asparagus

the word asparagus brings to mind a picture of the green edible, on a fancy white platter with expensive gold edging, on a fancy white clothed table and some older, prim, woman, (see Mrs. Peacock here), across from you, gasping, with her hand on her throat, shocked, and rather indignant, of what you have just done, as you feel a mischievous grin growing on your face and the sparkle in your eye getting brighter.



asparagus

Reposted ~ Explanation ~

hello there, you, reading this blog. i've decided to repost some of my old, perhaps cryptic, attempts at poetry that i had previously posted under another blog hoping that would help me gain poetic momentum. alas! no go. i've added them into this blog, keeping the original dates and adding "Reposted:" to the beginning of the title and tagging them with reposted also. if you would like (no judgement on my part whether you would or would not), use the tag reposted that i've included on this post as well to bring them up.

wyrd

I started reading  Beowulf again. This time, a translation by Seamus Heaney. AMAZING. So many translations to choose from, so many people are critics of the epic and ignore the translation, or are ignorant of the origins of this masterpiece. I am thoroughly enjoying Beowulf, partly due to it being something I decided to read again rather than be assigned, and partly due to the wonderful translation. If you have any desire to read this ancient poem, I would strongly recommend this version.

On a side note, reading Heaney's introduction to his translation of Beowulf also gave me a quite a bit more appreciation for Katharine Kerr's incredibly detailed Deverry series (fifteen books of interwoven lives and stories). Sometimes we just enjoy a work of art for it's beauty, not being able to fathom the effort and immensity of what the artist did to give us the final version. When we get a hint, it's a glimmer of something incomprehensible in our peripheral vision, so easily dismissed    ---  unless we have been there too, and recognize it in ourself as well.

musing

thought
       throwing rocks at roses

persuasion
       pearls before swine

completion
       crowns before a throne

infinity
       in a place beyond time

A moment of reminiscing allows for apprecition of previously unnoted goodness

Dear Professor,

I've been thinking of you, the classes and projects. Thank you for pointing out that a research paper is not the proper context for making up words. Also pointing out that that the average college student can't claim they "coined" a new word was a good thing. Thank goodness for the bloggosphere allowing the decimation of the English language and all the rules that we learned were only acceptable to break in certain ways back in the day. I will always remember that "a lot" is yes, shockingly, TWO WORDS.

I appreciate all the times when you put up with the opinions and vocalizations of people who hadn't lived long enough to experience the ramifications of their opinions with graciousness. You could have belittled, shot down or coldly dismissed. You were frank, you were blunt, you were thought provoking, but never cold hearted and superior.

You have my sympathy, that the campus is now "fresh air" only and you are presumably walking half a mile off campus for a little break from the insanity that is a place of learning. Remember the good old days when one could have an officemate puffing away at a big, fat, cheap cigar while you are trying to concentrate on your papers? Ahh the good old days. That is what started this little note of appreciation to you, it was an afternoon for reminiscing. Continue in all your eccentric goodness, live long, and prosper.

Sincerly,
Desilou Freebush

thankgoodness for Google Chrome

It's been so long since I've logged into my blog that my Google Chrome doesn't even have it on my eight top websites when I open the browser. I guess the absence of it clued me in that it was about darn time to get back to it!

disclaimer: this was writen while listening to Damien Rice's "The Blower's Daugher"

I'm having a day that feels like everything is picking up on my mood and perpetuating it. I am reletively sure we create our own reality and I am doing it myself... yes, Data is seeing threes everywhere and reality suddenly makes sense.
Last night I dreamed an odd dream (what's new there?) but  through out the dream I was looking for something to drink. I was going through cupboards looking for coffee. I drank cranberry juice, went to the fridge to get some orange pineapple juice, was handed a glass of water, and saw someone making a pitcher (yes, plastic pitcher) of dark coffee with a layer of creamer on top. When it was poured, it gave up just the right amount of coffee and creamer and combined itself. Somewhere in there I realized that choosing to never drink anything would be a slow, painful way to die. I woke up.
My son got out of his pj's this morning. They were a sleeper that I had removed the feet from and cut a little v in the back of the collar so I could put them on him backwards - he'd still be comfy but wouldn't be able to take them off. Ha. Ha. Turns out the little v in the collar was just enough room for him to Houdini out of them and well... we've seen this mess before.
After he had a bath and was settled in the high chair with his breakfast, my (WONDERFUL) hubby cleaned up the crib while I took a shower. Somehow it wasn't as refreshing as I thought it would be, my coffee wasn't as good as I'd been craving in my dream, and my daughter was a grouch when I came back out. Never mind that, I should be in a good mood, or at least not a total grouch, so I got the kids settled, tidied up a bit and then started catching stuff up on the computer.
I'm a product of my noisy, technologically advanced society. I can hardly stand quiet. I love music. I had to have some tunes even if my kiddos were ensuring the house would in no uncertain terms be too quiet. Pandora Internet Radio? Me love it long time. I tuned in and it read my mind. I know that that's not one of the Pandora's creators claims. Yet somehow it read my mind, my mood, and started playing Damien Rice's The Blower's Daughter.... then David Grey, Other Side... then Coldplay, Fix You....
While I'm writing my mind is wandering back to things I usually avoid meditating on. My current thought is that one can learn from the past, mistakes or otherwise, chalk it all up to "experience" and do the best you can from there. What is the point in contemplating the what-ifs if it's beyond your power to actually change what happened? I've heard of people going back and changing a tiny detail of a memory to something better every time they think of it until one day, the memory is golden and comforting and happy and nothing near what really happened. Does this ease the soul? It must, if it's needed. Is there a time when this would be called for? Yes. Do I have anything that calls for that? No, unless I've already suppressed it, and have no idea. What if one needs a firm grip on reality one day in the future but lost it in all th flips and switches and imaginings of the past?