Friedrich Schiller called Joy the spark of divinity but she visits me on a regular basis, and it doesn’t take much for her to appear— the salt next to the pepper by the stove, the garbage man ascending his station on the back of the moving garbage truck, or I’m just eating a banana in the car and listening to Buddy Guy.
In other words, she seems down-to-earth, like a girl getting off a bus with a suitcase and no one’s there to meet her. It’s a little after four in the afternoon, one of the first warm days of spring. She sits on her suitcase to wait and slides on her sunglasses. How do I know she’s listening to the birds?
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle’s compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
A Walk On The Beach, Sullivan, South Carolina (August 12, 2021) — Image by kenne
You look out into the water; The waves make the most beautiful sound. A place you find peace and comfort, Walking hand in hand and looking around.
As you walk toward the water, Sand coats the bottom of your feet. The smell of the sea salt drawing you closer,. The view is so beautiful, oh so sweet.
Almost as if it is calling you. Sometimes it’s only in your mind. A place to clear your thoughts And leave everything very far behind.
You find shells, rocks, and other things. The warmth is like a kiss from up above. Looking out into the Gulf Coast Can only remind you of true love.
As the waves come crashing in, Time seems to be standing still. The sun is shining down on you As you walk the beach at your will.
Paradise you thought you could never reach. Out in the distance you can see the ships sailing by. Tears of joy for the scene God has put before you, As the moment makes you cry.
Two shadows are together as one, A sign of great unity. A great day full of fun While walking at the beach.
Another Glass Of Wine My Dear (April 5, 2007) — Image by kenne
Have Some Medeira, M’dear
She was young, she was pure, she was new, she was nice She was fair, she was sweet seventeen. He was old, he was vile, and no stranger to vice He was base, he was bad, he was mean. He had slyly inveigled her up to his flat To view his collection of stamps, And he said as he hastened to put out the cat, The wine, his cigar and the lamps: Have some madeira, m’dear. You really have nothing to fear. I’m not trying to tempt you, that wouldn’t be right, You shouldn’t drink spirits at this time of night. Have some madeira, m’dear. It’s really much nicer than beer. I don’t care for sherry, one cannot drink stout, And port is a wine I can well do without… It’s simply a case of chacun a son gout Have some madeira, m’dear. Unaware of the wiles of the snake-in-the-grass And the fate of the maiden who topes, She lowered her standards by raising her glass, Her courage, her eyes and his hopes. She sipped it, she drank it, she drained it, she did! He promptly refilled it again, And he said as he secretly carved one more notch On the butt of his gold-headed cane: Have some madeira, m’dear, I’ve got a small cask of it here. And once it’s been opened, you know it won’t keep. Do finish it up. It will help you to sleep. Have some madeira, m’dear. It’s really an excellent year. Now if it were gin, you’d be wrong to say yes The evil gin does would be hard to assess.. Besides it’s inclined to affect me prowess, Have some madeira, m’dear. Then there flashed through her mind what her mother had said With her antepenultimate breath, “Oh my child, should you look on the wine that is red Be prepared for a fate worse than death!” She let go her glass with a shrill little cry, Crash! Tinkle! it fell to the floor; When he asked, “What in Heaven?” She made no reply, Up her mind, and a dash for the door. Have some madeira, m’dear. Rang out down the hall loud and clear With a tremulous cry that was filled with despair, As she fought to take breath in the cool midnight air, Have some madeira, m’dear. The words seemed to ring in her ear. Until the next morning, she woke in her bed With a smile on her lips and an ache in her head… And a beard in her lug ‘ole that tickled and said: Have some madeira, m’dear!
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells And run my stick along the public railings And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain And pick flowers in other people’s gardens And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat And eat three pounds of sausages at a go Or only bread and pickle for a week And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry And pay our rent and not swear in the street And set a good example for the children. We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now? So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Joy with Grandchild Audry and James In San Antonio, April 2009 — Image by kenne
In the previous posting “Ready To Start Going Places” I used an image of the San Antonio River Walk which brought to mind a video I produced of our spring vacation in April 2009.
Joy — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Joy In Sunglasses — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Grand Canyon Portrait — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Joy with Grandchild Audry and James In San Antonio, April 2009 — Image by kenne
Joy, Happy Anniversary, May 18, 2020 — Image by kenne
Becoming is Superior to Being 