Sorry, Chesterton seems to be all I have time for these days...

...but that's not such a bad thing, is it? :-)

They haven't got no noses,
The fallen sons of Eve;
Even the smell of roses
Is not what they supposes;
But more than mind discloses
And more than men believe.

They haven't got no noses,
They cannot even tell
When door and darkness closes
The park a Jew encloses,
Where even the law of Moses
Will let you steal a smell.

The brilliant smell of water,
The brave smell of a stone,
The smell of dew and thunder,
The old bones buried under,
Are things in which they blunder
And err, if left alone.

The wind from winter forests,
The scent of scentless flowers,
The breath of brides' adorning,
The smell of snare and warning,
The smell of Sunday morning,
God gave to us for ours

* * * * *

And Quoodle here discloses
All things that Quoodle can,
They haven't got no noses,
They haven't got no noses,
And goodness only knowses
The Noselessness of Man.

~GKC, The Song of Quoodle

I love Chesterton...

My Lady clad herself in grey,
 That caught and clung about her throat;
Then all the long grey winter day
 On me a living splendour smote;
And why grey palmers holy are,
 And why grey minsters great in story,
And grey skies ring the morning star,
 And grey hairs are a crown of glory.

My Lady clad herself in green,
 Like meadows where the wind-waves pass;
Then round my spirit spread, I ween,
 A splendour of forgotten grass.
Then all that dropped of stem or sod,
 Hoarded as emeralds might be,
I bowed to every bush, and trod
 Amid the live grass fearfully.

My Lady clad herself in blue,
 Then on me, like the seer long gone,
The likeness of a sapphire grew,
 The throne of him that sat thereon.
Then knew I why the Fashioner
 Splashed reckless blue on sky and sea;
And ere 'twas good enough for her,
 He tried it on Eternity.

Beneath the gnarled old Knowledge-tree
 Sat, like an owl, the evil sage:
'The World's a bubble,' solemnly
 He read, and turned a second page.
'A bubble, then, old crow,' I cried,
 'God keep you in your weary wit!
'A bubble--have you ever spied
 'The colours I have seen on it?'

~A Chord of Colour

Fun with electronics

Well, I'd only been minus a computer for about a week. It seemed like an eternity. Just when there were actually important things to do on it, I spilled enough water (which is apparently a pretty miniscule amount as long as it gets into the right compartment) to get a blue screen. Which, I have recently found out, means you're done for.

Moral: Computers need personal space bubbles too.

School is stalking me

Random comment of the day: I want to go dancing.

There have been a series of good and bad books parading my shelves since the beginning of summer-library use can become addictive. One of the good ones was especially notable: Kate Thompson's The New Policeman. I don't know how she found the time to do it, but the author included sheet music for one traditional Irish folk tune in each and every chapter. The musical effort was quite impressive and the story-well, the story was imaginative. She asked why everyone was so busy all the time and answered her own question: all our time was being leaked into another world and destroying both worlds in the process, not to mention creating a lonely sock problem. It was good, as far as kids' stories go.

Got to finish homework (yeah, been going all summer... again.)

Long time gone

I've not written on this in a while. My e key isn't depressing-probably clogged with bird seed. Well, this is an old declamation I wrote but was persuaded out of turning in because of the obscurity of the references. Nobody who doesn't love this particular library, these books, cds and movies, and this Tolkien imagery as much as I do will understand it at first go. Go on, I dare you :-) Try it!

I wander in from blinding cold, shuffling slowly up two flights of steps and through claustrophobic space between separated doors into light and dim warmth. Purple carpet hushes snowy, dancing feet. To the left are two sagging easy chairs, facing a row of rectangular golden shapes taller than Mr. Wilson. Straight forward, and the spider spinning wasted time beckons. Dizzy from fluorescent light, I scarcely see her. Who needs a poorly painted metal box with the treasure of a thousand dragon caves in plain sight? A few parka’d moths seem to be growing exoskeletons within her webs, despite my incredulity. I can do nothing for moths with interesting overcoats. From the left corner of my eye, the fluttered whispering of dreams floats up the long hall. I trip right down after it, avoiding sideways glances at the tempting vaults of Benedictine with a Welsh accent, Joan Hickson’s pink wool, and P. D. Q. Bach. Left at the second circle of spiders, and the treasure so well-guarded peeks out at me from the third row up between D and E. My hand trembling, I try to slip it from its hiding place, but those between whose covers it rests are reluctant to let it go. Shuffling, slipping, and shuddering, the book finally slides into my hands, and I clutch it with the stifled song of victory ringing through my veins. Emily, Kate, a bundle of aunts, the truce circle, and the king of the goblins are mine once more. Two whole weeks of another world, then the dragon claims his own once more.

tty'alll

Last time, I think I can promise...

hodie, libellum scribebam. paulum magis quam hebdomas ludo est. utinam e ludo evolare possem... in tergo maximi cygni nomine Laurelis... improspere, Laurel nunc in Ioona remanet. ut Harrius Potter in Quidditch, Polly in tempore antiqua, Susana in Narnia, principissa cum Lina, comitessa Marple in Beata Maria Hydromelite, Rakkety Tam in dejuratione, etc.... nunc sola cum pagina alba sedi. utinam item libellum finiam. de Chestertone est, et male scribo. utinam nunc apud meum domum essem. utinam ne necesse sit ire ad ludum cras. utinam ne nix e caelo cadat cras. et paene aequi credibiles eventi sunt. (quindecim sententias nunc, quinque magis...) utinam pensa ut televisione essent-supervacua et facile. nihil melior est quam libellum ad media nocte ut excitas e eodem-ness collegionis communis. utinam non necesse essent scribere ut hoc, sed nunc complevi.

(Today, I've been writing a paper. Only a little more than a week left for school-yes!!! I wish I could escape school flying on Laurel's back... unfortunately, Laurel is currently trapped in Joona. As are all my other favourite literary characters. It's just me and the blank page now. I also hope I can finish this paper. It's about Chesterton and not going as well as it should be. And now I wish I was home. (Can you tell which construction we're practicing this week? No complaints here-I could wish myself to Redwall and back with less trouble than it takes to turn on the radio.) I hope the school's closed tomorrow. I hope it doesn't snow tomorrow. Both of which are just about equally likely events. (fifteen sentences now, five more...) I wish homework were like watching tv again-brainless and quick. Nothing better than a midnight paper for waking you up from that community college repetitiveness! I wish it weren't necessary to write like this, but-done!!!)

It is so wonderful to hear that word. Done! Complevi! Finivi! Ho yes, non necesse est mihi loqui magis in Latine! But now I want to... that must have been his plan all along! Oh, we have a very sneaky Latin teacher!! Well, see y'all in a few days-school is really almost over!

Sententias Latinas:
Magister rogavit Quintusne ceciderit. Rogavi cur Quintusne ceciderit. Ne rogaveris mihi quaestiones. Non recte respondebo. Marcus tam ridiculosus est ut etiam male pugnaverit. Ne barbare ederit, fratre. Nescio quidne Marcus egerit. Nescio puellae ploraverit. Nescio cur puellae ad ludum egerint.