Frosty Moon of November

Last Thursday, Opening Day, when it was starting to get dark and Kevin and Sammy were not yet in from the woods, I could see the moon in the sky through the south-facing window of our dining room. This is my view when I'm sitting at my computer. It was a beautiful, chubby crescent moon, and the sky was still very blue, but getting darker by the second. I grabbed my camera and got 2 photos during those few moments before it was too dark. This jpg file doesn't do it justice, so you'll have to use your imagination...



As I walked back into the house, niggling at the edges of my brain was a poem, or nursery verse or something that I knew as a kid that was about the moon... but I just couldn't recall it. I sat back down at my computer and started searching. I never did find whatever it was I was looking for, but I found some old memories anyway.

And I found this web site, Ongoing Tales, which is really neat. Old-time poetry set to old-time music, which you can turn off if you want. I think kids would like it, and it would introduce them to some lovely old poems.

This is the poem I found about the crescent moon, and though it isn't a poem I could recite, even bits of, it seems familiar to me. And another cool tidbit, my photo is of a waxing crescent moon... a new moon...

   THE NEW MOON
   by Eliza Lee Follen

   Dear mother, how pretty
   The moon looks to-night!
   She was never so cunning before;
   Her two little horns
   Are so sharp and bright,
   I hope she'll not grow any more.
   If I were up there,
   With you and my friends,
   I'd rock in it nicely, you'd see;
   I'd sit in the middle
   And hold by both ends.
   Oh, what a bright cradle 't would be!

   I would call to the stars
   To keep out of the way,
   Lest we should rock over their toes;
   And then I would rock
   Till the dawn of the day,
   And see where the pretty moon goes.

   And there we would stay
   In the beautiful skies,
   All through the bright clouds we would roam;
   We would see the sun set,
   And see the sun rise,
   And on the next rainbow come home.

Beautiful, isn't it? It got me wondering who Eliza Lee Follen was and if she published many poems. It turned out to be a bit difficult to find information about her, though I finally found this small bit, and now I would like to read her book. I could find much more information on her husband, Charles. Reading about the 2 of them just made me like her poem, The New Moon, even more.

I like taking note of the moon phases. The difference in how the moon's phase provides light at night out here in the country is noticeable. I've been out walking in the yard or the woods (no, not alone) a time or two during a full moon when it seemed almost as bright as day, well, a cloudy day anyway. I like to know if the moon is waxing or waning. And while I was on the Star Date site, I found this interesting article... so a "new moon" is technically a "none moon" and not a crescent at all. Hmmm...

This list of names for each full moon is also interesting... so we are coming up on the Frosty Moon of November.

Autumn Bones

Changelings by Mary Thacher Higginson

        The ghosts of flowers went sailing
        Through the dreamy autumn air, --
The gossamer wings of the milkweed brown,
And the sheeny silk of the thistle-down;
        But there was no bewailing,
        And never a hint of despair.

        From the mountain-ash was swinging
        A gray, deserted nest;
Scarlet berries where eggs had been;
Softly the flower-wraiths floated in:
        And the brook and the breeze were singing
        When the sun sank down in the west.

Orange October

"October" by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow,
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost –
For the grapes' sake along the wall.

You're welcome

Do yourself a big, wonderful favor and go read my nephew's blog post here.

Egg suction

I had to take a short break this morning from my work on reconciliation of 2nd quarter numbers (before my head explodes... or implodes... um, probably more like implode because this headache really sucks!)...

So anyway, I took down my book of Robert Frost poems and flipped through it. I found one that made me smile. If I have read this poem before, I don’t remember it.

There is an index in this book that tells me this poem was first published in April of 1947 in “The Atlantic Monthly.” Though I know that WWII ended in 1945, I still wondered... so to brush up on what was going on in the U.S. back in 1947, I found this web site. Interesting.

When you think about what’s going on in the world today, and has happened since 1947, particularly over in China, Japan and really all of Asia, this poem seemed to me to be very entertaining. Thus, I share it with you here...

AN IMPORTER

Mrs. Someone’s been to Asia.
What she brought back would amaze ye.
Bamboos, ivories, jades, and lacquers,
Devil-scaring firecrackers,
Recipes for tea with butter,
Sacred rigmaroles to mutter,
Subterfuge for saving faces,
A developed taste in vases,
Arguments too stale to mention
‘Gainst American invention –
Most of all the mass production
Destined to prove our destruction.
What are telephones, skyscrapers,
Safety razors, Sunday papers
But the silliest evasion
Of the truths we owe an Asian?
But the best of her exhibit
Was a prayer machine from Tibet
That by brook power in the garden
Kept repeating Pardon, pardon;
And as picturesque machinery
Beat a sundial in the scenery –
The most primitive of engines
Mass-producing with a vengeance.
Teach those Asians mass production?
Teach your grandmother egg suction.

So many frogs

This is yet another post about my venture out to our old little pond the other night. I had noticed earlier last week that there are a lot more frogs at our big pond this year than there has been the last few years. Out at the small pond, there were tons of them, and these little guys just sat there and let me photograph them. They were lined up along the edge of the pond, like little well-trained greeters.



They were in various degrees of growth... I even saw a few tadpoles.









It reminded me of a poem I knew as a kid from the Childcraft set, the Poem and Rhymes book...



I loved the illustration with it:



While I was at the pond, I was looking down into it and I suddenly realized I was watching a turtle swimming upward toward the surface. The water was actually a dark brown when I looked out at it, though the photos make it look blue from the reflection of the sky... the water was murkey, but I could see the turtle quite clearly. By the time I finally remembered to take a photo, this is what I got:



The turtle came up to the surface and gulped up a bug and then went right back down. You can barely see his foot in that photo.

The Sycamores

At my folks’ place, over on the West 20 down by the river, there are quite a few sycamore trees. I love the bark on these trees. My dad calls them buttonwood trees. I took this photo back in June.



This made me think of another poem I like from my old book of Whittier poems...





There is so much about that poem that I don’t understand, like the references to Hugh Tallant, Erin’s outcasts, Aronia by the river, Keezar, Tadmor... I keep meaning to do some research, but I haven’t felt inspired to do so... I think it’s because I like the poem so much now & I’m happy in my ignorance. I love how the words roll off your tongue... this is a good poem to read aloud.

Snowy poetry

Go here and read Molly's poem about her Snow Day!

Thy own pumpkin pie

Happy Thanksgiving!

I've mentioned before that I have a lot of old books. One of the oldest is a book of Whittier’s poems.





I bought this in a local used bookstore. One thing I love about buying old, used books is seeing the inscriptions on the inside. This one says Merry Christmas To Carrie From Albert.



I found this poem many Thanksgivings ago and made my family suffer through my reading of it at the dinner table. I love this poem.

Walk a mile in my shoes...

I am a faithful fan CMU public radio, of NPR and of 'The Writer's Almanac.' If I'm a bit late to work in the mornings, I get to hear Garrison read a poem to me, so it's well worth it.

This morning's poem by the poet & author Ron Koertge is one I just loved! It made me laugh out loud, and then feel very sorry for Cinderella...

Cinderella's Diary

I miss my stepmother. What a thing to say
but it's true. The prince is so boring: four
hours to dress and then the cheering throngs.
Again. The page who holds the door is cute
enough to eat. Where is he once Mr. Charming
kisses my forehead goodnight?

Every morning I gaze out a casement window
at the hunters, dark men with blood on their
boots who joke and mount, their black trousers
straining, rough beards, callused hands, selfish,
abrupt ...

Oh, dear diary—I am lost in ever after:
Those insufferable birds, someone in every
room with a lute, the queen calling me to look
at another painting of her son, this time
holding the transparent slipper I wish
I'd never seen.

Springing

I didn't go into the office today because I've been feeling sick since Sunday night. I've been logged into our company network and working since about 7am, though. I took a break about 20 minutes ago, so I could walk out to our mailbox & leave some mail for the mailman to pick up today. Of course I took my camera with me... and Reilly, too.


He was very happy with the short excursion. It is a beautiful day out, and the breeze and little bit of sunshine felt good on my aching head. The birdsong is constant. I've been trying to identify the birds by the songs I hear, using my new "Birdsong IdentiFlyer" that Kev & the kiddos gave me for my birthday. I didn't realize how pretty the brown-headed cowbird's song is... I got this photo of one flying over the pond on my way back to the house.


I have always disliked cowbirds because they lay their eggs in other birds' nests, often resulting in that bird's eggs not hatching or the juvenile birds not living because the juvenile cowbird hogs all the food. But cowbirds can't help it, that's just what cowbirds do. I think they are a pretty bird, with their stout black beak, brown head and shiny black body... and they have a pretty song. Cowbirds, back on the dancecard for me.

We also have a lot of chipping sparrows, but they are so shy and quick, I can rarely get a good photo of them. I've tried often... this photo turned out ok. I love their tail feathers.


Before I went into the house, I headed over to check out my rock garden & herb garden (while Reilly went to say hey to Barney & Betty). My iris is blooming.


The spurge and ajuga in my rock garden are blooming profusely right now. The bumble bees love the purple flowers of the ajuga. Joycie has had to write some poetry for her publications class, and she showed me one of her poems this morning. Without her permission, I'm including it. Coz I love it.


BUMBLE BEES

Bumble, bumble, bumble bee
Going from flower to flower to tree
Working every day gathering food
Seeing them buzz puts me in a good mood

Bumble, bumble, bumble bee
They're everywhere, can't you see?
Living in a hive, making honey
Going outside only when it's sunny

& on the 5th day of spring break...

Yesterday was quite a day... we spent the morning getting the beast into the house... Kevin's new 600-lb. gun safe out of the back of his pickup, up the sidewalk, up the 4 front steps of the porch, up the 1 step through the front door and situated at its final resting place. Where it will remain forever.

That was an unforgettable experience. Kev used his tractor to pull it out of his pickup, then we manhandled it onto a hand-truck. When we got to the front steps, which are wooden, we discovered the wheels of the hand-truck were just the right size to fit under the step. Did I say fit? I meant get stuck. So Kev & Dad went over and put the front bucket on Dad's tractor, since that bucket is not as wide as Kev's, and we manhandled the beast onto the bucket and Dad lifted it up onto the porch. My heart was in my throat throughout this entire endeavor. If that thing fell and landed on you, it would kill you. Or at least smash a body part beyond recognition.

With Joycie, Dad and I pushing and Kev pulling, we got it up over the front door step, then Kev wheeled it into the bedroom. I didn't think I'd like a big black thing in our bedroom, but when I look at it now, I feel satisfied and happy.

And sore. Nothing like being scared shitless, tensed up as all git out and pushing & pulling with all your might to give the ol' back muscles a workout.

I took a ton of photos, but this one says it best.


Kev left for work shortly afterwards, and then Joycie, Sam & I went and picked up Michael and headed for town. We had a great afternoon. A wonderful afternoon. It was beautiful out, warm and sunny. We were all in shirtsleeves and all in good moods. We did some fun shopping, had dinner at a Chinese buffet, then went home and watched a good movie. It was an old HBO movie the kids checked out at the library, the Dog Men or something like that, about a lost Indian tribe, well, not lost really, more like hidden. It was good. Like Michael said, kinda cheesy, but good. Beautiful scenery.

I am enjoying this week so much. I think the kids would have preferred a vacation away, but this is The Best in my opinion. I'm glad Michael is around and could hang out with us. I miss my niece, Michelle. Our kids are growing up too fast for me. I want to grab them and hold them all just as they are... OK, not really. Of course. I love seeing how they change and grow. Joyce will be 18 this November. Everytime I say that to myself, I feel strange. Sad and proud and scared. Michael will be 16 this summer and driving by himself. I'm experiencing the same qualms I had when Michelle began driving and then with Joycie. Of course. My nephew is so smart and mature, he'll be an excellent driver. It's not him I'm worried about. Anyway, I can take worry to a whole new art form.

Speaking of which, Joycie left this morning with her friend, Allison, and Allison's mom, Sue. They're headed to London for a shopping spree. London, Canada, as Joycie liked to explain to the looks of surprise she was getting with that statement. Cracked me up. I explained that saying London, Canada, was like saying Detroit, USA. She didn't really appreciate my explanation.

Joycie will be back on Sunday. She's been gone a little over an hour now, and I'm already: a) worried, b) wanting to call her on her cell phone to make sure she didn't forget anything important, and c) missing her. I'm such a wimp.

p.s. and how could I almost forget to add that Lost wasn't a re-run?!!! Yeeha.