Friday, September 5, 2008
It is hard to believe that a month has passed since I last posted, their are some blogger's that have the pleasure of blogging everyday, but I am not able to do that. I am though committed and devoted to continuing on with this creative endeavor.
It seemed as though the summer slowly crawled on, then all of a sudden it is September. Autumn is my favorite time of the year, although in Texas autumn lasts about 1 week, and then it is winter (that is winter for Texas.) I spent 3 weeks with my dad in August, he had an infection from old scar tissue on his upper abdominal area, dad is 85 and being a diabetic contributed to this. I took dad to the general surgery treatment room at the clinic, where they made a small incision and cleaned out the infection, leaving the site not stitched in order to close on its own. I helped dad with dressing changes, he was on a antibiotic. Dad is now well, healed.
I am back at home, I'm glad to be in my nest! I call my dad every morning at exactly 7:45 A.M. Both of us with our coffee in hand talk about everything important to us. It is a wonderful thing when you can be friends with you parents, to know them not just as your parent, but as the human that they are. I am blessed!
I am half way though reading "Jude the Obscure" by Thomas Hardy and I am also reading "Bleak House" by Charles Dickens. I am not ready to post on either of these books, but I have found a couple of poems for my readers to enjoy.
"Regret Not Me"
"Regret not me;
Beneath the sunny tree
I lie uncaring, slumbering peacefully
Swift as the light
I flew my faery flight;
Ecstatically I moved, and feared no night.
I did not know
That heydays fade and go,
But deemed that what was would be always so.
I skipped at morn
Between the yellowing corn,
Thinking it good and glorious to be born.
I ran at eves
Among the piled-up sheaves,
Dreaming, "I grieve not, therefore nothing grieves."
Now soon will come
The apple, pear, and plum,
And hinds will sing, and autumn insects hum.
Again you will fare
To cider-marking rare,
And junketings; but I shall not be there.
Yet gaily sing
Under the pewter ring
Those songs we sang when we went gipsying.
And lightly dance
Some triple-timed romance
In coupled figures, and forget mischance;
And mourn not me
Beneath the yellowing tree;
For I shall mind not, slumbering peacefully. " Thomas Hardy"
"a fond mother, when the day is o'er
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know."
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow