Sunday night already?
1. I never know where my weekends go. Seriously. Yesterday I did my normal Saturday errands, plus I took DD and her friends CH and TH to a kids' overnight at church. However, I was feeling crappy and so was CH, who had to be home by 9 p.m. anyway, so we left before 8:30. I had chills (but no fever) and a bad headache so I took 2 extra-strength Tylenol, went to bed about 10 p.m. and slept until 7 a.m. I did feel a lot better when I woke up, so I picked up CH about 8:45 and took her with me to church. TH's parents had already picked him up, and DD was hanging out with her friends while I was in choir practice until 10:00 when the service started. After the service we went out to lunch and got back to the house around 12:45. DD and CH went into her room, then it got really quiet preetty quickly. A little after 2:00 CH came out and said she didn't feel well and DD had fallen asleep (she got only 4 hours sleep last night!) and she wanted to go home. So I took her home and had the afternoon to myself. DD didn't wake up until 5! And yet she was tired enough to go to bed again at 10:30. I'm feeling significantly better than I did last night, which is good.
2. In honor of Veterans Day, here are a couple of poems:
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
^&^*^*^
This poem is poignant in itself, but moreso because Col. McCrae died in battle later in the war. Fortunately he had the foresight to pass it along to one of his buddies, who got it published posthumously.
The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
^*^*^*^
This has been one of my favorite poems for years. I remember doing a poster collage of Dover Beach for English in high school.
Thank you to all veterans.
2. In honor of Veterans Day, here are a couple of poems:
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
^&^*^*^
This poem is poignant in itself, but moreso because Col. McCrae died in battle later in the war. Fortunately he had the foresight to pass it along to one of his buddies, who got it published posthumously.
The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
^*^*^*^
This has been one of my favorite poems for years. I remember doing a poster collage of Dover Beach for English in high school.
Thank you to all veterans.