Thursday, November 26, 2009


Thanksgiving is the holiday of peace, the celebration of work and the simple life... a true folk-festival that speaks the poetry of the turn of the seasons, the beauty of seedtime and harvest, the ripe product of the year - and the deep, deep connection of all these things with God. -- Ray Stannard Baker (David Grayson)

Wednesday, November 11, 2009


When I turned 50 my cousin Renee sent me this poem.
Ever since I have shared it with my friends as they turned 50.
Now . . . it is her turn.
Happy Birthday Renee

What then? Shall we sit idly down and say
The night hath come; it is no longer day?
The night hath not yet come; we are not quite
Cut off from labor by the failing light;
Something remains for us to do or dare;
Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear;

But other something, would we but begin;
For age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress,
And as the evening twilight fades away
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) from: Morituii Salutamus