Morning's Due

"Cyriack, this three years day these eyes, though clear
To outward view of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light their seeing have forgot,
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, friend, t' have lost them overplied
In liberty's defense, my noble task,
Of which all Europe talks from side to side,
This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask,
Content, though blind, had I no better guide."
--Sonnet 22, John Milton, 1655--


Cyriack, according to one of the treasures on my bookshelf, The Annotated Milton, worked for John Milton as an "amanuensis," a recorder of the poet's thoughts. Dedicating himself as Milton's personal scribe, he stood in various roles as student, friend, and confidante. He chose to be privy to the genius's inner turmoil regarding progressive blindness, personal errors of judgment, deaths of two wives, social and political injustice, and impoverishment. Cyriack Skinner witnessed firsthand an incredible outpouring of expression. A poet's spiritual re-birth and subsequent growth generated an Artesian well of expression, and Cyriack must have worked long hours to write it all down, by hand. And I doubt if he made much money for all of that effort.


I have been waiting weeks for some sign of growth in one area of the garden. Can you guess what this plant is and what it will produce? A hint: James Joyce's writing was influenced by a profound lack of it at one time in his homeland.

Perfection has never entered my garden, and I don't intend for it to start now. I intend for that touch of eclectic chaos I enjoy in my literary studies to inform my work outside.

This morning before Daughter left for class, she popped back inside and told me I needed to take a look at something. She said it would look good on my blog. The fog outside had gradually subsided and left behind it a dew-drop strand of pearls on the still-dormant Japanese maple. A spider had abandoned its handiwork for catching food, and the tattered web now provides a framework for something new and wonderful.

Gerbera daisies are something new and wonderful in the bed facing east. As you can see, they get chewed on by something (I wish I knew what critter is responsible!) and still manage to glow with color and bloom with abandon.

CO2 Exchange--Nature's Solution to Ennui

When anniversaries must be celebrated in economic downturns, the celebrants should perish the thought of considering pricey options like staying in Seaside. From slumping oil prices and home values to disappearing paychecks and savings accounts--these signs of the times all require scaling back of personal economies. Seaside, you may recall, is the idyllic town where parts of the movie The Truman Show were filmed. Lunch at Bud and Alley's in Seaside and a long walk sufficed to help two celebrants this past week put a few things in perspective.


First of all, celebrants of twenty-nine years of marriage find it satisfying enough to watch someone else put his or her life/limbs at risk, catching the wind to ride the waves. We can be there, up in the air, in our minds, fighting ennui right along with whoever that is, taking chances. And our wings of wax will remain intact.



Secondly, fruitless job searches do not steal joy from celebrants in search of secret passages through dunes.

And, finally, signs in secret passages remind celebrants that nature has a way of breathing new life into old problems. If "time keeps on slipping into the future," then life should get better and better, or so we have been told, as long as we watch our steps and keep our noses to the grindstone.

Watching your step requires lowering your gaze.

Lowered eyes usually find treasures abounding in the woods and on nature trails. Cladina evansii may be one of the few secrets Florida has left, so this celebrant will keep a valuable CO2 exchanger's specific whereabouts a mystery. It's a delicate lichen which is easy to pick up and tempting to take home. There are no roots keeping it earthbound, and it is light and small enough to put several specimens in a pocket. Conscience and respect for nature/others keep this visitor (celebrant) from cramming her pockets full of these goodies. If you Google "CO2 exchange," you may find that other kinds of minds are hard at work trading futures for dreams of substantial wealth. And those dreams could leave the rest of us life-celebrants with nothing more substantial than the air that we breathe.

"Tea leaves thwart those who court catastrophe,

Designing futures where nothing will occur...."

--from Sylvia Plath's poem "Ennui"--

From Mistletoe to Spanish Moss--Epiphytic Love

From mistletoe to Spanish moss,
epiphytes, you know, are philagathos--loving that which is good.

They don't take more than they need in the way of basic nourishment to become established on a host tree such as an oak or maple. Providing additional photosynthetically derived energy for their hosts, they make cozy nesting material for birds, appear to assist avian digestive processes, and are collected as elegant decorating supplies by aesthetic-minded members of the animal kingdom.

In the plant kingdom, epiphytes are neither here nor there, living at the mercy of their hosts. I do believe epiphytes, especially the various types of mistletoe, have been much maligned and don't deserve the bad reputation they may have acquired because of hearsay or old-wives' tales. And who wouldn't love the idea of pineapples growing on trees?


My study of literature sometimes ranges from the sublime (Wordsworth's "Resolution and Independence") to the ridiculous (Lewis Carroll's "The White Knight's Song"). But what is ridiculous about the need to survive in difficult economic times? Carroll somehow understood better than Wordsworth the absolute necessity for laughter in times of great distress. Wordsworth was perhaps laboring under the delusion of his time that "moving forward" and being "optimistic" were keywords for success in any endeavor. And anyway, laughter makes more of an impression than wringing of hands or gnashing of teeth in times like this one. Somehow it eventually draws your attention to the dire needs of others who are less fortunate. You know--the ones you see along the various highways and byways these days, toting small bundles, bearing the weight of the world's diminishing dividends ultimately decreed by greedy "expert" financiers.

The White Knight's Song

I'll tell thee everything I can;

There's little to relate.

I saw an aged, aged man,

A-sitting on a gate.

"Who are you, aged man?" I said.

"And how is it you live?"

And his answer trickled through my head

Like water through a sieve.

He said, "I look for butterflies

That sleep among the wheat;

I make them into mutton-pies,

And sell them in the street.

I sell them unto men," he said,

"Who sail on stormy seas;

And that's the way I get my bread--

A trifle, if you please."

But I was thinking of a plan

To dye one's whiskers green,

And always use so large a fan

That they could not be seen.

So, having no reply to give

To what the old man said,

I cried, "Come, tell me how you live!"

And thumped him on the head....

Eulogia--Heartfelt Words from 'Mount Gerizim'

To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold

Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench,

Thy love is such I can no way repay,

The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.

Then while we live, in love let's so persevere

That when we live no more, we may live ever.

--Anne Bradstreet, 1678--

Sylvan Settings and Golden Aurelia--Liminal Secrets to Good Health

Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference, as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
Which when it bites and blows upon my body
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
"This is no flattery; these are counselors
That feelingly persuade me what I am..."
--from As You Like It by William Shakespeare, Act 2, Scene 1--

I hope that my brothers and sisters in exile--holed up indoors while winter rages on outside--find some warm, Southern comfort in this post and the words of Duke Senior. On the last day of January, my Secret Aging Man and I walked some trails in the woods at UWF.

Peanut the Younger often takes chances by leaping onto favorite trees. She really seems to favor this Loropetalum. I'm thinking it must have an extra helping of prana--the life force or energy that is supposed to be holding this old world together. Our massage therapist daughter has taken a class in pranic healing and sometimes practices what she has learned on us.

The Secret Aging Man (aka Hubby) takes his pruning seriously and recommends a session for the crepe myrtle in the backyard. Lately, I have seen these trees around here, severely trimmed and making it look like a mad barber has been turned loose on the town. I agreed with the recommendation, but I'm afraid to show you the results of the session. Maybe I'll wait until there is some new growth sprouting in the spring.

At this time of year, when the evening comes early and the frosty air chases us indoors as soon as the sun sets, silly things like lava lamps take us back in time for a laugh or two.

The simplest things keep us satisfied these days, which is a good thing, because they are relatively cheap but oh-so-valuable for nutrition. Gold standards may change with time, but excellence in nutrition and health never goes out of style. Thomas More's Utopia (first published in 1516) found interesting solutions to the problem of maintaining a high standard of living in a world even then obsessed with possessions:

Now if in their society [Utopia] these metals [gold and silver] were put away in
some tower, the ruler and the senate might be suspected of deceiving the people
by some trick and getting some good from it for themselves--such is the foolish
anxiety of the mob. And then if they made platters out of them or other vessels
made by goldsmiths, if ever the occasion arose to melt them down and use them to
pay mercenaries, they realize that once people had begun to delight in them they
would be reluctant to give them up. To obviate these difficulties they have
thought up a method quite compatible with the rest of their arrangements but
very far removed from ours (for we value gold very highly and hide it away quite
carefully), a method which is therefore hard to believe unless you have
experienced it. Whereas they eat and drink from vessels of earthenware and
glass, beautifully crafted but inexpensive, they use gold and silver, not only
in the common halls but also in private houses, to make all the chamberpots and
lowliest containers.

I hope I am correct in identifying this jellyfish as Aurelia aurita, a moon jellyfish. It does not look exactly like the photos I have found online but close enough by description of size and color. Notably missing are the reproductive organs clearly evident in the other photos I have seen. It was not moving like the Portugese man o' war I saw on Pensacola Beach last month. Maybe its reproductive days are over, which would be a crying shame. It might be one of those valuable jellyfish deemed edible by discriminating palates in some Asian countries. Sushi, anyone?

...Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
--from As You Like It, 2.1.12-17--

Mus Maximus Mus(t) Exit(us)

It is easy to find fault, if one has that disposition. There was once a man who, not being able to find any other fault with coal, complained that there were too many prehistoric toads in it.


--from Mark Twain's Pudd'nhead Wilson, excerpt from Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar--



I might as well face it. The Year of the Rat is over, and the Year of the Ox is being ushered in and welcomed all over the world. The photo of the rat in the first frame is not my own. I am sure there are rats living somewhere nearby, but I have never seen one yet to be able to take its picture. It would probably escape that fate anyway because I would probably drop the camera and run, not walk, as far away as possible, screaming all the way. Calendars serve many useful purposes: measuring the passage of time, serving as a record of history, reminding us of things we need to accomplish, and making us aware of certain obligations like birthdays and anniversaries. I find it interesting that the Chinese have been keeping track of time far longer than any Western civilization has and have been allowing the lunar cycle to determine the method of time-keeping. Time may be considered not in linear terms but in cyclic ones instead. The course of human history could therefore be seen as contours on an isopach map of the world's history, if such a map only existed. Of course, if it did, you would probably see quite a few eraser marks and blank spots as each new generation tries to adjust the contours of its self-concept onto evidence of previous sedimentary layers. Pictures from a recent visit to the Tallahassee Museum of History and Natural Science may just prove my point, whatever it is. I should warn you that I was born in a Year of the Rat, but rest easy. My cycle is nearing the completion of its circuit. January 26, 2009, on the calendar finds the Ox taking over. If you don't like what this new year has in store, there is no need to worry. It too is only part of a cycle, just like the seasons, climate change, and anything else governed by nature.

I had no idea Florida was once home to a "princess." Those Napoleons were quite the characters for changing the world and their personal fortunes along the way.

The museum property borders a lake and swamp. Bald cypress trees dominate the landscape, bearing all of the accoutrements necessary for survival in a watery environment. I still have not found a definitive explanation for the appearance of knees on some trees and none on others.

Panthers once flourished in Florida, but we know what progress can do for certain species of mammals. Of course, progress appears to follow a cyclic pattern of its own.

One day, these panthers might once more roam freely in Florida instead of being confined to cages at a museum.

Wolves and panthers are outstanding symbols of the cunning required for survival of the fittest.

You can also find the grandest symbol of them all at this American museum in the Deep South. I would probably never be able to capture one on camera sitting this still in the wild, if I were even fortunate enough to see one. The way it kept staring at me staring at it, I began to wonder if it thought it was seeing some kind of prey. Maybe a rat?