Good Purchase

July 19th, 2011

At Tony’s introduction, I was acquainted with Heifer.org.  Unbelievable website.  I totally bought it and as a result bought my first gift of a flock of chicks for $20.  Leon came to pick me up for lunch.  I told him I bought a flock of chicks.  Dear Leon, no longer a stranger to my daily purchases, took a good 45 seconds to digest what I just told him.   To make sure there was no mistake, I clarified.  “Chicks, honey, as in baby chickens.”  Poor guy was, of course, horrified.  But after the explanation, he understood.  We had a good laugh.  I still think about my purchase now.   Funny how of the thousands of purchases that I have made this year, none had filled me with a sense of humility and gratitude like this one.  When I clicked “pay” on my Paypal screen, I was flooded with a sense of happiness, contentment and gratitude that I am in a position to give and am giving.  Usually, by now (about 6 hours after a purchase), I would either be filled with buyer’s remorse or the purchase would have quickly faded in its novelty.  Yet, the flock of chicks continued to fill me with a sense of quiet joy.  I imagine somewhere in a third world country, a family of poor farmer would be presented with a flock of chicks to add to their meager portfolio of assets.  I envision the flock of chicks growing and becoming hens that would lay eggs.  A good hen can lay over 200 eggs a year.  Some of these eggs would hatch to more chicks to continue and grow the farm, others would be brought to the market to sustain the family short term.  I feel a sense of joy at the thought that I’ve made an unknown farmer’s life a little easier.  Of course, in real life these chicks could catch the bird flu and died for all I know but I’ve dropped the pebble in the pond and could only hope that the ripple would go as far as it could.  I think, in my Buddhist uncle’s terms, I’ve made a purchase for my soul.

http://www.heifer.org

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

April 28th, 2010

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of the easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Fire and Ice

April 28th, 2010

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

The Road Not Taken

April 28th, 2010

Robert Frost (1874–1963).  Mountain Interval.  1920.
 
1. The Road Not Taken
 

 
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;         5
 
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,         10
 
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.         15
 
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

When We Two Parted

April 28th, 2010

597. When we Two parted
  

WHEN we two parted  
  In silence and tears,  
Half broken-hearted  
  To sever for years,  
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,          5
  Colder thy kiss;  
Truly that hour foretold  
  Sorrow to this.  
 
The dew of the morning  
  Sunk chill on my brow—   10
It felt like the warning  
  Of what I feel now.  
Thy vows are all broken,  
  And light is thy fame:  
I hear thy name spoken,   15
  And share in its shame.  
 
They name thee before me,  
  A knell to mine ear;  
A shudder comes o’er me—  
  Why wert thou so dear?   20
They know not I knew thee,  
  Who knew thee too well:  
Long, long shall I rue thee,  
  Too deeply to tell.  
 
In secret we met—   25
  In silence I grieve,  
That thy heart could forget,  
  Thy spirit deceive.  
If I should meet thee  
  After long years,   30
How should I greet thee?  
  With silence and tears.

She Walks in Beauty, Like the Night

April 28th, 2010

Lord Byron
 
CLXXIII. “She walks in beauty, like the night”
 

SHE walks in beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,  
And all that’s best of dark and bright  
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;  
Thus mellow’d to that tender light          5
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.  
  
One shade the more, one ray the less,  
Had half impair’d the nameless grace  
Which waves in every raven tress  
Or softly lightens o’er her face,   10
Where thoughts serenely sweet express  
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.  
  
And on that cheek and o’er that brow  
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,  
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,   15
But tell of days in goodness spent,—  
A mind at peace with all below,  
A heart whose love is innocent.

Laughter in the Sun

April 14th, 2010

“And her laughter washed over me

Like water flowing over rocks…”

Vivian and Daddie’s Garden

April 14th, 2010

Ahhh… the days when the rosebushes were bigger than you!  How funny is it that the more we grow up, the smaller the wonders of life become…

Vivian – watching you reminds auntie that the roses aren’t the only thing that deserve admiration and rapture.  Sometimes it is the leaves and the thorns that we should appreciate most, for they have to come before the rose could ever bloom…

The Perfect Rose

April 14th, 2010

Flowers from Daddy garden from last year.  Can’t wait for his rose garden to bloom this year.