a husband of the early years of our civilization was expected to see the feet and legs of his wife only after marriage. The female was allowed only to let the toe of her shoe peak out from under her skirt . Her ankle was never to be shown, and if she inadvertently lifted her skirts too high, as in descending from a carriage, the gentlemen present were expected to avert their eyes. Any man caught staring at a lady’s ankle could expect to be promptly knocked to the ground, or challenged to a duel. This seems incomprehensible to our descendants today, with the views front and back of the string bikinis paraded on the beach and from the edges of swimming pools. The movie star Billie Burke has been quoted as saying that her husband, Florence Ziegfeld would never have married her if he had seen her large feet and thick ankles before he proposed to her
But I have wandered far afield from the intent of this essay. I had intended to explore the damage we do to our feet in our usage of high heels, in our development of corns by the wearing of ill fitting shoes, by our bunions and funguses and ingrown toenails. My grandson has perfectly flat feet and my brother-in-law was handicapped with hammer-toes. If we can dredge up no affection for our own feet, we can take comfort in the sure and certain knowledge that out there, somewhere, there are perfect feet, viewable on the internet. Go click Google.
Seek and you shall find.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
A Memorable Day
Seated comfortably on my sofa, with a heating pad on my feet and covered with a blanket, I watched in awe at history being made at the inauguration. All those millions of people, jammed together in the cold, watching probably one of the most talented speakers in the world deliver his inauguration speech was a glorious sight. But as usual, a contrary thought popped into my mind. Will his legacy fulfill his promising start? i remembered that President Truman was an inept speaker, hardly able to stir up his audience to any kind of enthusiasm, but he is remembered as a strong and farseeing president. President Grant could hardly be called an inspiring orator, but he was a much-loved president. So time will tell.
Sometimes at night, we listen to a radio program called Coast-To-Coast radio, and the speakers quite often regale us with what can only be called far-out tales. Tonight we are hearing about the New Jersey Devil. Sometimes I listen for half the night. It is a good way to spend a sleepless night, better than lying sleepless in the dark. They haven't told us yet what or who the Devil is, so we have to wait to find out.
This has been a most enjoyable day. Take care and keep in touch.
Sometimes at night, we listen to a radio program called Coast-To-Coast radio, and the speakers quite often regale us with what can only be called far-out tales. Tonight we are hearing about the New Jersey Devil. Sometimes I listen for half the night. It is a good way to spend a sleepless night, better than lying sleepless in the dark. They haven't told us yet what or who the Devil is, so we have to wait to find out.
This has been a most enjoyable day. Take care and keep in touch.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
A lazy day
Today was a slow, lazy day. We watched TV most of the morning and then vacuumed the carpets and swiffered the wood floors. My house, luckily for me, is easy to maintain. If it weren't for the little dog, we would probably become comatose and be found in a semi-conscious condition by the neighbors. I did manage to put together a really nice Chinese dish, beef broccoli, which we had for dinner. Tomorrow it will be stew.
We are really looking forward to the inauguration on Tuesday. The weather in Washington, D.C. can be pretty uncomfortable so I hope it is sunny and warm. We were amused to see the pigeons flying around, and I remembered what a problem they were when I was there during the War. We used to walk around with newspapers over our heads and our eyes looking upward, to try to avoid the inevitable. Some pretty wild plans were put forth to get rid of them, but for one reason or another nothing came of them and the pigeons are still there. New york has the same problem.
Our son-in-law is improving and resting comfortably at home. He is being closely monitored by his doctor and we are all much relieved to see how alert and cheerful he is. Being back at home makes a big difference.
Well, back to the TV. Take care and keep in touch.
We are really looking forward to the inauguration on Tuesday. The weather in Washington, D.C. can be pretty uncomfortable so I hope it is sunny and warm. We were amused to see the pigeons flying around, and I remembered what a problem they were when I was there during the War. We used to walk around with newspapers over our heads and our eyes looking upward, to try to avoid the inevitable. Some pretty wild plans were put forth to get rid of them, but for one reason or another nothing came of them and the pigeons are still there. New york has the same problem.
Our son-in-law is improving and resting comfortably at home. He is being closely monitored by his doctor and we are all much relieved to see how alert and cheerful he is. Being back at home makes a big difference.
Well, back to the TV. Take care and keep in touch.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The time I entered a beauty contest.
The following is a true story, as I remember it. I embellished the ending a little, however.
T HE TIME I ENTERED A BEAUTY CONTEST
I didn't exactly enter the beauty contest . i was down in the calf ring yanking my little calf around the ring on a lead rope, when I was approached by a kindly looking matron who asked if I could help them out by providing another contestant for the beauty contest, Since my motto has always been "I'll try anything once," I hopped up onto the platform and stood there with the summer breeze gently riffling my tattered jeans and soiled cowgirl blouse. I hoped my back brace didn't show. the judge yanked a comb through my Ingrid Bergman hairdo, and I looked anxiously at my little calf out in the calf ring. I had hooked its lead rope over the end of a fence post and it was trying to commit suicide by breaking its neck in a series of plunges and wild attacks, Luckily my cousin Kenneth came to its rescue and actually succeeded in calming it down and leading it around the calf ring in a docile and comely fashion. I applied myself to the task at hand.
At the far end of the platform stood a very pretty young lady made up to look like Jean Harlow, with marcelled blond hair and plenty of makeup. She had on a pretty formal summer gown, and smiled at me in a superior fashion. She clearly saw me for what I was - a fill-in and a pretty poor one at that. But just then my sister joined me on the platform and squeezed my hand in encouragement.
Lorraine was a contender. She had lovely long slender legs, a cascade of wavy light brown hair and a smile as bright as the prairie. She had on a pretty summer dress and looked as though she was having fun. Next to her was a plump little girl wearing a "Baking Powder Biscuit" apron. We were ready for them if they were ready for us.
The judges turned their attention to the pretty girl standing at the end of the platform. She was the niece of the county superintendent and was clearly a "shoo-in " for the beauty queen title. Lorraine and i had been "snookered" and we knew it. But now it was do or die and we were ready. First the pretty girl, whose name I remember to this day as Mary Lou Poole, was asked to recite the contents on a slip of paper, as she handed the judges a cardboard box. Mary Lou was not a quick study and she couldn't remember the words so she was allowed to read the thing, and she read only the back half, which made a rather peculiar recitation, but she remembered to hand over the box which was empty anyway. Then the judges asked two questions..What were her favorite foods to which she replied "creamed broccoli" and mashed potatoes and what chores did she do to help her mother. Mary Lou allowed as how she dried the dinner dishes and set the table. The judges smiled approvingly and Mary Lou was allowed to go back to her place and sit down, as she was clearly wilting under the hot sun.
Now it was my turn. Speaking slowly and clearly, I recited the words on the slip of paper. "I am very happy and honored to present to you, from the people of Wisconsin, this token of our state's great dairy industry, the champion cheese and butter from the Wisconsin State Fair." I handed over the box, which was empty, to my regret, as I was hungry, and awaited my questions.
My favorite foods were strawberry shortcake and scalloped potatoes, made with cheese. My chores, which rather set the judges aback, were peeling the vegetables for dinner, washing and drying the dinner dishes, watching over the younger children and rocking the baby to sleep. The judges didn't know that for a country girl, all day was a series of chores. But the judge cut me off by waving her hand, and turned her attention to my sister. Lorraine, as I noted earlier, was outstandingly pretty. She stood straight and tall, with her mane of hair cascading down her back, and recited her little speech in a clear, melodious voice. The judges seemed a little startled by her performance but only asked her a couple of questions and sent her back to her place on the stage. The little baking powder biscuit girl had jumped off the back of the platform and disappeared. The contest was over.
The moment of truth had come. The judges conferred for a short moment, announced that Mary Lou Poole was the winner and added, as if as an afterthought, that Lorraine was runner-up. To no one's surprise, I came in third or last. I quickly left the stage, glad that it was all over, and went back to tending my calf.
This story has a surprise ending. At least, for me, it was a surprise. I guess it was a surprise to Mary Lou as well. What happened was that the next day, Mary Lou came down with tonsillitis and had to take to her bed. My sister, as runner-up, was able to claim the prize which was an all-paid trip to the state fair. I entered a contest which involved etiquette and table setting for a party, and won a trip to the fair as well. My Aunt Emma supplied us with spending money, and we had a great time. I won no prizes with my calf. When I tried to lead it around the ring in front of the judges, it bolted and galloped across the field, with me holding onto the rope for dear life. When I fell, it dragged me along until someone rescued me and I retreated in disgrace. I never again picked a calf for a 4H project. I never again entered another beauty contest.
I hope my readers will forgive me for indulging myself in a little poetic license. All but the last paragraph is absolutely true.
T HE TIME I ENTERED A BEAUTY CONTEST
I didn't exactly enter the beauty contest . i was down in the calf ring yanking my little calf around the ring on a lead rope, when I was approached by a kindly looking matron who asked if I could help them out by providing another contestant for the beauty contest, Since my motto has always been "I'll try anything once," I hopped up onto the platform and stood there with the summer breeze gently riffling my tattered jeans and soiled cowgirl blouse. I hoped my back brace didn't show. the judge yanked a comb through my Ingrid Bergman hairdo, and I looked anxiously at my little calf out in the calf ring. I had hooked its lead rope over the end of a fence post and it was trying to commit suicide by breaking its neck in a series of plunges and wild attacks, Luckily my cousin Kenneth came to its rescue and actually succeeded in calming it down and leading it around the calf ring in a docile and comely fashion. I applied myself to the task at hand.
At the far end of the platform stood a very pretty young lady made up to look like Jean Harlow, with marcelled blond hair and plenty of makeup. She had on a pretty formal summer gown, and smiled at me in a superior fashion. She clearly saw me for what I was - a fill-in and a pretty poor one at that. But just then my sister joined me on the platform and squeezed my hand in encouragement.
Lorraine was a contender. She had lovely long slender legs, a cascade of wavy light brown hair and a smile as bright as the prairie. She had on a pretty summer dress and looked as though she was having fun. Next to her was a plump little girl wearing a "Baking Powder Biscuit" apron. We were ready for them if they were ready for us.
The judges turned their attention to the pretty girl standing at the end of the platform. She was the niece of the county superintendent and was clearly a "shoo-in " for the beauty queen title. Lorraine and i had been "snookered" and we knew it. But now it was do or die and we were ready. First the pretty girl, whose name I remember to this day as Mary Lou Poole, was asked to recite the contents on a slip of paper, as she handed the judges a cardboard box. Mary Lou was not a quick study and she couldn't remember the words so she was allowed to read the thing, and she read only the back half, which made a rather peculiar recitation, but she remembered to hand over the box which was empty anyway. Then the judges asked two questions..What were her favorite foods to which she replied "creamed broccoli" and mashed potatoes and what chores did she do to help her mother. Mary Lou allowed as how she dried the dinner dishes and set the table. The judges smiled approvingly and Mary Lou was allowed to go back to her place and sit down, as she was clearly wilting under the hot sun.
Now it was my turn. Speaking slowly and clearly, I recited the words on the slip of paper. "I am very happy and honored to present to you, from the people of Wisconsin, this token of our state's great dairy industry, the champion cheese and butter from the Wisconsin State Fair." I handed over the box, which was empty, to my regret, as I was hungry, and awaited my questions.
My favorite foods were strawberry shortcake and scalloped potatoes, made with cheese. My chores, which rather set the judges aback, were peeling the vegetables for dinner, washing and drying the dinner dishes, watching over the younger children and rocking the baby to sleep. The judges didn't know that for a country girl, all day was a series of chores. But the judge cut me off by waving her hand, and turned her attention to my sister. Lorraine, as I noted earlier, was outstandingly pretty. She stood straight and tall, with her mane of hair cascading down her back, and recited her little speech in a clear, melodious voice. The judges seemed a little startled by her performance but only asked her a couple of questions and sent her back to her place on the stage. The little baking powder biscuit girl had jumped off the back of the platform and disappeared. The contest was over.
The moment of truth had come. The judges conferred for a short moment, announced that Mary Lou Poole was the winner and added, as if as an afterthought, that Lorraine was runner-up. To no one's surprise, I came in third or last. I quickly left the stage, glad that it was all over, and went back to tending my calf.
This story has a surprise ending. At least, for me, it was a surprise. I guess it was a surprise to Mary Lou as well. What happened was that the next day, Mary Lou came down with tonsillitis and had to take to her bed. My sister, as runner-up, was able to claim the prize which was an all-paid trip to the state fair. I entered a contest which involved etiquette and table setting for a party, and won a trip to the fair as well. My Aunt Emma supplied us with spending money, and we had a great time. I won no prizes with my calf. When I tried to lead it around the ring in front of the judges, it bolted and galloped across the field, with me holding onto the rope for dear life. When I fell, it dragged me along until someone rescued me and I retreated in disgrace. I never again picked a calf for a 4H project. I never again entered another beauty contest.
I hope my readers will forgive me for indulging myself in a little poetic license. All but the last paragraph is absolutely true.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Hi. Good news from the hospital. Our son-in-law, (the family member I wrote about in my last blog) has had a pace-maker installed to assist his heart in maintaining a regular rhythm, and will be home again soon. He had gone in with pneumonia and the heart problem was discovered there. We hope it will make him feel much better, he has not felt well for quite a while. He is in an excellent hospital with a good doctor and even the food is reputed to be good!
My husband and i are keeping busy with yet another project, this time repairing the bathroom floor. It had been leaking for quite awhile, and the particle-board under the linoleum had gotten totally soaked with water. Yesterday we ripped it up, practically with our bare hands, and exposed the sub-flooring, equally soaked, which we hope will dry out eventually. The insurance company had given us a check to cover part of the expense of having it fixed, but my husband, being a thrifty old yankee- type person, will no doubt do it himself. Up here where we live, nobody bothers with permits or inspections, and I don't know if they are required to allow us to pull up a toilet bowl and fix a leak. What they don't know won't hurt them.
Years ago, I had a county inspector come up to a house we owned here to try to find out why the sliding glass door imploded into the family room. When he wrote out his report, somehow an error occurred and It was put into the computer that I was having construction done without a permit, and I got a notice threatening me with dire consequences unless I ceased and desisted immediately. After a visit to the county seat, and vehement protests launched at the information desk, they finally sent the same inspector back to check the house out once again, and the matter was cleared up. Except for the nuisance factor, no harm was done.
There is no doubt that I am a klutz with a computer. Yesterday the modem got disconnected from the computer, and I couldn't get my internet connections to work. It took me about an hour to realize what the problem was. As soon as i plugged the modem into the surge-protector, all was well. I've only had my computer for six years.
Well, our little dog is pacing back and forth, hinting that we should all be in bed. Good-night, stay well.
My husband and i are keeping busy with yet another project, this time repairing the bathroom floor. It had been leaking for quite awhile, and the particle-board under the linoleum had gotten totally soaked with water. Yesterday we ripped it up, practically with our bare hands, and exposed the sub-flooring, equally soaked, which we hope will dry out eventually. The insurance company had given us a check to cover part of the expense of having it fixed, but my husband, being a thrifty old yankee- type person, will no doubt do it himself. Up here where we live, nobody bothers with permits or inspections, and I don't know if they are required to allow us to pull up a toilet bowl and fix a leak. What they don't know won't hurt them.
Years ago, I had a county inspector come up to a house we owned here to try to find out why the sliding glass door imploded into the family room. When he wrote out his report, somehow an error occurred and It was put into the computer that I was having construction done without a permit, and I got a notice threatening me with dire consequences unless I ceased and desisted immediately. After a visit to the county seat, and vehement protests launched at the information desk, they finally sent the same inspector back to check the house out once again, and the matter was cleared up. Except for the nuisance factor, no harm was done.
There is no doubt that I am a klutz with a computer. Yesterday the modem got disconnected from the computer, and I couldn't get my internet connections to work. It took me about an hour to realize what the problem was. As soon as i plugged the modem into the surge-protector, all was well. I've only had my computer for six years.
Well, our little dog is pacing back and forth, hinting that we should all be in bed. Good-night, stay well.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
A day of worry
If you had come to our house yesterday morning, you would have seen my husband and myself walking carefully around the rooms, heads down, eyes on the floor. The reason we were involved in this behavior was because our old cat was having a digestive episode, and had left evidence of this distressing condition here and there on the floor. We could only clean up after her and try to comfort her as best we could. She is almost 25 and we monitor her condition fearfully, always expecting the worst. One day she went outside and didn't come back until late at night. We were up and down the hill looking for her and actually were somewhat surprised when she showed up.
Today has been a day of worry as well, as a close family member has been hospitalized with a serious illness, and we are much concerned. We hope all will be well and the patient will be back home soon. Good medical care is being provided and we can only wait and hope for the best.
In spite of everything, time is flying by and the weather today was delightful. The sun shone brilliantly and everything was sparkling and clean. Our little boxer dog made innumerable trips up and down the hill and is now ensconced beside the heater in the family room, enjoying a well-earned rest. Take care, dear friends, and keep in touch.
Today has been a day of worry as well, as a close family member has been hospitalized with a serious illness, and we are much concerned. We hope all will be well and the patient will be back home soon. Good medical care is being provided and we can only wait and hope for the best.
In spite of everything, time is flying by and the weather today was delightful. The sun shone brilliantly and everything was sparkling and clean. Our little boxer dog made innumerable trips up and down the hill and is now ensconced beside the heater in the family room, enjoying a well-earned rest. Take care, dear friends, and keep in touch.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
A pair of shoes
I am now down to one pair of shoes that I can wear. Not that I don't have other shoes - there is a row of shoes in my closet. But the truth is, only one pair is comfortable now and I haven't gotten around to buying more. It brings to mind the dilemma we faced as children, growing up in the depression. Back in those bleak days, we got only one pair a year, and it posed a fair amount of problems. We got them in the fall, to wear to school when it opened. Since it was an undisputed fact that our feet were going to grow, we started out with shoes that were a couple of sizes too large. Having gone without shoes all summer, our feet were tender and we all developed blisters on our heels and toes. Thus wearing shoes was an uncomfortable ordeal we all had to endure for the first few weeks until we grew into them and our feet toughened up. Then as we grew, the shoes fit for a while and then became too small. One of my cousins had to walk on the back of her shoes for a few weeks in the spring until school was out and she could once again go barefoot.
Going barefoot posed other problems, mainly stepping on sharp objects and suffering cuts and bruises. Since there were no antibiotics or tetanus shots it's a wonder we survived at all. Stubbed toes, scraped knees and shins and sprained ankles were minor mishaps we simply lived with.
Remembering the depression, it is with amazement that I consider how frugally we lived. The typical girl's wardrobe would consist of one or two dresses, made of flour sacks, one pair of long-legged underwear, a slip and long cotton stockings. A boy would be outfitted with a couple of denim overalls and a set of underwear and a pair or two of socks. Sometimes a boy's shirt would be made of flour sacks as well. There simply was no money to spend on clothes for children.
Today is not in the kind of depression I remember. In those desperate times there were no food stamps, no free food giveaways, no homeless shelters. I hope that things do not get again as they were then. The book "The Grapes of Wrath" pretty much describes the plight of a family caught up in the desperate state the country was in. I look to the future with hope that things will get better.
Going barefoot posed other problems, mainly stepping on sharp objects and suffering cuts and bruises. Since there were no antibiotics or tetanus shots it's a wonder we survived at all. Stubbed toes, scraped knees and shins and sprained ankles were minor mishaps we simply lived with.
Remembering the depression, it is with amazement that I consider how frugally we lived. The typical girl's wardrobe would consist of one or two dresses, made of flour sacks, one pair of long-legged underwear, a slip and long cotton stockings. A boy would be outfitted with a couple of denim overalls and a set of underwear and a pair or two of socks. Sometimes a boy's shirt would be made of flour sacks as well. There simply was no money to spend on clothes for children.
Today is not in the kind of depression I remember. In those desperate times there were no food stamps, no free food giveaways, no homeless shelters. I hope that things do not get again as they were then. The book "The Grapes of Wrath" pretty much describes the plight of a family caught up in the desperate state the country was in. I look to the future with hope that things will get better.
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