Bottled Joy: Poem of the Day

Everyone should read Walt Whitman much more often than any of us do! "Song of Myself" has lines  that I think of regularly, which says a lot since I often forget what I read. Whitman's poetry feels like bottled joy or lightning or the untiring exuberance of a child. Just slowly, slowly open the cap...and breathe...and revel...

From "Song of Myself" 

by Walt Whitman

#6 

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;

How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. 

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green 

     stuff woven. 

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,

A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, 

Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see 

    and remark, and say Whose? 

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. 

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, 

And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, 

Growing among black folks as among white, 

Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I 

     receive them the same. 

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. 

Tenderly will I use you curling grass, 

It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, 

It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, 

It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out 

     of their mothers' laps, 

And here you are the mothers' laps. 

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, 

Darker than the colorless beards of old men, 

Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. 

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, 

And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. 

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, 

And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken 

     soon out of their laps. 

What do you think has become of the young and old men? 

And what do you think has become of the women and children? 

They are alive and well somewhere, 

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, 

And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the 

     end to arrest it, 

And ceas'd the moment life appeared. 

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, 

And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

Better Than...the Bookmobile

Our finished little free library. I love my daughter's bookshelf artwork.

A couple of years ago I was so enchanted when I read about the "birdhouse library" or "little free library" movement. These are small structures people put outside their house (or work or even a park) and fill with any kind of books. The boxes can be fancy or utilitarian, hand-crafted or pre-made.

The idea is to take a book, read it, and then return it or other book(s). But even if they aren't returned, hopefully other readers will donate books. Then you get a nice book exchange going in your neighborhood.

Some awesome Boy Scouts made several little libraries for their Eagle project. When I read about it in the paper, I immediately called to get one. Over the weekend my very sweet husband (and kids) helped me repaint our box, clear a small jungle in the shrub bed, set the box in post mix, put in a bench, and plant flowers. Whew! I think it turned out so nice, though.

When I put in the books on Sunday (a few for grownups and young adults, mostly picture/chapter books), four little neighbor kids ran over and grabbed a book and sat on the bench to read. I wanted to jump up and down! Little readers on my bench!

After church, my family spent most of Sunday near the library. It was a beautiful day and so relaxing to rest and read in the shade under the flowering trees. Curiosity drew several neighbors to stop and chat. I was reaping the rewards already! Another unexpected benefit over the weekend was that preparing the books and the library was fun to do with the family, not just my pet project.

This picture was not posed in any way whatsoever!

Monday came, and since my house is on the walking route to the elementary school, kids stopped to check it out. A free book? Really? Oh, yes! I hope they stay excited to look for a little surprise that is always waiting on the walk to or from school.

As the books started moving off the shelves, I replenished it out of a box of donated books. When I run out, I will get more from thrift store, garage sales, and library/teacher/friend castoffs. (Only the most fabulous books will make it into MY library, though. 'Cause I'm the librarian, so what I say goes!)

William Shakespeare, Meet George Lucas?

Love this illustration from said book. 

I wanted to throw a Shakespeare-dinner party. Not the dress-up kind but the kind where friends could just hang out and munch all night and read a play. But I wanted something a little...snazzier than a regular Shakespeare play. Something more accessible than Literature with a capital L.


When I found Ian Doescher's book William Shakespeare's Star Wars: Verily, a New Hope, I knew I had just the thing for a perfect party. It sounds like a gag until you see it. Star Wars uses archetypal characters and plot--the whole thing oddly fits with Shakespeare, when you think of it. And frankly, the dialogue couldn't be any worse in a knock-off than the original! Sorry, it's true!

If you've ever wanted to hear R2D2's secret thoughts ("This golden droid has been a friend, 'tis true,/And yet I wish to still his prating tongue!/An imp, he calleth me? I'll be revenged,/And merry pranks aplenty I shall play/Upon this pompous droid C-3PO!) or hear other favorite lines played out in an Elizabethan way, this is the play you are looking for. Doescher works in real quotes from Shakespeare plays for those overachievers who can pick them out (yeah, like me!). There is even a study guide if you want to know more. I love it!


Poking around on the internet and Pinterest, I didn't find much in the way of an awesome party invitation, so I gave in and made my own. I think it turned out pretty great! (I'm sharing all of this so if you are poking around on the internet looking for a fun Shakespeare party idea, you can copy me if you find something helpful!)

Here's the party invite. I found a picture of a star field online. The Star Wars opening title sequence font is the standard Franklin Gothic. I found this cool website where you can generate text in the Star Wars title font.

Here's my ridiculous sonnet in text below. Forced rhyme/meter poetry is always challenging! I was able to weave a couple of actual Shakespeare quotes in, though!

UnBlog My Heart

Blogs are dumb. Seriously.

Who has time to read them, let alone write one? I've had a secret snarky thought for years: If you have enough time to do a blog, maybe you should get a job, because you have too much time on your hands.

Blogging implies a certain vanity, that what "the big I" have to say is so important that loads of random people will want to hear it. There are all these super-achievers out there who post their amazing home remodel before-and-afters...cooks who post their awesome recipes...mommy bloggers who brag on their kids. It kind of makes me sick.

So why am I doing this? Yeah, it's probably hypocritical. And--say it!--I should probably get a job. I know.

Like everything, it's complicated. I guess it comes down to: I have been feeling more and more like I have a voice, and I want to use it.

I don't flatter myself to think that anyone will care to read this. I am not doing it to attract 2-D friends or sponsors. I am thinking of this project as my open journal, a virtual scrapbook where I can celebrate my favorite things and ponder and muse and maybe even post my fabulous brownies recipe or record something great about my kids.

It's my room. I can do whatever I want in it. That's a really liberating thought in a kind of scary way.

It's me shouting in the forest, singing at the top of my lungs, listening for the echo.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.  I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
This is me sounding my barbaric yawp. Thanks, Walt, for giving me the words to express how I feel as I embark upon these empty pages.