I'm not sure, but the other day
I think I met Dorian Gray......

Life is good because..... I can sway around in my kitchen, chopping onions and tomatoes, stewing chicken, boiling pasta, in a marvelous mood, listening to my Italian playlist fill the house...... and call it studying.   (Big Grin)
Maria Callas. Thanks, Dad.  ;)

What a find! Gettin' edumacated tonight........

Thanks, Santa!  😀

lol
Going out tonight, though! To the poetry circle....... gotta cut loose now and then, right? 

SONNET 29
 William Shakespeare

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art and that mans's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising,
From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Hey Diddle Diddle, He made big, He made little
He made the sun and the moon
The mourn and the dance
The plow and the lance
The plan and the chance
He made December and June.

Master.

Perfect music for cleaning up after Thanksgiving and preparing for all the kids to be home tomorrow, for my birthday. Life truly is good.

Who would venture out on a day called Black Friday?? I'd be afraid of catching my death of something..... I will emerge only to slip down to the corner store and pick up a loaf of that nasty, pasty commercial white bread. Which I usually eschew, but for leftover turkey sandwiches, I happily chew.  

Huh! Waddaya know.....

The Song of Wandering Aengus
     By William Butler Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name;
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

- A lovely framed copy of this was a birthday gift from my dear sister Sarah yesterday. It's beautiful, and I will find the perfect spot in my forest library to hang it. Probably very close to my desk, so I can look up and read it anytime I want. 💖

I'm thankful that the finest people I know are my parents, my husband, my siblings, my children. I love you, Bob, Annie, Diana, Raymond, Katie and David and Michael, Sarah and Chad, and Aidan and William, Rachel and Robb and Ava, Chris, Yvonne, Peter, Robbie and Kasi and Darcy, and Annie. 

Pie cookies! Pie crust leftovers cut out with a cookie cutter and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. The perfect ratio of salt, sugar, and fat, with just enough starch to hold it together and just enough flavor to justify the indulgence. Happy Holidays!
And the pies that go with them. Two pumpkin, one apple and one pecan. And homemade toffee.

It's Thanksgiving! There's a parade!
And pies and cookies to be made.
A massive turkey to be dressed
While thinking of all the ways you're blessed.

one of those days.....

"We remind me of an old song"  - a poet

By my daughter. I'm so amazed by the talent of my kids.

ON THE VANITY OF EARTHLY GREATNESS

The tusks that clashed in mighty brawls
Of mastodons, are billiard balls.

The sword of Charlemagne The Just
Is ferric oxide, known as rust.

The gritty bear whose potent hug
Was feared by all is now a rug.

Great Caesars's bust is on the shelf,
And I don't feel so well myself.

 - Arthur Guiterman

In the middle of the city, in east Austin, there is a working farm, and an al fresco restaurant. It's called Eden East. Our friend Jon, who's an artist, lives there. I kinda envy him.

Every year for the past 8, the local Rotary Club has a fund-raiser cooking contest, called Men Who Cook. It's entered by chefs, and also by local guys who just love cooking. Hubby has entered most times, I think, and has won several times. Last night, with his Caribbean Queen Shrimp with Lobster and Ancho Chili sauce, he won again, with the help of our son Peter. I'm so proud of him!

I live in an enchanted world.

EVOLUTION

Out of the dusk, a shadow,
Then, a spark;
Out of the cloud a silence,
Then, a lark;
Out of the heart a rapture,
Then, a pain;
Out of the dead, cold ashes,
Life again.

- John Bannister Tabb

Some days....

My maternal grandfather was a very learned man. He was fluent in five languages, and something of a poet and philosopher.  And a gourmet cook. And his favorite poet was William Blake. When I was seven, for his birthday, I memorized and recited The Tyger for him. And my sister, five at the time, did The Lamb. Memories that Made Me.......


The Tyger

Tyger, tyger, burning  bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

From Irish Fairy and Folk Tales, W.B. Yeats

The bodies of saints are fastidious things. At a place called Four-mile-Water, in Wexford, there is an old graveyard full of saints. Once it was on the other side of the river, but they buried a rogue there, and the whole graveyard moved across in the night, leaving the rogue-corpse in solitude. It would have been easier to move merely the rogue-corpse, but they were saints, and had to do things in style

"I am a barbarously early riser....I love the empty, silent, dewy, cobwebby hours." -- C.S. Lewis, Letters to an American Lady

Me too, Mr. Lewis 

This barely 5-year-old cutie that I'm teaching, who came to me in September unable to hold still for ten seconds, still unable to stop talking for ten seconds, but very bright, will be reading and writing in cursive by Christmas, methinks.  

Imber totem diem fluit.

Urceatim semper pluit.

Taedet intus nos manere:

Numquam potest sol splendere....

Autumn joy

The mural in my daughters' hallway, which they painted over several months. Painstakingly detailed, delightfully imaginative. I have some awesome kids.
(I had to take a series of photos, because the hall is too narrow to back up and get the whole picture. I'm insisting that when they move they take the wall with them! lol)

Serpent wrapped around a beam of sunlight. Brilliant.

The Leaden-Eyed

Let not young souls be smothered out before
They do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride.
It is the world's one crime its babes grow dull,
Its poor are ox-like, limp and leaden-eyed.

Not that they starve, but starve so dreamlessly,
Not that they sow, but that they seldom reap.
Not that they serve, but have no gods to serve,
Not that they die, but that they die like sheep.

     Vachel Lindsay

Mah bidi neyum

Ever so rarely that man in a million is born

Gentle and soft, but he'd just as soon off you

for looking the wrong way, as not.

- Boz Scaggs

   On the bottom is a drawing of Monticello, done by a student of the University of Virginia art department and sold as a fundraiser, in 1958. To my grandfather, Edward Kilcrin. Precious. I need to replace the broken glass. Keeping that frame.
   Beside it is an alcohol ink painting on ceramic tile, done by my dear friend Judy Okun. Awaiting the proper display, I'm still deciding on that.
   Filling my forest with beauty......

I'm loving this little nook more every day.

The  Great Day

Hurrah for revolution and more cannon shot!
A begger on horseback lashes a begger on foot.
Hurrah for revolution and cannon come again!
The beggars have changed places, but the lash goes on.

- William Butler Yeats

...... that this should come in my poem-a-day book right after election day is remarkable.

May the best man win!

Heartbreakingly beautiful. 

Aristotelian Tragedy. Very good movie.

Hanging out with the noblest Roman of them all........

Watching My Fair Lady with the Professor. Life is good.

from A Shropshire Lad

There, like the wind through woods in riot
Through him the gale of life blew high;
The tree of man was never quiet;
Then 'twas the Roman, now 'tis I.

- A.E. Houseman

from The Tempest
Act IV, Scene I

Prospero: Be cheerful, Sir
Our revels are now ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with sleep.

   I have recently felt the urge to do more writing, and have been especially pulled toward poetry, and with some satisfaction. I've been casting about for the right sort of poetry to read, to improve my skills, and with LITTLE satisfaction. But the other day as I was going through an old box of books, I came upon a book called A Poem A Day, edited by Karen McCosker and Nicholas Albery. A poem for each day of the year. So I'm starting pretty close to the end. 
   I noticed on the first page, that it had belonged to  a lady I had very much admired as a girl, the aunt of my best friend. When the good lady passed away, my friend sent me several boxes of her books, because she knew I shared many interests with her aunt. Having stumbled across this book just when I needed it fills me with gratitude. Thank you again, Dina Khouri, and I bless the memory of Aunty Ruth Hembekides.

An evening at my girls' house, which was magical. I love the look of their place, it's very simple, with plenty of plants, books, and strings of little lights. And very little furniture, tho just enough to make everyone comfortable. It looks like a fairy garden. The spice bottles in the kitchen make it look like an apothecary shop. Love spending time in that place, with those dear people. Last night we had everyone in the family except Robbie and Kasi. Plus a cousin, and their darling roommate from Germany. Life is good.   <3