Waltz across Texas:
From Lone Star Junction
Monday, July 29, 2002
Sunday, July 28, 2002
Deep in the Heart of Texas
The stars at night, are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas,
The prairie sky is wide and high, deep in the heart of Texas.
The sage in bloom is like perfume, deep in the heart of Texas,
Reminds me of, the one I love, deep in the heart of Texas.
The coyotes wail, along the trail, deep in the heart of Texas,
The rabbits rush, aroung the brush, deep in the heart of Texas.
The cowboys cry, "Ki-yip-pee-yi," deep in the heart of Texas,
The dogies bawl, and bawl and bawl, deep in the heart of Texas.
The stars at night, are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas,
The prairie sky is wide and high, deep in the heart of Texas.
The sage in bloom is like perfume, deep in the heart of Texas,
Reminds me of, the one I love, deep in the heart of Texas.
The coyotes wail, along the trail, deep in the heart of Texas,
The rabbits rush, aroung the brush, deep in the heart of Texas.
The cowboys cry, "Ki-yip-pee-yi," deep in the heart of Texas,
The dogies bawl, and bawl and bawl, deep in the heart of Texas.
Wednesday, July 24, 2002
Monday, July 22, 2002
More poems to share............................
Until One Is Committed
Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw
back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative
(and creation) there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of
which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment
one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All
sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have
occurred. A whole steam of events issues from the decision,
raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and
meetings and material assistance, which no man could have
dreamed would have come his way.
Whatever you can do,
or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius,
power and magic in it.
Goethe
Throw Yourself Like Seed
Shake off this sadness, and recover your spirit;
Sluggish you will never see the wheel of fate
That brushes your heel as it turns going by,
The man who wants to live is the man in whom life is
abundant.
Now you are only giving food to that final pain
Which is slowly winding you in the nets of death,
But to live is to work, and the only thing which lasts
Is the work; start then, turn to the work.
Throw yourself like seed as you work, and into your own
field,
Don’t turn your face for that would be to turn it to death,
And do not let the past weigh down your motion.
Leave what’s alive in the furrow, what dead in yourself,
For life does not move in the same way as a group of clouds;
Form your work you will be able one day to gather yourself.
Miguel de Unamuno
Until One Is Committed
Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw
back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative
(and creation) there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of
which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment
one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All
sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have
occurred. A whole steam of events issues from the decision,
raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and
meetings and material assistance, which no man could have
dreamed would have come his way.
Whatever you can do,
or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius,
power and magic in it.
Goethe
Throw Yourself Like Seed
Shake off this sadness, and recover your spirit;
Sluggish you will never see the wheel of fate
That brushes your heel as it turns going by,
The man who wants to live is the man in whom life is
abundant.
Now you are only giving food to that final pain
Which is slowly winding you in the nets of death,
But to live is to work, and the only thing which lasts
Is the work; start then, turn to the work.
Throw yourself like seed as you work, and into your own
field,
Don’t turn your face for that would be to turn it to death,
And do not let the past weigh down your motion.
Leave what’s alive in the furrow, what dead in yourself,
For life does not move in the same way as a group of clouds;
Form your work you will be able one day to gather yourself.
Miguel de Unamuno
Sunday, July 21, 2002
There are many white moths in my flower garden at this time of year. They land on the flowers
to drink the nectar. Often two of them flutter around each other in a breezy ballet.
I was reminded of this favorite poem and wanted to share it with you.
W.B. Yeats (1865–1939). The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899.
The Song of Wandering Aengus
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.
________________________________________________________
And since I know someone will ask: Who is this wandering Aengus?
Aengus
Also known as "Angus the young", he was considered the Irish god of love. He was a young handsome god that had four birds flying about his head -- some say they symbolize kisses -- who inspired love in all who heard them. He was the son of Dagda and Boann ('the wife of Elcmar').
Once, Aengus was troubled by the dream of a young maiden, He instantly fell in love with her and became love sick. He told his mother Boann and she searched the whole of Ireland for the maiden, but after a year she still had not found the maiden. Then Dagda was called and he searched Ireland for a year, and still did not find the maiden. Finally Bov the Red, king of the Dananns in Munster and Dagda's aide, was called to search and after a year he found the maiden.
Aengus was taken to the lake of the Dragon's Mouth, and there he saw 150 maidens all chained with gold into pairs. He spied her at once and her name was Caer, the daughter of Ethal and Anubal, a prince of the Dananns of Connact. On November first she and all the other maidens are transformed into swans for a year. He was told if he could identify her as a swan he could marry her. On November 1 Aengus went out to the lake and called to his love, and once he had found her he then turned in to a swan himself and joined her. They flew off together singing such a beautiful song that all who heard them fell asleep for three days and nights.
Aengus had a son called, "Diarmuid Ua Duibhne" or Diarmuid of the Love Spot. One night while hunting Diarmuid met a maiden who made a magic love spot appear on his head, and from then on no woman ever looked upon him with out falling in love with him.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His palace was Brugh na Boinne on the River Boyne (modern New Grange).
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
to drink the nectar. Often two of them flutter around each other in a breezy ballet.
I was reminded of this favorite poem and wanted to share it with you.
W.B. Yeats (1865–1939). The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899.
The Song of Wandering Aengus
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.
________________________________________________________
And since I know someone will ask: Who is this wandering Aengus?
Aengus
Also known as "Angus the young", he was considered the Irish god of love. He was a young handsome god that had four birds flying about his head -- some say they symbolize kisses -- who inspired love in all who heard them. He was the son of Dagda and Boann ('the wife of Elcmar').
Once, Aengus was troubled by the dream of a young maiden, He instantly fell in love with her and became love sick. He told his mother Boann and she searched the whole of Ireland for the maiden, but after a year she still had not found the maiden. Then Dagda was called and he searched Ireland for a year, and still did not find the maiden. Finally Bov the Red, king of the Dananns in Munster and Dagda's aide, was called to search and after a year he found the maiden.
Aengus was taken to the lake of the Dragon's Mouth, and there he saw 150 maidens all chained with gold into pairs. He spied her at once and her name was Caer, the daughter of Ethal and Anubal, a prince of the Dananns of Connact. On November first she and all the other maidens are transformed into swans for a year. He was told if he could identify her as a swan he could marry her. On November 1 Aengus went out to the lake and called to his love, and once he had found her he then turned in to a swan himself and joined her. They flew off together singing such a beautiful song that all who heard them fell asleep for three days and nights.
Aengus had a son called, "Diarmuid Ua Duibhne" or Diarmuid of the Love Spot. One night while hunting Diarmuid met a maiden who made a magic love spot appear on his head, and from then on no woman ever looked upon him with out falling in love with him.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His palace was Brugh na Boinne on the River Boyne (modern New Grange).
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, July 09, 2002
Pictures taken at the church dinner after Uncle Jerry's funeral
Aunt Jean and her sister Lorraine Hartzell who lives in Erie Pa
Aunt Jean's new address is Wesbury Methodist Retirement Home,Park Ave., Meadville Pa 16335
Barbie's children, Brooke and Jace
Barb and James Lyon, 317 Sawmill Run Rd., Butler, Pa 16001
Barb and Jean
Meredith and Barb
Adam and Leslie Smith
Adam just graduated from high school and is going to college this fall.
Leslie and Russell Smith 700 Olive, Pittsburgh Pa 15237
Les's email: mopandglomama@aol.com
MY CAT LILY
Pictures taken when Kali visited in April
Eleanore K. Miller's 104th Birthday
Aunt Jean and her sister Lorraine Hartzell who lives in Erie Pa
Aunt Jean's new address is Wesbury Methodist Retirement Home,Park Ave., Meadville Pa 16335
Barbie's children, Brooke and Jace
Barb and James Lyon, 317 Sawmill Run Rd., Butler, Pa 16001
Barb and Jean
Meredith and Barb
Adam and Leslie Smith
Adam just graduated from high school and is going to college this fall.
Leslie and Russell Smith 700 Olive, Pittsburgh Pa 15237
Les's email: mopandglomama@aol.com
MY CAT LILY
Pictures taken when Kali visited in April
Eleanore K. Miller's 104th Birthday
Sunday, July 07, 2002
A house in Talcottville sold recently to a man in his twenties. It is one of the old historical houses that line our main street. Being built in 1840, it was at that time the home of the town and mill owner N.O. Kellogg. The town was then named Kelloggville. Well I'm proud of the new owner. Look at the new planter and decoration that has just appeared on the garage! A picture I call "No Picking".
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