Tis the Season of...

The World is Too Much with Us

by William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

1807

Back to School

Sunday morning, summer’s end.
Monday morning, school begins.
Last day for carefree wisps of fun.

Sunday evening,
Stomach tightens, anticipating.
A weekly ritual begun.

i carry your heart

A forgotten post
waits for an uploaded pic
penned may 17

===========================================
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart)

I shared those lines from the famous poem with Joshua tonight. I had written them years ago to my father on Father's Day (back in college when I had no money for a gift so I made a gift). It's overwhelming at times to look at my children. My cup runneth over.

The Summer of Creativity is dawning. I've put running and exercising on the shelf for lots of reasons. I'm not interested. I'm extremely busy. I don't care. I'm tired. I'm not training for anything. I really should exercise, but other interests tug at my minuscule amount of spare time.

Cooking is really fun. Baking is even better. Watching the mama bird get food for her chirping babies in my back yard is so peaceful. Sipping tea and reading is luxurious. Watching Joshua's baseball games is what spring is about for us. Listening to Elijah play the piano while doing dishes is life. Running? I think I am ready to play soccer again. Not in a league though. Maybe just kick the ball around in the yard with the kids. I need new cleats though.

I did run with Joshua at Chuy's Hot to Trot. He's 7, and this is his first 5K.

Anniversary Poems

For David

Peach blossoms bloom a
soft pink smile to you and me.
Wedding day tribute.


This poem is from our wedding, read by Aron during the ceremony.

"At the Wedding March"
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

GOD with honour hang your head,
Groom, and grace you, bride, your bed
With lissome scions, sweet scions,
Out of hallowed bodies bred.

Each be other’s comfort kind:
Deep, deeper than divined,
Divine charity, dear charity,
Fast you ever, fast bind.

Then let the March tread our ears:
I to him turn with tears
Who to wedlock, his wonder wedlock,
Deals tríumph and immortal years.

Haiku for the day

Cool spring morning rush
Ebullient boys on the stairs
Regret fills my heart

Goals

This must be the race meant for me!

Fat Ass Trail Run


I don't miss the long runs.
There's no time in my day to miss them.
Sarah and I have been cycling toward Rosedale on March 28.
It's hard to get back in gear.
All of our long rides,
I've wondered how I rode 25 miles in the middle of a triathlon.
Man, I was in shape then.

So, dv laid out his goals for the world to read (whoever might the world be?).
I shall do the same, but I warn you. If you are here to read about running goals, you might need to hop off the track.

1. Complete 3 projects that have been looming over me for months and months. Complete them by May 15.

2. Rosedale Ride on March 28 - 65 miles

3. Rogue Trail Series:
May 3 - The Maze 10K Trail Run
May 31 - The Loop 10K Trail Run (they scheduled this early this year just for me, I'm sure!)
June 21 - The Bluff 10K Trail Run (um, sounds scary for clumsy folk)

And now, the Pièce de résistance:

4. Clean up my poems and write this summer. I won't be working. I'll have hours to compose while my kids swim and play. I am always writing in my head, so my big goal is to put pen to paper. Even if no one ever reads them. Yup. Maybe one day, I'll go to a writing workshop. Or a bunch of workshops. I think they call that an MFA.

Saturday Morning

Why is running on a treadmill so horrific for me? I honestly think treadmill pace/mile times are off. G-tree and I have had this discussion before, but I think I'm running faster than the treadmill shows. How, you ask? Well, my breathing is a good indicator. I sort of know when I'm huffing and puffing, and it seems every time I'm on a treadmill and just want to jog for 30 minutes, I'm gasping to keep up with the belt. Then I look at the screen and curse treadmill makers everywhere for displaying those pace/mile times anyway. I already think I'm slow, but I don't need a treadmill displaying some snail's pace in my face to let me know that I'm ultra-slow.

Enough of that. I can say that I'm very proud of myself for waking up at 6am while in Ft. Worth for a conference and going down to the hotel gym to run. The treadmill did have a new feature for me; it showed a birds-eye view either a track, hill, or 5K route while I ran.

I was away from my family for about 3 days for the first time ever. I have never been away from all three of my boys at the same time. I think they missed me more than I missed them. I did miss them, but the conference was busy, and I had no idle time to really pine away.

For years and years, almost every night I turn my lamp off beside my bed after reading. If I'm not terribly tired, I will think to myself, "One day I won't turn this lamp off." Some nights, I will think, "One day, I won't be laying in this bed, falling asleep." I'm not talking about moving. I'm not talking about getting a new lamp or bed. It is the blight I was born for.

Fall Equinox

Happy first day of Autumn. In Texas, that just means we might notice that the daylight and darkness are exactly equal since we won't be noticing any lovely leaf changes just yet. In honor of the Fall Equinox, I will post a beloved poem below (by my favorite poet, no less).

Since this is also supposed to be a blog about exercise/running, I will recap my feeble attempts at squeezing in time for a meaningful workout. Since I started my new (full-time) job, I have only managed to run twice/week. So last week, I vowed to change that (it also helps that a cool front blew in and I had to wear pants that I hadn't donned for months and said pants were snug).

Monday - 900s at Zilker. Being out of shape reminded me why I used to despise this workout. It was good to see my 5k/10k buddies though. I warmed up (and even did drills!), and then the group completed 5 900s. Once again, I admit I'm sucky at running up hills.

Tuesday - Lifetime Fitness. We've been giving our money to this gym and then staying away. Perfect scenario for them. I did 30 minutes on that running elliptical machine, then took the boys to the outside pool and watched them shiver in the cool water and colder breeze.

Wednesday - Bootcamp with Richard. I had planned to run beforehand but plans were foiled on two fronts. I forgot a sports bra, and DV forgot Joshua's bike helmet. I refuse to run without a sports bra, and my children aren't allowed to bike without a helmet. Instead, Joshua and I strolled around the new pond next to Palmer Auditoreum while Elijah was at piano. It's a really lovely little park area, and I quite enjoyed the time with Joshie. He's recently been clingy, and I think it's hit him that I work full-time now and am not around as much.
Bootcamp was awesome, btw. I really like that class and would go there over running on Wednesdays if I couldn't do both.

Thursday - 2 miles around the Small Middle School track during Joshua's football practice. It's not much, but it's more than before.

Friday - Does sitting in a chair for 2 hours getting my hair done count?

Saturday - Long run with Leslie and Elizabeth. They did 7 and I did 5?. I had to leave Runtex at 7:30am to get home in time to leave for Joshua's flag football game. It was really nice to run with them both. I haven't run with Elizabeth in ages. I also absolutely love running on the northeast side of the trail. It's so breathtaking in places.

Now for the promised poem. It's a good one, so please do read it. :o)

"Spring and Fall, to a Young Child"

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

-- Gerard Manley Hopkins

Dreams

"O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Over men’s noses as they lie asleep;
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
The traces of the smallest spider’s web,
The collars of the moonshine’s watery beams,
Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film,
Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,
Not so big as a round little worm
Prick’d from the lazy finger of a maid;
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;
O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on court’sies straight,
O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees,
O’er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail
Tickling a parson’s nose as a’ lies asleep,
Then dreams, he of another benefice:
Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plaits the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage:
This is she—"

— Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet, Act I, scene iv

Poetry for a dad or two

For my dad:

"My Father"
by Yehuda Amichai

The memory of my father is wrapped up in
white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day at work.

Just as a magician takes towers and rabbits
out of his hat, he drew love from his small body,

and the rivers of his hands
overflowed with good deeds.


For my husband:

1723
by Emily Dickinson

High from the earth I heard a bird;
He trod upon the trees
As he esteemed them trifles,
And then he spied a breeze,
And situated softly
Upon a pile of wind
Which in a perturbation
Nature had left behind.
A joyous-going fellow
I gathered from his talk,
Which both of benediction
And badinage partook,
Without apparent burden,
I learned, in leafy wood
He was the faithful father
Of a dependent brood;
And this untoward transport
His remedy for care,—
A contrast to our respites.
How different we are!

Also for my husband:

"Anecdote for Fathers"
by William Wordsworth

I have a boy of five years old;
His face is fair and fresh to see;
His limbs are cast in beauty’s mould,
And dearly he loves me.

One morn we strolled on our dry walk,
Our quiet home all full in view,
And held such intermitted talk
As we are wont to do.

My thoughts on former pleasures ran;
I thought of Kilve’s delightful shore,
Our pleasant home when spring began,
A long, long year before.

A day it was when I could bear
Some fond regrets to entertain;
With so much happiness to spare,
I could not feel a pain.

The green earth echoed to the feet
Of lambs that bounded through the glade,
From shade to sunshine, and as fleet
From sunshine back to shade.

Birds warbled round me—and each trace
Of inward sadness had its charm;
Kilve, thought I, was a favoured place,
And so is Liswyn farm.

My boy beside me tripped, so slim
And graceful in his rustic dress!
And, as we talked, I questioned him,
In very idleness.

“Now tell me, had you rather be,”
I said, and took him by the arm,
“On Kilve’s smooth shore, by the green sea,
Or here at Liswyn farm?”

In careless mood he looked at me,
While still I held him by the arm,
And said, “At Kilve I’d rather be
Than here at Liswyn farm.”

“Now, little Edward, say why so:
My little Edward, tell me why.”—
“I cannot tell, I do not know.”—
“Why, this is strange,” said I;

“For, here are woods, hills smooth and warm:
There surely must some reason be
Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm
For Kilve by the green sea.”

At this, my boy hung down his head,
He blushed with shame, nor made reply;
And three times to the child I said,
“Why, Edward, tell me why?”

His head he raised—there was in sight,
It caught his eye, he saw it plain—
Upon the house-top, glittering bright,
A broad and gilded vane.

Then did the boy his tongue unlock,
And eased his mind with this reply:
“At Kilve there was no weather-cock;
And that’s the reason why.”

O dearest, dearest boy! my heart
For better lore would seldom yearn,
Could I but teach the hundredth part
Of what from thee I learn.


One last poem for fathers that I find amusing:

"On the Birth of His Son"
Su Tung-p'o (c. 1070, trans. Arthur Waley, 1919)

Families, when a child is born
Want it to be intelligent.
I, through intelligence,
Having wrecked my whole life,
Only hope the baby will prove
Ignorant and stupid.
Then he will crown a tranquil life
By becoming a Cabinet Minister.

The Darndest Things

My friend, Kendra, reminded me this weekend that on my birthday I'd be twice as old as I was when I graduated high school. Thanks, Kendra! I never thought of it that way.

Yesterday, Joshua said, "I love sports, sleep, and Star Wars."

My class had Painted Lady caterpillars. They were tiny. They came in a clear, plastic jar complete with food of some sort. They ate and ate. We left one Friday with tiny caterpillars and returned Monday to these really large caterpillars. It was astounding how quickly they grew. That very day one after another formed a chrysalis. How do they do that? Spit? Molting? The children were amazed. The teachers were amazed. A little over a week later, chrysalis after chrysalis started to shake. It takes them a long time to come out. I waited and waited hoping to see one actually come out, but I never saw one emerge. I'd see a chrysalis shaking and then later there would be this quiet, lovely Painted Lady butterfly next to the empty shell. We admired our Ladies for a couple of days. I gave them watermelon over the weekend. Yesterday we released them, and I hope they have a glorious life of sucking flower nectar. What a great thing to be. Fly from flower to flower sipping nectar, helping with cross-pollination, just being all-around beautiful and graceful. People like butterflies. It would be a different story if you were say...a roach or a spider.

Elijah has this front tooth that's been sticking out like he was kicked in the face with a hoof. It's a baby tooth just dangling by a few roots. His permanent tooth is growing in behind it. I tried to pull it last night but don't have the stomach for it. David didn't even try to pull it. We are the weak-stomached parents.

Speaking of David, he won another race. Maybe one day I'll actually get to be at the finish of a race he wins. He works really hard and runs twice a day, if you were wondering how he keeps improving. While he runs, I eat. Jack Sprat could eat no fat...

A child at my preschool had lice. My head itches all the time now. Have you ever had lice? I believe a poem is in order, and it's one of my favorites, too!

"To a Louse"
by Robert Burns (modern English translation below but do try the original!)

Ha! Whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly,
I canna say but ye strut rarely
Owre gauze and lace,
Tho' faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her --
Sae fine a lady!
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.

Swith! in some beggar's hauffet squattle:
There you may creep, and sprawl, and spr
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud you there! ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right,
Till ye've got on it ---
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height
O' miss's bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose ou
As plump an' grey as onie grozet:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I'd gie ye sic a hearty dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum!

I wad na been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy:
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On's wyliecoat;
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fye!
How daur ye do't.

O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
You little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin!
Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin'!

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!


Modern Translation

Ha! Where are you going, you crawling wonder?
Your impudence protects you sorely,
I can not say but you swagger rarely
Over gauze and lace,
Though faith! I fear you dine but sparingly
On such a place

You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by saint and sinner,
How dare you set your foot upon her -
Such fine a lady!
Go somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body

Off! in some beggar's temples squat:
There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble,
With other kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle
Your thick plantations

Now hold you there! you are out of sight,
Below the falderals, snug and tight;
No, faith you yet! you will not be right,
Until you have got on it ---
The very topmost, towering height
Of misses bonnet.

My sooth! right bold you set your nose out,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry:
O for some rank, mercurial resin,
Or deadly, red powder,
I would give you such a hearty dose of it,
Would dress your breech!

I would not have been surprised to spy
You on an old wife's flannel cap:
Or maybe some small ragged boy,
On his undervest;
But Miss's fine balloon bonnet! fye!
How dare you do it.

O Jenny do not toss your head,
And set your beauties all abroad!
You little know what cursed speed
The blastie's making!
Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice taking!

O would some Power the gift to give us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notion:
What airs in dress and gait would leave us,
And even devotion!

Spring Equinox

To celebrate the first day of my favorite season, I'm sharing my favorite poem. Enjoy.

Spring

Nothing is so beautiful as spring—
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden.—Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.


-Gerard Manley Hopkins
1877

Langston Hughes

It's been far too long since poetry graced this blog.

Three poems by Langston Hughes for your reading pleasure (it was going to be two poems, but how can one choose only two from such a well of words?).

-----------------------------------------------

"April Rain Song"

Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.


-----------------------------------

"I, Too, Sing America"


I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--

I, too, am America.

-1924
-------------------------------------------
(click to hear Langston Hughes talk about this poem and read it! Awesome!)

"The Negro Speaks of Rivers"

I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human rivers
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

-1920

Christmas Poem

Merry Christmas. I'll play catch-up again tomorrow, or the next day, or the next...

For your current reading enjoyment, please partake of the below poem by my favorite poet: Gerard Manley Hopkins.


The Windhover

To Christ our Lord

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—-the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! And the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

Yo, Banana Boy Fartlek

My sons had so much fun with these:

race car
yo, banana boy
toot (Joshua's favorite)
radar
never odd or even
a Toyota (I'd love it if it were a Prius)

"Huh?" you say. What are those? Can you think of one?

That was a game we played during fartlek. Starr, Sarah and Allison thought I was a kook for a few minutes there as I randomly blurted out words and phrases, but then Sarah figured it out.

We ran fartlek on the trail finally, so each group was on their own watch. I've been asking Gilbert for a trail fartlek for our class for months and months. Allison and Starr kept overtaking Sarah and I on their hard minute, and then we'd pass them on our "hard" minute. I made the comment that we were like the compass in an old classic poem, but they didn't know what I was talking about. :-(

So, here is some much needed poetry.


A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

- John Donne, 1611

Running 'round the track on a chilly evening

The night before Thanksgiving,
I ran around the track.
Fifteen 400s; I sure don't slack.
That's almost 4 miles
of speedy, running fun.
Gilbert braved Whole Foods
while 4 Gazelles did their run.
The cold front blasted us,
but it could not shut us down.
Holmes was by my side,
with New-Allison and Starr.
Who knew we'd go for 15?
Who knew we'd run so far?
The family from Burundi
and Meg did the workout, too.
What a time to grow in grace
as I see them brave the New.
The night before Thanksgiving,
Fifteen 400s over and done.
Counting of my blessings - just begun.

Good Reads

In this installment, I share what I'm currently reading as well as a poem. If you want to play "Name that Poem" please do. I love seeing if anyone not only reads the poem but makes that extra effort to name the poet and title.


I'm reading The Elegant Universe by Brian Greene. I've had this book for a couple of years, and I've tried on and off again to read it. I generally read before bed, and this book requires much more brain activity than my pre-bedtime brain can muster. I would read and re-read the same sections trying to understand the theories (my degrees are not in Physics or Math, fyi). However, I love this theory, and we've watched the NOVA production a few times.

It was my turn to choose a book for my book club. I've thought about choosing this one in the past, but I finally did it this time around. Others reading it with me and then discussing it with me is a great motivator. I've asked David to read it with me many times. I imagine the wonderful discussions we'd have over string theory and could it work and how it works. He hasn't expressed any interest in reading it, but he did watch the NOVA shows with me.

So, if you are looking for something really great to read, I recommend this book. If you try to read it and just can't, then please do at least watch the NOVA production (which you can watch free online on the NOVA web site).

On to the poetry. Have you ever head of a Found Poem? Look for some today or tomorrow or the next day. It's fun; I promise.

Is this a poem? You decide...

When there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
If you can hold on
If you can hold on, hold on
I wanna stand up, I wanna let go
You know, you know - no you don't, you don't
I wanna shine on in the hearts of men
I wanna meaning from the back of my broken hand

Another head aches, another heart breaks
I'm so much older than I can take
And my affection, well it comes and goes
I need direction to perfection, no no no no

Help me out
Yeah, you know you got to help me out
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the back burner
You know you got to help me out

And when there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
These changes ain't changing me
The gold-hearted boy I used to be

Yeah, you know you got to help me out
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the back burner
You know you got to help me out
You're gonna bring yourself down
Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down

I got soul, but I'm not a soldier

Over and in, last call for sin
While everyone's lost, the battle is won
With all these things that I've done

Rainy Day Fun

I saw my mom explode at dinner last night.
She ate one too many brownies, I'm told.
It was gruesome and gave me quite a fright.
Now my mom will never, ever grow old.

Poem by Joshua and his Exploded Mom


"Men want hot women, study confirms"

That is a headline of Popular news on cnn.com. I had to LOL. Is that something that really needs to be studied? As if we didn't already know that. Here's the story, if you are interested in reading something that I could have told you without doing a study. I particularly like this story highlight: Men are much less choosy than women. Uh...yeah.

So, yesterday was rainy, soggy circuit with lots of core. Lots of folks didn't show thanks to some major downpours right before class. Wednesday is my absolute most favorite workout - Tempo. < grin > Gilbert will be flying in from somewhere and will be late, so we will probably start ourselves off on our own.

I have a recurring Wednesday dilemma that I need to sort out. Elijah now has piano right near the TLT from 3:15pm - 4:15pm on Wednesdays (thank goodness it moved from Mondays at 5:15pm). So, I will be right there for an hour, and then I'll drive him home and turn right back around and drive right back down to where I started from. I'm thinking of doing my Wednesday workouts while he's in piano to save time, gas, money, CO2 in the air...but I'll miss seeing my friends in class. I might try an every-other-week sort of thing.

Let's close today's blog with a poem.


She sweeps with many-colored brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!

You dropped a purple ravelling in,
You dropped an amber thread;
And now you've littered all the East
With duds of emerald!

And still she plies her spotted brooms,
And still the aprons fly,
Till brooms fade softly into stars -
And then I come away.

-Emily Dickinson

Name That Poem #2

So this one can be considered a poem, but it's actually not a poem. It's still really famous, and it's something I was quoting and discussing with Dawn on my Cali trip.

O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.

Bonus points for anyone who can continue to recite without looking it up online (Dawn is exempt as I know she can recite it). A good answer would include who says this in addition to the author and title of the work.

Do you have a quote you want to try out on folks? Put it in a comment or email me. I love trying to guess poems. It makes me use parts of my brain that have seemingly gone into retirement.

Have fun.

Name that Poem

I love poetry. Always have. I think more people should read poetry, and in particular, I want to get back to poetry. With that in mind, I've decide to have a regular series on this blog called "Name that Poem."

I often have snippets of poems floating around my head (some by famous poets and some by yours truly). Yesterday during my Tempo run, I had this line in my head:

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

I love that poem. It is truly a brilliant poem. I'm not saying that the way actors talk about their directors and co-actors because in their world everyone in Hollywood is "brilliant." I honestly believe that poem is brilliant.

So, the rules. No rules really. You can just name it in your head to yourself (poem title and author, please). You can email me an answer. You can answer via comment. It would be nice if you didn't just google the line. It would be fun if you tried to remember it, tried to think back to those bygone days of literature class, tried to remember if it was American, English, or World literature you first read that line, tried to come up with another line of the poem. Because that line is pretty famous as far lines of poetry go...

I suppose the only rule is to have fun, and I encourage you to read the poem once you've found the title and author.