I, too, sing America

I am the darker brother

They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes

- Langston Hughes, 1934

Fe Fi Fo Fum
I smell the blood of an Englishman
Be he alive or be he dead
I’ll grind his bones to make my bread

I was taught this rhyme as a child. Isn’t that just special?

Many and sharp the num'rous ills
Inwoven with our frame!
More pointed still we make ourselves
Regret, remorse, and shame!
And Man, whose heav'n-erected face
The smiles of love adorn, -
Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!

Robert Burns

I'm outa control now! This array of colors could never be artificially reproduced.

Words to be listened to...

"Nature, Mr. Allnut, is what we are put in this world to rise above."

Rose (Katharine Hepburn) to Charlie (Humphrey Bogart) in 'The African Queen'
_______________________

"So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance."

March 4, 1933 - FDR

Towards the end of 1991, Christo installed his yellow umbrella project here in southern California. My best friend dragged me to see it. I just knew it would be boring and unimpressive. Wow! Was I ever wrong! I couldn't get enough of them. They weren't just plunked willy nilly. They actually flowed with the countours of the land. Shortly thereafter, I took my mom out to see them. She too was very impressed. Yesterday I ran across a couple of pictures of her standing under one of the umbrellas. Alas, they are predigital so I'm unable to post them here.

My mother worked at Santa Monica hospital for many years. During this time she, and many others, knitted caps and booties for the newborn babies. Everybody bought their own materials and knitted on their own time. No baby left the hospital without a set. I sure hope this is still going on.

I learned this as a little girl in Vancouver. Crazy, eh?

The spring has sprung
The grass is riz
I wonder where the birdies iz

I wrote this when I was 10 years old, about the same time that I learned to drive a car. Poetry was (maybe still is) a very important part of our education.

Springtime

In the sun, children have fun.
With sunshine and flowers, the spring has begun.
The beautiful birds are on the wing
And, oh, how they do sweetly sing

If you look with careful eye,

You will easily be able to spy
Violets here and daisies there
And little birdies everywhere!

Picture this. It’s dawn on a September day in 1954. A house stands on the outskirts of Radcliffe-on-Trent, Nottinghamshire, England. A little girl emerges from the house into the rose garden. The air is different than any she has ever previously breathed. It makes her feel wildly alive! Everything is covered in heavy dew. As the sunlight peaks over the horizon, it strikes each dewdrop making them shimmer. The little girl’s heart swells as though it might burst. This is the most beautiful place and time she has ever encountered in her brief eight years.

Unbeknownst to her, she is starting one of the greatest love affairs of her life. She will relive this moment hundreds of times, over the following decades. The memory will never fade and neither will her passion for England.