Wednesday, August 7, 2002

Go to Walden's Pond
Our book club will be reading On Walden's Pond this fall; one of our members, a teacher, received a grant for study, and will be leading the discussion. NPR had a very nice report this week on the same topic, with lots of multimedia and other links posted, beside the audio report:

I must admit, I tried to re-read it last year, and found him so ... out there ... I had to quit. Didn't think I was measuring up.

A quote from Thoreaux: Goodness is the only investment that never fails. -- Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Higher Laws, 1854

Quote of the day
Oh the irony of this quote on a blog! But my friend WK-B and I are amazed at the breadth and depths of the opinions of others!

Nothing is more conducive to peace of mind than not having any opinions at all. -- Georg Christoph Lichtenberg

I don't know--the older I get the more I appreciate less opinions and more peace of mind! Perhaps I am getting too forgiving as I get older...but I just can't help it. But I notice that some folks--my in-laws, for instance, seem to get LESS forgiving, more opinionated. I wonder what the difference is? And is it so much caring, or not caring? Moral relativism leaving its mushy mark on me? Christian forgiveness? Stay tuned.

In Progress

New Roses

An experiment, I plant the bushes
On the southern face of the house.
Just marked-down plants, K-mart
vintage, a pink, a red, a yellow.
A little fertilizer, a little compost,
A lot of watering this dry summer.
Fingers crossed, knowing that
It is winter's depth and breadth
That will tell the tale. I notice
Buds, here and there, on the
Bushes, and my gardener-self knows
These should be pinched off:
Too much stress on these new plants.
But I long for the color, the satisfaction
Of flowers blooming, and I water a little extra,
And let them go.
I'll clip them before they're fulling out,
I think--I'll take them in the house.
But I am beat to the punch.
Or the snip. After work I take snippers,
And am ready to cut--but what's this?
Where a yellow rose should be,
Is shreds--long, brown shreds of rose.
And beetles--round, shiny, agressive
Japanese beetles. I'd not seem them
In our yard before. But here they are.
Invited by the rose--the sweet scent
A siren song of love for them!
As it was for me. But whose
Roses are they? I focus my anger
On these interlopers--they're not native anyway!
And shake them off and step on them!
Away, villians! You're destroying my garden!
I take my clippers and snip the other,
Just emerging, buds, saving them from
The beetles' jaws.
So now the roses are denuded, stripped,
And I wonder--just who is the biggest pest
In the garden?

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