Poem for Wednesday and the Chapter House

At Tynemouth Priory 

By William Lisle Bowles 

After a tempestuous voyage. 

As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side,

Much musing on the track of terror past,

When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast,

Pleased I look back, and view the tranquil tide

That laves the pebbled shore: and now the beam

Of evening smiles on the gray battlement,

And yon forsaken tower that time has rent:--

The lifted oar far off with transient gleam

Is touched, and hushed is all the billowy deep!

Soothed by the scene, thus on tired Nature's breast

A stillness slowly steals, and kindred rest;

While sea-sounds lull her, as she sinks to sleep,

Like melodies that mourn upon the lyre,

Waked by the breeze, and, as they mourn, expire!

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Apart from the endless unpacking, my Wednesday was pretty normal, albeit shifted three hours from the previous three years. Everything that isn't books is out of boxes in the living room, though most of the items are on random shelves and I haven't managed to set up my desktop computer because I have to set up all the tchotchkes on the desk first. I talked to my high school friends after lunch, and a couple of hours later I watched some Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power with my usual pair of friends. 

We ate leftover food from Siam Nine for dinner before this week's The Masked Singer (Ozzfest in honor of Ozzy with Kelly Osbourne as a guest judge, looking like a ghoul with fake lips). Now we're watching Young Sherlock, which is kind of uneven -- decently interesting mystery, good acting, lots of nice shots of Oxford, some weird character dynamics. From the Worcester Art Museum, the Chapter House, purchased and moved stone-by-stone from Poitiers, the first medieval structure rebuilt in an American museum:

Poem for Tuesday and Christmas Decorations

Mistletoe 

By Walter de La Mare 

Sitting under the mistletoe

(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),

One last candle burning low,

All the sleepy dancers gone,

Just one candle burning on,

Shadows lurking everywhere:

Some one came, and kissed me there.

Tired I was; my head would go

Nodding under the mistletoe

(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),

No footsteps came, no voice, but only,

Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,

Stooped in the still and shadowy air

Lips unseen—and kissed me there.

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Around work, Paul baked Swedish rye bread and Christmas cookies on Tuesday, to which my only contribution was washing dishes. Our shower had been leaking, so we had our complex's maintenance guys come caulk it, which caused a lot of cat distress followed by some comfort snuggling, and I did some laundry. The weather, while chilly and overcast, did not include rain for a change; the dock is now out of the lake, a pair of eagles was back in the tree right over our deck, and many ducks were at the beach. 

My DS9 friends were traveling. Cheryl and I watched the last two episodes of Taylor Swift: The End of an Era long-distance, after which Paul and I watched Mission Impossible: The Final Reckoning, which borrows from about 11 other franchises and has too many warg battles but also has lots of female actors I like and these days I have a long list of actors whose ideologies I hate a lot more than Tom Cruise's. Here are some random photos of holiday decorations we saw in Maryland at malls and shopping and on lawns:

Poem for Wednesday and Autumn Birds

Autumn Birds 

By John Clare 

The wild duck startles like a sudden thought,

And heron slow as if it might be caught.

The flopping crows on weary wings go by

And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly.

The crowds of starnels whizz and hurry by,

And darken like a clod the evening sky.

The larks like thunder rise and suthy round,

Then drop and nestle in the stubble ground.

The wild swan hurries hight and noises loud

With white neck peering to the evening cloud.

The weary rooks to distant woods are gone.

With lengths of tail the magpie winnows on

To neighbouring tree, and leaves the distant crow

While small birds nestle in the edge below.

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Apart from being overcast all day, so yet again we couldn't see the northern lights, I had a nice Wednesday. All my high school friends made it to chat, and younger son's wife and one of her sisters (and many pets) visited as well, so that was a lovely morning, and after lunch, Kristen, Laurie, and I watched some more of the extended Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. Paul and I walked to the beach so late in the afternoon that we got to see a beaver swimming around the beach. 

We had veggie burgers for dinner, watched the second episode of Pluribus -- engrossing but what I was expecting -- then saw Secrets of the Dead: Picturing Shakespeare on PBS, in which the science of examining the Wadlow painting is more interesting than the problem of proving the unprovable. Now we're watching Freakier Friday mostly for Jamie Lee Curtis, though first we watched the LEGO Frozen: Operation Puffins, which is a short delight. Waterfowl and other birds enjoying autumn:

Poem for Friday and Renfaire Performers

From "The Lay of the Last Minstrel" 

By Sir Walter Scott 

The way was long, the wind was cold,

The Minstrel was infirm and old;

His wither'd cheek, and tresses gray,

Seem'd to have known a better day;

The harp, his sole remaining joy,

Was carried by an orphan boy.

The last of all the Bards was he,

Who sung of Border chivalry;

For, welladay! their date was fled,

His tuneful brethren all were dead;

And he, neglected and oppress'd,

Wish'd to be with them, and at rest.

No more on prancing palfrey borne,

He caroll'd, light as lark at morn;

No longer courted and caress'd,

High placed in hall, a welcome guest,

He pour'd, to lord and lady gay,

The unpremeditated lay:

Old times were changed, old manners gone;

A stranger filled the Stuarts' throne;

The bigots of the iron time

Had call'd hs harmless art a crime.

A wandering Harper, scorn'd and poor,

He begg'd his bread from door to door.

And timed, to please a peasant's ear,

The harp, a king had loved to hear.

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I did a bunch of computer work on Friday morning, interrupted because the apartment complex was testing the fire alarms (I could escape outside but the cats could not). Despite a cooler forecast, the sun and humidity made it feel warmer than earlier in the week. We walked to the beach in the afternoon, where there were ducks and boaters looking up for the Blue Angels who are in town for Seafair, and we discovered new ducklings and saw a juvenile eagle. The Orioles lost a tight game to the Cubs early, and there was baseball all afternoon, culminating with a walk-off win for the Mariners. 

In between, Cheryl and I watched two episodes of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds -- the one with the Z word, which is really not my kind of episode due to the aforementioned zombies and Klingon honor but I love M'Benga so it gets a pass, and the origin of holodeck disasters, which would be a perfect episode if not for the show's fucking obsession with Mary Sue-ing every female character to persuade us that Spock Is 100% Straight!!! Paul and I just watched the enjoyable penultimate episode of Resident Alien and are now watching this week's Foundation. Performances at the Renfaire:

Poem for Monday and Afternoon Rainbow

Winter Rainbow 

By John Clare 

Thou Winter, thou art keen, intensely keen;

Thy cutting frowns experience bids me know,

For in thy weather days and days I've been,

As grinning north-winds horribly did blow,

And pepper'd round my head their hail and snow:

Throughout thy reign 'tis mine each year to prove thee;

And, spite of every storm I've beetled in,

With all thy insults, Winter, I do love thee,

Thou half enchantress, like to pictur'd Sin!

Though many frowns thy sparing smiles deform,

Yet when thy sunbeam shrinketh from its shroud,

And thy bright rainbow gilds the purple storm,

I look entranced on thy painted cloud:

And what wild eye with nature's beauties charm'd,

That hang enraptur'd o'er each 'witching spell,

Can see thee, Winter, then, and not be warm'd

To breathe thy praise, and say, "I love thee well!"

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Monday morning was rainy and I had laundry, cat vomit, and other chores to deal with before we went out to get bagels for lunch and the rest of the week. So I had an excellent cheese pretzel bagel for lunch, did some computer work, and the rain slowed to a drizzle just in time for us to walk to the park. We saw a faint rainbow while on the beach, then came home to a full spectacular double rainbow stretching from Marymoor Park in the north to Sammamish Landing Park across the lake. I didn't even notice until the rainbow was fading that one of the raccoons was back sleeping in the tree, from which it crept down as the rain returned. 

 

We ate leftover chili and watched the Watson episode we missed last night in the very crowded 9 p.m. Sunday hour, which was pretty good performance-wise but I'm not finding the character development all that convincing, especially since we watched House afterwards while waiting for Paradise to drop. Wow, that was a great episode -- I alternately wanted to put President Bradford in charge immediately, then to kill him, then to put him in the White House immediately again, and I think Xavier has been unfair to him about Teri's fate, and all my theories about what happened to him are apparently incorrect. I want him on next season!

Poem for Friday and Hill of Tara

In Tara's Halls 

By William Butler Yeats 

A man I praise that once in Tara's Hals

Said to the woman on his knees, 'Lie still.

My hundredth year is at an end. I think

That something is about to happen, I think

That the adventure of old age begins.

To many women I have said, ''Lie still,''

And given everything a woman needs,

A roof, good clothes, passion, love perhaps,

But never asked for love; should I ask that,

I shall be old indeed.'

                          Thereon the man

Went to the Sacred House and stood between

The golden plough and harrow and spoke aloud

That all attendants and the casual crowd might hear.

'God I have loved, but should I ask return

Of God or woman, the time were come to die.'

He bade, his hundred and first year at end,

Diggers and carpenters make grave and coffin;

Saw that the grave was deep, the coffin sound,

Summoned the generations of his house,

Lay in the coffin, stopped his breath and died.

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I spent four hours today tagging people and places in my Ireland photos on Facebook and discovered tonight that Facebook had erased over half of those tags, so I am fucking done with trying to post anything more than snapshots to Facebook and will stick with Google Photos and Flickr going forward. Otherwise, we went out to get bagels in the late morning, we went out to do grocery shopping in the afternoon, we took a short walk between bouts of drizzle to see the eagles, the geese, and a kingfisher who has come back to the lake. 

In between baseball games that were exciting but did not end as I wanted, Cheryl and I watched several episodes of Derry Girls, since we'd seen the exhibition together in Derry (one of many sets of photos currently unlabeled on Facebook after being painstakingly tagged earlier). Now we're watching the fourth episode of Disclaimer, which is brilliant and painful and if there's not a twist fleshing out Cate Blanchett's character I'm going to be angry. Some photos of the Hill of Tara, Stone of Destiny, and Mound of the Hostages near sunset:

Poem for Wednesday and Russborough House

"My House" from "Meditations in Time of Civil War" 

By W.B. Yeats 

An ancient bridge, and a more ancient tower,

A farmhouse that is sheltered by its wall,

An acre of stony ground,

Where the symbolic rose can break in flower,

Old ragged elms, old thorns innumerable,

The sound of the rain or sound

Of every wind that blows;

The stilted water-hen

Crossing stream again

Scared by the splashing of a dozen cows;

A winding stair, a chamber arched with stone,

A grey stone fireplace with an open hearth,

A candle and written page. 

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I had a typical, lovely Wednesday starting with chat in the morning with all three of my high school friends plus the son of one and two daughters of the other, including younger son's fiancee, who was at work but between students at her office hours. Then I had lunch and watched and episode and a half of Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power with Kristen, which is always delightful. 

We walked to the park in the afternoon, put on the Dodgers-Mets game while doing chores, and watched Agatha All Along with Cheryl -- I absolutely loved this week's from the Bar Mitzvah to the Wandavision connections. Then we saw this week's Masked Singer and now we're starting the third season of Heartstopper, a nice double feature with Joe Locke. Furniture and art at Russborough House: