Rainy Day Wonderings

Friday, December 21, 2007

Christmas Bells & FYI Recalls

Christmas Bells

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men."

************

FYI...

Top Line Specialty Produce of Los Angeles Ca, is voluntary recalling its 12 x 1 pound boxes of "Green Paradise label" Fresh Italian basil, because they have the potential to be contaminated with Salmonella, an organism which can cause serious and sometimes fatal infections in young children, frail or elderly people, and others with weakened immune systems. Healthy persons infected with this organism often experience fever, diarrhea (which may be bloody), nausea, vomiting and abdominal pain. In rare circumstances, infection with "Salmonella" can result in the organism getting into the bloodstream and producing more severe illnesses such as arterial infections (i.e., infected aneurysms), Endocarditis and arthritis.

The recalled "Green Paradise Basil" was distributed to Food Service Distributors through direct shipping on 12/06/2007 in Southern California, Illinois and Texas.

The product comes in a 12 x 1 lb box marked with lot # 1219 on the side of the box.
Consumers who have purchased the affected boxes of "Green Paradise Italian Basil" are urged to return them to the place of purchase for a full refund. Consumers with questions may contact the company at 1-213-747-9200.

Trader Joe's Company of Monrovia, California is voluntarily recalling 1,000 cases of 12 oz jars of Trader Joe's Pinjur (a traditional Macedonian condiment made with roasted peppers, eggplant, and tomatoes), UPC 00529068, Best By 10/2009. The Best By date can be found printed on the top of the lid. The product is being recalled because customers reported finding small pieces of glass in the product.

Trader Joe's Pinjur was potentially sold from Trader Joe's retail stores in Arizona, California, Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, Nevada, North Carolina, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Washington, Washington D.C., and Wisconsin.
Upon discovery of the problem, the product was removed from sale in all Trader Joe's stores and put on hold in all Trader Joe's distribution centers.

The product should not be consumed. Customers should discard it, or return it to any Trader Joe's store for a full refund. Customers with questions may call Trader Joe's Customer Relations at 626-599-3817, or write Trader Joe's through their website at traderjoes.com.

********

Have a safe weekend everyone! :)

Labels: FYI, Hoildays, misc, Poetry

N Posted by Rain at 12/21/2007 01:12:00 AM

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Happy Thanksgiving

When the Frost is on the Punkin
by James Whitcomb Riley

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! ...
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—
I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Source:

"The old swimmin'-hole" and 'leven more poems.: Neghborly [!] poems on friendship, grief and farm-life,/ by Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone (James Whitcomb Riley)Riley, James Whitcomb, 1849-1916.Indianapolis, Ind.: The Bowen-Merrill co., 1891.

In 1877 an unrecognized poet James Whitcomb Riley received another letter of rejection from an editor. He decided to avenge. Riley took one of his poems and passed it as if it was a newly discovered work of Edgar Allan Poe. This poem was, of course, published and soon recognized as a masterpiece. The editors could not tell the poet, whom they had rejected, from Poe. And what about you? Can you tell Poe from Riley? Take this quiz to find out.

After each verse chose the poet. Hit the Submit button when done. The quiz will be graded and you will see the correct answers

I missed two on this test...he had me fooled!

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Labels: Hoildays, misc, Poetry

N Posted by Rain at 11/20/2007 10:16:00 AM

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Before The Mirror

Symphony in White, No. 2: The Little White Girl 1864

James Abbot Mc Neill Whistler 1834-1903

Oil on canvas

painting N03418

This is a comparatively early work by Whistler, in which echoes of the style of Millais and Rossetti can still be observed. The fan, the blue and white vase and the flowers, however, reflect Whistler’s new-found enthusiasm for things Japanese. The model was his Irish mistress Joanna Hiffernan. Swinburne was inspired to write his poem Before the Mirror by this picture, finding in ‘the face languidly contemplative of its own phantom’ a ‘sad and glad mystery’.

Before the Mirror
By Algernon Charles Swinburne

WHITE ROSE in red rose-garden

Is not so white;

Snowdrops that plead for pardon

And pine for fright

Because the hard East blows

Over their maiden rows

Grow not as this face grows from pale to bright.
Behind the veil, forbidden,

Shut up from sight,

Love, is there sorrow hidden,

Is there delight?

Is joy thy dower or grief,

White rose of weary leaf,

Late rose whose life is brief, whose loves are light?
Soft snows that hard winds harden

Till each flake bite

Fill all the flowerless garden

Whose flowers took flight

Long since when summer ceased,

And men rose up from feast,

And warm west wind grew east, and warm day night.

II.

“Come snow, come wind or thunder

High up in air,I watch my face, and wonder

At my bright hair;Nought else exalts or grieves

The rose at heart, that heaves

With love of her own leaves and lips that pair.
“She knows not loves that kissed her

She knows not where.

Art thou the ghost, my sister,

White sister there,

Am I the ghost, who knows?

My hand, a fallen rose,

Lies snow-white on white snows, and takes no care.
“I cannot see what pleasures

Or what pains were;

What pale new loves and treasures

New years will bear;

What beam will fall, what shower,

What grief or joy for dower;

But one thing knows the flower; the flower is fair.”

III.

Glad, but not flushed with gladness,

Since joys go by;

Sad, but not bent with sadness,

Since sorrows die;Deep in the gleaming glass

She sees all past things pass,

And all sweet life that was lie down and lie.
There glowing ghosts of flowers

Draw down, draw nigh;

And wings of swift spent hours

Take flight and fly;

She sees by formless gleams,

She hears across cold streams,

Dead mouths of many dreams that sing and sigh.
Face fallen and white throat lifted,

With sleepless eye

She sees old loves that drifted,

She knew not why,

Old loves and faded fears

Float down a stream that hears

The flowing of all men’s tears beneath the sky.

I hope you all are having a safe and happy weekend!

Labels: Art, Poetry

N Posted by Rain at 6/23/2007 11:22:00 PM

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

It's Hump Day!

My First Time
by Alex

The sky was dark

The moon was high

All alone

Just her and I

Her hair so soft

Her eyes so blue

I knew just what

She wanted to do

Her skin so soft

Her legs so fine

I ran my fingers

Down her spine

I didn't know how

But I tried my best

To place my hand

On her breasts

I remember my fear

My fast beating heart

But slowly she spread

Her legs apart

And when she did it

I felt no shame

All at once

The white stuff came

At last it's finished

It's all over now...

My first time

Milking a COW!

What were you thinking? ;)

Have a wonderful night everyone!

Labels: Poetry

N Posted by Rain at 5/30/2007 05:07:00 PM

Saturday, April 21, 2007

April Love

April is National Poetry Month

April Love 1855-6
By Arthur Hughes
1832-1915
Oil on canvas painting

This is Hughes’s best-known work. It was exhibited in 1856, accompanied by a quotation from Tennyson’s poem The Millers’ Daughter, whose theme is the frailty of young love. The picture is not a direct illustration of the poem, but echoes its theme, the fallen rose petals symbolizing love’s transience. The ivy, however, as a symbol of eternal life, may indicate the possibilities of salvation in the next world whatever the trials and tribulations of earthly existence. John Ruskin, the great champion of Pre-Raphaelitism of which Hughes was a leading exponent, was deeply impressed by the picture, and sought to acquire it. However, it was bought instead by William Morris.

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER
By: Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)

T is the miller's daughter,
And she is grown so dear, so dear,
That I would be the jewel
That trembles in her ear:
For hid in ringlets day and night,
I'd touch her neck so warm and white.
And I would be the girdle
About her dainty dainty waist,
And her heart would beat against me,
In sorrow and in rest:
And I should know if it beat right,
I'd clasp it round so close and tight.
And I would be the necklace,
And all day long to fall and rise
Upon her balmy bosom,
With her laughter or her sighs:
And I would lie so light, so light,
I scarce should be unclasp'd at night.

~~~~~~

A San Diego connection...

Candy Land 1949
image source:

While Eleanor Abbott of San Diego, California was recuperating from polio in the 1940s, she occupied herself with devising games and activities for youngsters who had polio. One of her inventions was called "Candy Land." Her young friends liked the game so much; she submitted it to Milton Bradley Company where it was immediately accepted. Since then, Candy Land has been recognized internationally as a "child's first game."

Fast Facts;

The original 1949 edition of Candy Land only had locations (Molasses Swamp, Gumdrop Mountains, etc.) and no characters. Mr. Mint, Gramma Nutt, and the rest showed up in later versions.
The 2002 edition of Candy Land replaced the classic Molasses Swamp with Chocolate Swamp. The theory behind this change is that children are more familiar with chocolate than molasses.
The Give Kids the World: Village edition of Candy Land was produced by Hasbro especially for the Give Kids the World Village. The GKTW Village is a nonprofit resort in Kissimmee, Florida for children with life-threatening illnesses and their families. In this version, traditional Candy Land characters and locations were replaced with the venues and characters of the Village. Characters like Mayor Clayton, Ms. Merry, and others are represented on the board.

~~~~~~

I hope all of you are having a great weekend. Now I am off in search of a personal lollipop ;0)

Labels: Art, Poetry

N Posted by Rain at 4/21/2007 09:02:00 PM

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

The Visit

April is National Poetry Month

A Silent Greeting 1889
By
Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema
1836-1912

The ‘silent greeting’ of the title is the gift of flowers that the young Roman soldier leaves for the sleeping woman. The subject was inspired by The Visit, a poem by the German poet and dramatist Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832). Alma-Tadema took great pains over the accuracy of his depictions of the ancient world, carefully researching the architecture and interior details. However, the sentimental subject and the contemporary look of the figures – memorably described as ‘Victorians in togas’ – gives the painting the air of a modern costume drama.

THE VISIT. 1765
By
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

FAIN had I to-day surprised my mistress,
But soon found I that her door was fasten'd.
Yet I had the key safe in my pocket,
And the darling door I open'd softly!
In the parlour found I not the maiden,
Found the maiden not within her closet,
Then her chamber-door I gently open'd,
When I found her wrapp'd in pleasing slumbers,
Fully dress'd, and lying on the sofa.
While at work had slumber stolen o'er her;
For her knitting and her needle found I
Resting in her folded bands so tender;
And I placed myself beside her softly,
And held counsel, whether I should wake her.
Then I looked upon the beauteous quiet
That on her sweet eyelids was reposing
On her lips was silent truth depicted,
On her cheeks had loveliness its dwelling,
And the pureness of a heart unsullied
In her bosom evermore was heaving.
All her limbs were gracefully reclining,
Set at rest by sweet and godlike balsam.
Gladly sat I, and the contemplation
Held the strong desire I felt to wake her
Firmer and firmer down, with mystic fetters.
"Oh, thou love," methought, "I see that slumber,
Slumber that betrayeth each false feature,
Cannot injure thee, can nought discover
That could serve to harm thy friend's soft feelings.
"Now thy beauteous eyes are firmly closed,
That, when open, form mine only rapture.
And thy sweet lips are devoid of motion,
Motionless for speaking or for kissing;
Loosen'd are the soft and magic fetters
Of thine arms, so wont to twine around me,
And the hand, the ravishing companion
Of thy sweet caresses, lies unmoving.
Were my thoughts of thee but based on error,
Were the love I bear thee self-deception,
I must now have found it out, since Amor
Is, without his bandage, placed beside me."
Long I sat thus, full of heartfelt pleasure
At my love, and at her matchless merit;
She had so delighted me while slumbering,
That I could not venture to awake her.
Then I on the little table near her
Softly placed two oranges, two roses;
Gently, gently stole I from her chamber.
When her eyes the darling one shall open,
She will straightway spy these colourd presents,
And the friendly gift will view with wonder,
For the door will still remain unopen'd.
If perchance I see to-night the angel,
How will she rejoice,--reward me doubly
For this sacrifice of fond affection!

~~~~~~~

Sitting on the front porch tonight watching as the sun was setting over the mountains a very dear man (T.) read aloud to me select poems by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Since I know he is reading this I just want you to know that I feel so blessed to have you as a friend and a confidant for the last 38 years. You are so special and I love you, darlin'!

Have a great week everyone!

Labels: Poetry

N Posted by Rain at 4/10/2007 12:32:00 AM

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Arts and Madness~Poets

The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator
by
Anne Sexton

The end of the affair is always death.
She’s my workshop.
Slippery eye, out of the tribe of myself my breath
finds you gone.
I horrify those who stand by. I am fed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Finger to finger, now she’s mine.
She’s not too far. She’s my encounter.
I beat her like a bell.
I recline in the bower where you used to mount her.
You borrowed me on the flowered spread.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Take for instance this night, my love,
that every single couple puts together
with a joint overturning, beneath, above,
the abundant two on sponge and feather,
kneeling and pushing, head to head.
At night alone, I marry the bed.

I break out of my body this way, an annoying miracle.
Could I put the dream market on display?
I am spread out. I crucify.
My little plum is what you said.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Then my black-eyed rival came.
The lady of water, rising on the beach,
a piano at her fingertips, shame
on her lips and a flute’s speech.
And I was the knock-kneed broom instead.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

She took you the way a woman takes
a bargain dress off the rack
and I broke the way a stone breaks.
I give back your books and fishing tack.
Today’s paper says that you are wed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

The boys and girls are one tonight.
They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.
They take off shoes. They turn off the light.
The glimmering creatures are full of lies.
They are eating each other. They are overfed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Anne Sexton, “The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator” from The Complete Poems of Anne Sexton (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1981).

Anne Sexton married at the age of 19, worked briefly as a model and then started a family. Sexton suffered from depression and had mental breakdowns and suicidal bouts after the births of her children and the deaths of her parents. In the late 1950s she began writing poetry as therapy and was soon "discovered" by the literary world for her unapologetically autobiographical poems. The recipient of many awards and grants, she won the Pulitzer Prize in 1966 for Live or Die. In 1974 she committed suicide.

I hope you enjoyed this poem as much as I do. Take care everyone!

Labels: Arts and Madness, Poetry, Women in History

N Posted by Rain at 3/24/2007 08:53:00 AM

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Great Reading

Desiderata

Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;

and listen to others,

even the dull and the ignorant;

they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,

they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain and bitter;

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;

for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment

it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,

be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,

whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labors and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, 1952.

My mother used to read this poem out loud to me when I was a child. I hope you enjoyed reading it and I highly recommend the book, The Desiderata of Happiness by Max Ehrmann for your reading pleasure.

Have a great day everyone!

Labels: Poetry

N Posted by Rain at 2/13/2007 02:25:00 AM

Thursday, January 25, 2007

A Woman Waits for Me

For Samantha,

A Woman Waits for Me
by Walt Whitman

A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking,

Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of

the right man were lacking.

Sex contains all, bodies, souls,

Meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations,

Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery,

the seminal milk,

All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves, beauties, delights of the earth,

All the governments, judges, gods, follow'd persons of the earth,

These are contain'd in sex as parts of itself and justifications of itself.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows

the deliciousness of his sex,

Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,

I will go stay with her who waits for me,

and with those women that are warm-blooded sufficient for me,

I see that they understand me and do not deny me,

I see that they are worthy of me,

I will be the robust husband of those women.

They are not one jot less than I am,

They are tann'd in the face by shining suns and blowing winds,

Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,

They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike, retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,

They are ultimate in their own right--they are calm, clear, well-possess'd of themselves.

I draw you close to me, you women, I cannot let you go,

I would do you good, I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for others' sakes,

Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards,

They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.

It is I, you women, I make my way,

I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable, but I love you,

I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,

I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for these States,

I press with slow rude muscle, I brace myself effectually,

I listen to no entreaties, I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated within me.

Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,

In you I wrap a thousand onward years,

On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America,

The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic girls, new artists, musicians, and singers,

The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,

I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love- spendings,

I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and you interpenetrate now,

I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them,

as I count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,

I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death, immortality,

I plant so lovingly now.

******

If you would like to see some interesting art please stop by over at Jules site, from the Theater of the Absurd. I hope you enjoy her work as much as I do! Go on over and tell her I sent you.

Take care everyone! Life is good. =0)

Labels: Art, Poetry

N Posted by Rain at 1/25/2007 10:05:00 AM

Saturday, December 09, 2006

Addiction

For Lori...

Addiction

You have an addiction; Like a cancer growing bigger out of control.

I don’t know how it started; End it before it consumes your soul.

You lie, beg, steal and borrow to feed it; That’s what addiction does.

I thought I could trust you, Were you my friend?

You took from me to feed it; I guess I was the victim once again.

You have to work to regain broken trust, addiction has become your lust.

I know what you did; you will not own it, that’s what addiction does to the soul.

You have taken from me once; You will take no more.

I will not feed your addiction.

Marie A Coppla

Copyright ©2006 Marie A Coppla

Once again I want to thank Marie for allowing me to publish one of her poems, Addiction. Marie, you are awesome! Thank you for extending your hand in friendship =0)

Lori,
You can not live in "could'a, would'a, should'a" and there is no turning back time. The only thing we have control over is the here and now. You are not alone, there are millions of people struggling with a family members who are suffering drug and alcohol addictions.
Keep your Faith, honey.

Have a great weekend everyone!

Labels: Marie Coppla, Poetry

N Posted by Rain at 12/09/2006 01:31:00 PM

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

The Center of the Milky Way

The center of the Milky Way

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star
by Jane Taylor

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveler in the dark
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
How could he see where to go,
If you did not twinkle so?

In the dark blue sky you keep,
Often through my curtains peep
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark
Lights the traveler in the dark,
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

Source: The Golden Book of Poetry (Simon and Schuster, 1947).

On a personal note, if I have not been commenting on your site stupid Blogger will not let me! I realize that "they are working on it" and I wonder why after over a week they still have not 'fixed' it? My understanding is that this problem is only effecting those of you who still not joined Blogger Beta.

Have a great day everyone!

Labels: Poetry

N Posted by Rain at 11/01/2006 12:33:00 AM