Fog

Carl Sandburg once penned a poem about fog, stating that “fog comes on little cat feet…” The imagery here is amazing, as the reader can almost see the fog, in feline form, looking out over the harbour after creeping in on its furry little paws. I love to think about fog in this way, but not merely because of its poetic-ness. It actually has more to do with the fact that I’ve never seen fog creeping along on little cat feet. Here, in the North Country, the fog does not creep. It rolls in, like dense waves on an ocean of clouds, covering the entirety of the landscape in one fell swoop, in a thick, pea-soup type of blanket. It also seems to flow over the land en force when the nights are beginning to become very cool, and Old Man Winter is just waiting for the right moment to cross the threshold of Autumn and take over its residence. I have often wondered if this fog was Mother Nature’s wy of pretending Mr. Winter isn’t at the door; like she’s taking her thick blankets and pulling them up over her head to try and get a just a few more days of sleep before she has to get up and endure the cold. I think this latter image is one which is easy for me to see, for now that the nights are getting colder, and I’m feeling Winter tapping on my window, all I want to do is pull the blanket up over my head and stay warm in my bed until Spring. I’m certain Mother Nature feels the same way.

At any rate, our first blanket of fog of the season arrived early this week, after a particularly chilly night. And apparently the blanket was still pulled over Mother Nature’s head as I pulled out of the driveway to go to school. I’d love her job…she gets to sleep in whenever she wants, it seems. But, it covered everything, completely. It took me 15 minutes to get the car warmed up enough to dispel the murkiness from my fog covered windshield, so I could see the road well enough to drive. And even once I had banished it, I had to keep turning on my windshield wipers in order to enforce the banishment, for the fog kept trying to take over, again. It still permeated the landscape once I arrived at school, which gave the campus an eerie appearance…I couldn’t even see the buildings on the far side of the quad.

It was so thick, the numerous flocks of geese flying overhead from the river across the street were heard, but not seen. They weren’t even remotely visible, since they chose to fly over the blanket which covered the North Country.

And this is why I can’t relate to Mr. Sandburg’s image of a Feline-esque fog, that creeps in slowly, takes a look around at the scenery, and then moves on. But I would like to see it, someday. Maybe I’ll sit down with it, and look over the harbour, seeing it through it’s cloudy eyes.

 

Self Esteem and My Never Ending Quest for Greatness

It is unfortunate, but I’m not always well versed in self esteem. In fact, I tend to second guess myself far too often, only seeing the negative aspects of what I have done or said and completely ignoring the fact that I might have said or done something quite brilliant….which, from time to time, I do actually do or say. Seriously. I really do. I know…..I’m surprised to hear it, too, and I’m the one saying it. See? Self esteem and I are not really on complete speaking terms. I know….don’t even ask what my point is, because you know I have one. I always do.
Today, I spoke to my favorite professor at school. I’ve had her for three classes, so far, and her insights as well as her guidance are just amazing when it comes to literature. I can’t exalt her literary insights enough. When I went back to school in the Spring of 2010, it was her lit class that I took, and I learned SO much in that class…about literature, but also about myself. Which kind of leads me even closer to my point…
As I said, that American Writers class taught me way more than I thought it would (especially since I was so intimidated by the fact that it was an upper division course, and not only was I a Freshman, I also had been out of school for over 20 years). I knew I’d learn more about various American writers…that was a given. And since I was more steeped in British writings, I knew there was quite a bit to learn. The styles between the two are so completely different, that it was really strange to delve into the American after being a self-proclaimed British writing enthusiast for so long (and thereby avoiding American writers). But, along with learning about the technical differences about the two types, as well as genres, I learned a lot about ME. I learned that I am really, REALLY good at literature; at reading and comprehending it, as well as pulling it apart and analysing what the author meant when they wrote what they wrote. And, I learned that I love it, even more than I thought I loved it. If I had to do this for the rest of my life, I would be absolutely contented. Reading and analysing….there is something absolutely sublime in the sheer concept, at least to me.
But this is about self esteem…primarily MY self esteem. My reasoning for meeting with my professor (and advisor) was to get my final papers from her, from the Spring 2011 semester (I had her for two classes last semester, which was hard since she requires SO much reading, but hard in a good way). I am always very interested in how I end up doing on my final papers in my Lit courses, because I learn a lot from the grades I receive on those papers. In this case, I did perfectly on my upper division (a 200 out of 200) and I was ten points shy of a perfect score on my 200 level course (240 out of 250 points). She discussed the reasoning behind the ten points off on the latter paper, and I understood as well as agreed with her reasoning. I made silly mistakes….I knew everything she was telling me, and I even knew these things when I wrote the paper, but for whatever reason, I focused in on the wrong areas. Not that I was wrong…I just wasn’t complete. And this is why I ask for my final papers back; I learned quite a bit when she and I discussed that paper, and it will absolutely help me to become a better literary scholar.
In the course of our discussion, we were talking about things related to literature, and I confessed that I knew I’m damn good at what I do. I GET literature, and I know how to write about it. My writing proves that I get it, because I know I get flashes of brilliance in what I write. I know this sounds haughty and quite egotistical, but it’s true. I do have moments of brilliance. I also have moments of complete ridiculousness where I completely miss the point, but that’s really part of life. It’s those moments of brilliance that prove to me that I am truly good at what I do. And it’s why I do it….I love to pick up and book, read through it, and see the little clues the author has left for the reader to convey the reason why they wrote the book (books aren’t always meant to just entertain…just to let you know that. Read Dickens and tell me that his stories were meant merely to entertain…). These clues are like little presents, left for the reader to open and discover. I live for those presents. Call me a geek or a nerd, but I honestly do.
The really cool thing was that when I did say that I’m damn good at what I do, my professor agreed with me. This is someone I look up to….a mentor of sorts….and she basically told me I rock. For someone like me, who really has a hard time really admitting that I’m good at what I do, that was an amazing moment.
When I got home, I pulled out my papers and read through them. I hadn’t even thought about the topics of these papers since I’d written them, so the content was somewhat forgotten. And had I not known that they were written by me, I think I might have thought them to be pretty flipping awesome. They really were that good. As I went through them, even the one where I sidestepped the main point, I was shocked at how well written they were, in both content as well as mechanics. The person who wrote those papers knows what she’s doing. She really is amazing. I am amazing.
I know….a lot of people will think this is a silly posting. And in a way, it is. But I needed to say it. I am far too hard on myself when it comes to my work, and I underestimate myself on a regular basis. I focus in on where I am lacking, rather than admitting that where I am great far outweighs the parts that are sub-standard (and even sub-standard is a harsh way to put it, since it’s hardly sub-standard….it’s just not at the perfection I feel it should be. I have very high expectations, which means it’s too easy to beat myself up when I don’t hit the level I feel I should). But those papers were great, awesome, fan-effing-tastic. They really were. And my professor agreed with me, which means it must be true
It really is hard for me to admit to these things. I do beat myself up far too often, and never give myself the credit I deserve. It’s time to reverse that to a certain extent, and admit the fact that I rock….most of the time Now to start believing that on a consistent basis. That will be the hard part.

 

Where Were You?

As most Americans know, today is the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attacks of 9/11/2001. It’s hard to believe that it happened ten years ago….for many, it seems like it all happened yesterday. Most people can tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing when the first plane hit the World Trade Center, and how their lives changed at that moment. I am no exception to this…I can tell you exactly what I was doing and where I was for that entire day, but for very different reasons.

The morning of September 11, 2001 looked like just any other day when I woke up to get the kids ready for school. The day was bright and sunny, but there was a bit of an autumnal nip in the New England air, just to remind everyone that winter was just around the corner. Typically, I would be lamenting this realisation, but this particular morning, my mind was on something completely different, and it was not airplanes and terrorist attacks. You see, when I awoke that fateful morning, and got the kids off to school, I was also getting myself ready to have a baby. I was already overdue…about a week and a half, in fact…and my contractions were close enough together to know that this was the day. I got Mr Izz going, telling him that we needed to get to the birthing centre, procured the babysitter for the little ones who were not in school yet, and then called my friend, Karen, to tell her I was *finally* in labour. I told her that we were going into Keene and that I’d call her when it was all said and done, and then she told me that some plane had flown into the World Trade Center in NYC. She thought it was a Cessna at that point, so I asked if the pilot had been intoxicated or whatever. She had no idea, so I shrugged and didn’t think much about it as I drove over to our neighbours’ house to let them know we’d taken their daughter out of school to babysit the kids, and that we were on our way to the birthing centre. It was then we found out that it was an airliner that crashed, and another one had crashed since. I was in shock, but no one knew anything at this point, so while I was concerned about what was going on, I had more pressing things to deal with….my contractions were getting closer together, and it was almost a 30 minute drive into Keene.

We arrived at the birthing centre, talked to the midwife, who checked to see my progression, and it was decided that I should walk for a while to get things going…I had been in and out of labour for a couple of weeks, but it always seemed to peter out at the last minute. This seemed to be no exception, for when I arrived at the birthing centre, my contractions had almost stopped. So, we walked. I must have walked a couple of miles, if not more, that day…we first walked through a huge cemetery where I saw a white crane. It was a beautiful site…and actually seems a bit prophetic now when looking at it with all that was going on around us. At this point, we were still completely oblivious to the attacks, for we did not have a radio or television nearby. We were just walking, waiting for our wee one to decide to make his or her appearance.

We walked for hours, all over downtown, and there did seem to be an anxious air which seemed prevalent. There were very few people walking around, and those that were seemed to be very disturbed. At one point, we did walk into a shop which had a television on. There seemed to be something huge going on….the scene on the television screen was one of chaos and fear, but I couldn’t determine where it was or what was going on. And a rather huge contraction determined that I needed to get moving. But this time, it was around 2pm. I had been walking around since a bit after 9am.

The last stop we made in town was the local Catholic church…they were having a Holy Hour, and we thought that it would be a good place to sit and rest, not to mention say some prayers that things would be alright. And yet we still didn’t know how not right things were in the world.

As we sat in the church, my contractions started to pick up, and we had a rather long walk back to the birthing centre, so we left. I remember having to stop in the middle of a crosswalk because I was having a huge contraction, and making the crossing guard stop traffic for me because of it. It was after 3pm when we finally arrived at the birthing centre. The midwife got there shortly after, and she told us a bit about what was going on. For the first time that day, we heard what was going on. And for the first time that day, a wave of concern for something other than my own plight went through me. I had no idea of the horrific nature of the events in NYC until that moment…and here I was bringing life into a world such as this.

I won’t get into major details about the birth of my 8th child, but I will say that my Victoria Marie was born at 4:59pm….soon after the Twin Towers fell, from what I understand. The reason why my labour seemed to start and stop was because she was breech…she was born feet first. I’d like to think that means something about her character, and perhaps how it might pertain to the circumstances which surrounded her birth.

So many people lost so much on September 11, 2001. Many lost loved ones, but those that watched as the events unfolded also lost a certain amount of innocence and hope as it all happened. I have never watched it, for I couldn’t. I needed to keep that hope in my heart, for the sake of my children.

I have often wondered why Victoria was born on that day…if you can attribute a “why” to such things. I think, in a way, she was hope, in the form of a tiny baby. Hope that life can, and will still go on. Hope that despite how bad things were at that moment, we will rise above it. And hope that peace can and will happen one day. I know, as I looked into my baby’s eyes after I understood at that had transpired on that day, I saw hope. And love.

My Victoria is ten years old today. She is well aware of what happened on the day she was born, and while there is always a certain air of melancholy which surrounds the day, we’ve always made it a happy day here at Casa Izz. Life did go on, and while those things lost will never be gotten back…and my heart breaks to this day for those who lost loved ones…I still see hope and love when I look at Victoria. Her life, in the middle of devastation, gives us that hope…that despite all we have lost, there is still so much to gain.

Happy birthday, Victoria Marie. I love you.

 

A Blog I Want to Advertise!

My friend, Gena, has a lovely blog over at Blogspot, called The House on Lavender Hill. Check it out!

 

Yet Another Pictorial Essay: 2010

It’s hard to believe yet another year has passed, and that 2010 is now just a memory. It all went by so fast…with Izzlets coming and going, me back in school, Izzlets also in school…it’s been crazy. Which means I have quite a bit of excuse type fodder for why I haven’t posted, but I think everyone who has ever read my blog knows it’s because I’m totally disorganized. Because I never got around to chronicling the goings on in my life over the past year, I figured I’d sum it all up in one post…..with my ever famous “Pictorial Essay”. So, onward and…….yeah, let’s get started.

First off, as New Year 2010 rolled around, I was thinking about this:

For the first time in 20 years, I was going back to college. By the New Year, I was exceptionally excited, but that excitement turned into panic quickly, because I wasn’t sure if it was something I could handle. But as the semester progressed, I found that I am indeed ready for college, and that it is something I absolutely can handle. In fact, I love it, and I’ve shown that love of learning by excelling. At the end of the semester, I had one of these:

Yeah, I’m pretty darn proud of me I proved an awful lot to myself that semester, and I can’t even begin to say how amazing it feels to come away from it with 4.0s in my courses. The thing was, I only went part time, so I was still a bit anxious about the Fall semester…..but that’s a bit later in my post.

Another notable moment came in March, when we had a cake similar to this:

Yes, I turned 40 in 2010, although the younger Izzlets are still convinced I’m 29. I guess it doesn’t occur to them that their eldest sister is only 9 years younger than I am. But turning 40 has been kind of fun. I discovered that I can still love this:

AND still do this on a regular basis:

In other words, forty is fun

Another notable event was with my sister. We went here:

I met her there and spent the entire weekend in NYC. Despite living in the state of NY almost all of my life, I had never been to NYC, ever. So, I took one of these:

(although not THIS one, since that’s European, lol), from Syracuse to:

to spend the weekend looking for my sister’s wedding dress. It was a blast!!! My sister, step-mom and I walked all over Manhattan, looking for dresses in some great shops, like this:

and then some not so great shops, that had literally thousands of dresses to look through, with no rhyme or reason behind the organization. Despite that, and despite being exhausted, it really was fun. Plus, spending time with my sister was totally cool

After I got home from NYC, I had to get ready for the Fall semester. As I stated above, I did really well in the Spring, but I was still feeling a lot like this going into the Fall:

It was, of course, ridiculous. It was a difficult semester in many ways, and I had so much to do in the course of it which took me away from much of my duties as Mom, but in the end, I found that even as a full time student, I do well. My GPA for the semester is a 3.83, which isn’t too shabby, especially since that’s enough to make this:

So, there are the highlights of my 2010. Not too much, but still, it was a lot of fun and I did things I’d never done before

At this point, the one thing I’m looking forward to is getting onto one of these:

and flying to here:

to spend 4 days here:

which sounds like a past Pictorial Essay….but with a twist, because, first, this time it’s not just what I want to do, I am doing it. Second, Dublin is not the last port of call, for I am also flying here:

to spend a few days there, as well. Izzlet #1 and I are going…and it’s going to be a total blast! I also have this to look forward to, soon after I return from Europe:

No, not cake. My sister is getting married! And since I’m her Matron of Honour, I get to be a big part of it! And then I’m finishing up my Sophomore year at college.

So, while 2010 was exciting, 2011 is going to be just as exciting. If not more so. Happy New Year to all who do read my blog, and may your 2011 be wonderful, exciting, and full of joy!

 

Arrrggggg!!!

I love school. I really, really do. Despite the state of my house, how I have no time to do fun things (like post on my blog…), and how I am here, at school, more often than I’m at home. I love learning, and studying, and all the stuff that goes with that. I even love writing papers, believe it or not. BUT….you can’t tell me you didn’t know that was coming….I don’t like it this week. Whether you want to know why or not, I’m going to tell you why anyway.

Right now, I should be doing mega studying and writing, because it is the last week of classes. This means that next week is Finals Week. Oh, how I hate that term. Because of Finals Week looming on the not-so-distant horizon, I am stressed, tired of studying, hating the fact that I have papers to write, and just wanting to crawl into my bed and stay there until it’s all over. Unfortunately, that’s not a choice. And since it’s not a choice, I have been writing, and studying, and writing some more. It’s evil that Finals Weeks provokes one to hatred of otherwise likable activities *grumble, grumble*

On a more positive note, the coming of Finals Week means the end of the semester. While I do love school, I am going to be very glad that things are wrapping up for this semester. I need a break, I think. Life has been too hectic and I’ve forgotten what it’s like to just do NOTHING for a short amount of time. I will be able to charge my batteries, so to speak, eat copious amounts of Christmas cookies (well…not so much that one), and not have to think about why Hamlet delayed his revenge or how to write in the imparfait en français or remember the differences between the Rational Method of decision making and the Idiosyncratic Method. And, it will give me time to get excited about next semester, which I’m sure I will be by the first week of January. I’ll be like a little kid, so excited for the first day of school that they can’t sleep the night before. Well…that might not be the best example, since I know very few kids who actually like going to school, but you know what I mean. Plus, there is something fulfilling in finishing what one has started, and in this case, seeing how well I’ve done. My grades will be posted right before Christmas. The best present ever would be to find out I’ve made the President’s List! Time, and the finishing of these papers as well as the exams I have to take next week, will tell.

Looking at the title of this post, it looks like I’m talking about Pirates. That makes me think of Hamlet and his run in with the pirates. And that makes me remember how much more work I have to do on that research paper…..mon dieu…..

 

I got an award!

From my good friend, Lily, over at Never Fading Wood. I’m stunned and honoured and very happy to have been recognised in this way. I actually thought it might be because of my posting habits (or maybe I should say LACK of posting ), but no. Lily is far too nice for that But there are criteria in acceptance, in the form of questions. So, here goes….I’m sure you’re all dying to how I respond to this “interview.” My life is so fascinating! Make sure that you pop over to Never Fading Wood (at the link above and in my “Favourite Blogs” on the side bar! ). Tell her Izzy sent you!

Now for the criteria:
To accept the award you must link back and thank the person who gave you the Life is Good award and answer the 10 questions and pass it along to 6 other blogs

1. If you blog anonymously are you happy doing it that way; if you are not anonymous do you wish you had started out anonymously so you could be anonymous now?
Flosculi had started out as an “anonymous” blog, in a way. I purposefully used an online name, because honestly, I’m a bit touchy about letting people know about my writing. It was always something that was mine; that I didn’t have to share with anyone. Even creating this blog was a huge deal for me, because of that, so retaining even a bit of anonymity was important to me. But, as things tend to go in the world of the internet, I was “found out” and the existence of my blog told to everyone who knew me. There are good points to this…while I was a bit dismayed at the time, I’m kind of glad that those that know me know that I write a bit. I am still sort of incognito, but most people know who it is under the glasses, now

2.Describe one incident that shows your inner stubborn side.
Hmmm…I’m not sure where to start with this. There really are so many I know Mr Izz could give you umpteen incidences…but right now, I think the one incident which proves how stubborn I am is the pending move to Ireland (which I won’t get into too much here, since not all my readers know about this yet ). I was determined, and have done everything I can to make it happen. My mind was made up. Mr Izz could tell you about it

3.What do you see when you really look at yourself in the mirror?
Wow…this depends upon the day. Some days, I see someone completely unsure of herself, and her place in the world. Other times I see a strong, beautiful woman who isn’t afraid to chase after her dreams. I think, for the most part, I like who I see.

4. What is your favorite summer cold drink?
Water with a slice of lemon, or a frozen Margarita, depending upon what time of day it is

5. When you take time for yourself, what do you do?
I read (HA! This is why my being a Literature major is absolutely appropriate ), write, cook, and dance in the rain

6.Is there something you still want to accomplish in your life? What is it?
See #2 above I also want to get my degree in Literature, and possibly my Doctorate. Right now, I’m hoping to do this and #2 at the same time…more on that later. I would also like to write a children’s book, but that is kind of on hold right now.

7. When you attended school, were you the class clown, the class overachiever , the shy person, or always ditching?
I was a “band geek” and I’m still very proud of that.

8. If you close your eyes and want to visualize a very poignant moment of your life what would you see?
The day I went to Kilmainham Gaol in Dublin. For me, there was a mixture of awe and sadness in being in that place…it’s such a huge part of Irish history, and so many people died within its walls. The impact of being there, and seeing this bit of history, will always stay with me.

9. Is it easy for you to share your true self in your blog or are you more comfortable writing posts about other people or events?
I’m comfortable with either, really. I do write about my general life….Izzlets, dancing in the kitchen and the weather, for example. But I also like to just write. I have put a couple of short stories up on here, which was hard for me. So maybe it’s easier to just write about my life than it is for me to show the “other” part of my life which includes my writing. That’s a part of “me” I’ve always had a harder time sharing.

10. If you had the choice to sit down and read or talk on the phone, which would you do and why?
I despise the phone, and I love to read, so you can do the math on that one.

That’s me in a nutshell…not terribly interesting, I’m afraid. Now for the passing of the award. I don’t have much time to read many blogs, so I only have one I feel is worth of the award (other than Lily’s, of course, but she’s already been awarded) So, I nominate WIld Sparks, which is a lovely blog done by my friend Andrea!
Thank you, again,Lily, for the award! It means a lot

 

In honour of the Full Moon…

Poetry dedicated to the moon! You know you’ve been waiting for it, and it’s only taken me a few years to finally get to it. The problem is there are so many to choose from, it’s hard to narrow it down to just a few. But, I’m more than willing to try. So, for your reading pleasure, Moon Poetry, beginning with the moonrise:

Moonrise
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, in the white and the walk of the morning:
The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe of a finger-nail held to the candle,
Or paring of paradisaical fruit, lovely in waning but lustreless,
Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, of dark Maenefa the mountain;

A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, entangled him, not quite utterly.
This was the prized, the desirable sight, unsought, presented so easily,
Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, eyelid and eyelid of slumber.

And once the moon has risen, what is there to do, other than sit under it?

Under The Moon
by William Butler Yeats

I have no happiness in dreaming of Brycelinde,
Nor Avalon the grass-green hollow, nor Joyous Isle,
Where one found Lancelot crazed and hid him for a while;
Nor Uladh, when Naoise had thrown a sail upon the wind;
Nor lands that seem too dim to be burdens on the heart:
Land-under-Wave, where out of the moon’s light and the sun’s
Seven old sisters wind the threads of the long-lived ones,
Land-of-the-Tower, where Aengus has thrown the gates apart,
And Wood-of-Wonders, where one kills an ox at dawn,
To find it when night falls laid on a golden bier.
Therein are many queens like Branwen and Guinevere;
And Niamh and Laban and Fand, who could change to an otter or fawn,
And the wood-woman, whose lover was changed to a blue-eyed hawk;
And whether I go in my dreams by woodland, or dun, or shore,
Or on the unpeopled waves with kings to pull at the oar,
I hear the harp-string praise them, or hear their mournful talk.

Because of something told under the famished horn
Of the hunter’s moon, that hung between the night and the day,
To dream of women whose beauty was folded in dis may,
Even in an old story, is a burden not to be borne.

and then perhaps ask the moon to look down upon us…

Look Down, Fair Moon
by Walt Whitman

LOOK down, fair moon, and bathe this scene;
Pour softly down night’s nimbus floods, on faces ghastly, swollen, purple;
On the dead, on their backs, with their arms toss’d wide,
Pour down your unstinted nimbus, sacred moon.

Add a dash of sentimentality…

What Counsel Has the Hooded Moon
by James Joyce

What counsel has the hooded moon
Put in thy heart, my shyly sweet,
Of Love in ancient plenilune,
Glory and stars beneath his feet — -
A sage that is but kith and kin
With the comedian Capuchin?

Believe me rather that am wise
In disregard of the divine,
A glory kindles in those eyes
Trembles to starlight. Mine, O Mine!
No more be tears in moon or mist
For thee, sweet sentimentalist.

a bit of silliness, in the form of nervous nursery…

The Cruel Moon
by Robert Graves

The cruel Moon hangs out of reach
Up above the shadowy beech.
Her face is stupid, but her eye
Is small and sharp and very sly.
Nurse says the Moon can drive you mad?
No, that’s a silly story, lad!
Though she be angry, though she would
Destroy all England if she could,
Yet think, what damage can she do
Hanging there so far from you?
Don’t heed what frightened nurses say:
Moons hang much too far away.

and into the dawn…

Memoriam A. H. H.: 67. When on my bed the moonlight fall
by Lord Alfred Tennyson

When on my bed the moonlight falls,
I know that in thy place of rest
By that broad water of the west,
There comes a glory on the walls:
Thy marble bright in dark appears,
As slowly steals a silver flame
Along the letters of thy name,
And o’er the number of thy years.
The mystic glory swims away;
From off my bed the moonlight dies;
And closing eaves of wearied eyes
I sleep till dusk is dipt in gray:

And then I know the mist is drawn
A lucid veil from coast to coast,
And in the dark church like a ghost
Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn.

And with that, I end my tribute to the moon. Although……no poetical tribute would be complete without going a bit Wilde. That would just be blasphemous…at least for me

Endymion
by Oscar Wilde

THE apple trees are hung with gold,
And birds are loud in Arcady,
The sheep lie bleating in the fold,
The wild goat runs across the wold,
But yesterday his love he told,
I know he will come back to me.
O rising moon! O Lady moon!
Be you my lover’s sentinel,
You cannot choose but know him well,
For he is shod with purple shoon,
You cannot choose but know my love,
For he a shepherd’s crook doth bear,
And he is soft as any dove,
And brown and curly is his hair.

The turtle now has ceased to call
Upon her crimson-footed groom,
The grey wolf prowls about the stall,
The lily’s singing seneschal
Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all
The violet hills are lost in gloom.
O risen moon! O holy moon!
Stand on the top of Helice,
And if my own true love you see,
Ah! if you see the purple shoon,
The hazel crook, the lad’s brown hair,
The goat-skin wrapped about his arm,
Tell him that I am waiting where
The rushlight glimmers in the Farm.

The falling dew is cold and chill,
And no bird sings in Arcady,
The little fauns have left the hill,
Even the tired daffodil
Has closed its gilded doors, and still
My lover comes not back to me.
False moon! False moon! O waning moon!
Where is my own true lover gone,
Where are the lips vermilion,
The shepherd’s crook, the purple shoon?
Why spread that silver pavilion,
Why wear that veil of drifting mist?
Ah! thou hast young Endymion,
Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!

 

As Summer Into Autumn Slips

It’s hot and humid today. For the North Country, anyway. There is a haze on the horizon and everything just feels sticky and icky. Even the birds and insects seem to see this, as they lazily flit from here to there, with no particular thought of where to go in mind. Birds in winter are far more decisive, that’s for sure. Heck, I’m far more decisive when it’s -20 outside, too. Today, I’m almost feeling the need to grab my book du jour, find a nice shady spot under a tree, and just spend the day there. Note the use of the word “almost”. That might need a bit of explanation…
Mid August is a peculiar time here in the North Country. It’s technically still Summer; it’s hot, humid, and hazy, which for most people would give a sense of security in the continuation of Summer. Here, we are not nearly as secure, because we know it can go in the opposite direction at any moment. Today might be hot and humid, and tomorrow, we might have the first frost of the season. This gives us all a certain amount of lazy urgency…despite the lazy feel, we know that something ominous is looming on the horizon, in the form of cold and snow. Which brings me back to my desire of wanting that shady tree…I know it could be one of the last times I am able to do that this season which gives my feelings of summer ease a mingling of exigency. If I don’t take advantage now, the next time I’m able to do it, I might have to do it in an igloo under that tree. In other words, the frozen tundra of the North Country isn’t far in the future, and every resident, whether human or animal, is quite aware of that fact. The fact you can feel it coming doesn’t help. Yes, it’s hot-ish and humid, but there is a difference in how it feels. Even the trees seem aware of this, as they noticeably begin to change their adornments to colours more in tune with the coming season. And this makes me a bit melancholy. Which makes me feel a bit poetical. Which brings me to why I’m posting to begin with. I found a lovely poem by Emily Dickenson which summed my feelings up quite succinctly, and I wanted to share that with my readers…yes, all three of you! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

As Summer into Autumn slips
by Emily Dickinson

As Summer into Autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
“The Summer” than “the Autumn,” lest
We turn the sun away,

And almost count it an Affront
The presence to concede
Of one however lovely, not
The one that we have loved –

So we evade the charge of Years
On one attempting shy
The Circumvention of the Shaft
Of Life’s Declivity.

 

Izzy the Super Genius

I’m not one who relishes tests and quizzes. I tend to stress BIG time, as my French professor can attest (“Why are you so stressed? You will get an A on this one just the the other ones. Oh la la! you are so silly!!” ). My palms get all sweaty, my stomach feels like it’s going to flip and flop it’s way out completely, and my heart pounds like a bass drum during a Sousa march. It really is pathetic, especially since I typically do get A’s on everything (my French professor wasn’t fibbing). Maybe I get A’s because of the stress? That must be it. Leave it to me to find a way around the pathetic nature of it all. I’m just glad I have the summer off to recuperate. Well, I did have the summer. And this is where my story starts…I know, took me long enough. I wish I would stress out over my lack of brevity once in a while
SO, a couple of nights ago, we were sitting having dinner. We do this pretty much every night, so that isn’t really an interesting tidbit. I sit at the “foot” of the table, so I get to have two Izzlets….usually the smaller variety of Izzlet…on either side. On this particular evening, I was flanked my Séamus and Éamon, the Dynamic Duo of Casa Izz. They were chatting away at me, and I tried to listen to both of them as I made sure they had what they needed in terms of food and drink; I’m a good mom, what can I say. Apparently, in the midst of the chatting, they decided to compare their mathematical prowesses.
“What’s 3+3, Éamon?” asks Séamus.
Éamon becomes thoughtful, and then looks at me.
“It’s six” I tell him, and he smiles and gives Séamus the answer.
The fact that I told Éamon doesn’t escape Séamus’ notice, so he decides to start interrogating me.
“What’s 6+6, Mom?” he asks, with an air of superiority.
“It’s 12, Séamus.”
“What’s 20+20??”
“40″
“What’s 100+100???” At this point, you can tell he’s convinced I won’t know. I mean, we’re dealing with pretty big numbers now.
“It’s 200″ and he just looks at me wide eyed.
“Ok then” he says, and you can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, as he comes up with something super hard to ask. “What’s a million plus a million?” he asks, with a bit of awe in his voice. Now he’s broken out the big guns. He smirks at me, knowing I couldn’t possibly know the answer to this one. I mean, one million is the hugest number ever. Only the smartest people should know the answer to such an equation. And since I can see that whole line of reasoning in his eyes, I pause for a moment to “think”, that way he at least thinks it’s hard for me to come up with an answer.
“2 million,” I respond, after a moment or two of dramatic pausing. Both Séamus and Éamon just stare at me, mouths open wide with surprise and awe. Yes, awe.
“WOW!!!! She’s SMART!!” whispers Séamus, and Éamon nods eagerly in agreement.
Yeah, I basked in that moment of sheer awesomeness. I could have told them how easy an equation it was, but I liked the fact I was super smart in their eyes at that moment. So, I didn’t say a word. I’m sure they discussed how much of a “Super Genius” I was when they went to bed, and I like that fact. And for the next few days, I’ll retain that status….at least until they’re bold again and I have to yell at them. I don’t want to know what they’re saying then. So, I’ll milk this one for as long as I can.
I can honestly say I didn’t have an attack of nerves at all during that “quiz”. I was calm and self assured throughout the entire ordeal. My French professor would have been proud of me. Maybe if her quizzes were just as easy, I wouldn’t have to annoy her with my stress this fall. I’ll have to talk to her about that…