all soul's day and the lake district

we are seven

--------------a simple child,

that lightly draws its breath,

and feels its life in every limb,

what should it know of death?

i met a little cottage girl:

she was eight years old, she said;

her hair was thick with many a curl

that clustered round her head.

she had a rustic, woodland air,

and she was wildly clad:

her eyes were fair, and very fair;

----her beauty made me glad.

"sisters and brothers, little maid,

how many may you be?"

"how many? seven in all," she said,

and wondering looked at me.

"and where are they? i pray you tell."

she answered, "seven are we;

and two of us at conway dwell,

and two are gone to sea.

"two of us in the church-yard lie,

my sister and my brother;

and, in the church-yard cottage, i

dwell near them with my mother."

"you say that two at conway dwell,

and two are gone to sea,

yet ye are seven! i pray you tell,

sweet maid, how this may be."

then did the little maid reply,

"seven boys and girls are we;

two of us in the church-yard lie,

beneath the church-yard tree."

"you run about, my little maid,

your limbs they are alive;

if two are in the church-yard laid,

then ye are only five."

"their graves are green, they may be seen,"

the little maid replied,

"twelve steps or more from my mother's door,

and they are side by side.

"my stockings there i often knit,

my kerchief there i hem;

and there upon the ground i sit,

and sing a song to them.

"and often after sun-set, sir,

when it is light and fair,

i take my little porringer,

and eat my supper there.

"the first that died was sister jane;

in bed she moaning lay,

till god released her of her pain;

and then she went away.

"so in the church-yard she was laid;

and, when the grass was dry,

together round her grave we played,

my brother john and i.

"and when the ground was white with snow,

and i could run and slide,

my brother john was forced to go,

and he lies by her side."

"how many are you, then," said i,

"if they two are in heaven?"

quick was the little maid's reply,

"o master! we are seven."

"but they are dead; those two are dead!

their spirits are in heaven!"

'twas throwing words away; for still

the little maid would have her will,

and said, "nay, we are seven!"

by william wordsworth (1770-1850)

----

photos from william wordsworth's home in the lake district where morgan and harley are visiting:

making friends with the cottage's cat . . 

who likes to rest in a bed in the garden shed.

all soul's day

man was made for joy and woe;

and when this we rightly know,

thro the world we safely go

. . joy and woe are woven fine

a clothing for the soul divine

under every grief and pine

runs a joy with silken twine . . 

from auguries of innocence

by william blake (1757-1827)

a song for all soul's day and another bicycle ride

 

from first unitarian universalist congregation, brooklyn

 

----

 

 

i went to visit chanda today at merriweather. there's been a lot of anxiety for everyone with this election. 

i waited for her on the bench outside the entrance. i hadn't been far as i had been shopping at the health food store just down the street. i left the apartment early this morning to take some pumpkin pie to kendall, along with a few groceries she had requested . . so it was a busy morning.

we talked for a little bit (she was on a short break) and then she made me a mocha to go. i finished my errands which included picking up a few containers of frozen broth from the brodo store for korrina. earlier, i had visited a different health food store on seventh avenue to get her powdered vitamin c crystals and vitamin d3 drops. i then trudged home with the groceries, put a few perishables away and then headed out with korrina's items and greg's key fob for the citibike. it was such a windy day!

the greeting out the front door this morning . . pedaling against this wind was not fun . . but what a difference from yesterday, with the sun glistening off the river. it was such a beautiful ride downtown, and it was fun seeing where korrina works now, on an old cobblestone street lined with brick buildings that seem to be from the 18th century. her boss owns two or three places all next to each other.

and then i walked back to the bike dock and rode home, this time going by way of the river walk -

that little dot in the center on the horizon is the statue of liberty . . 

for dinner tonight we had scallops, fillet of sole, some kind of greens from the green market farmer that we've never had, but that i thought we could try, and potatoes. (it was the tokyo bekana greens, which i now know i prefer raw. they sautéed too watery, though chanda loved them. they're very "lettuce-like" to me. i think i would prefer them in a salad. they had a nice bite to them when uncooked.)

all souls' day

all souls' day

close-wrapped in living thought i stand

where death and daybreak divide the land,

death and daybreak on either hand

for exit and for entry;

while shapes like wind-blown shadows pass,

lost and lamenting, "alas, alas,

this body is only shriveling grass,

and the soul a starlit sentry

who guards, and as he comes and goes,

points now to daybreak's burning rose,

and now toward worldhoods's charnel close

leans with regretless warning" . . . 

i hear them thus -- o thus i hear

my doomed companions crowding near,

until my faith, absolved from fear;

sings out into the morning,

and tells them how we travel far,

from life to life, from star to star;

exult, unknowing what we are;

and quell the obscene derision

of demon-haunters in our heart

who work for worms and have no part

in thee, o ultimate power, who art

our victory and our vision.

by siegfried sassoon (1886 - 1967)

----

 this evening for dinner i used the recipe on the green market's newsletter that came with my box of vegetables on tuesday. it called for two large sweet potatoes and a cup and a half of spelt flour. i baked the sweet potatoes for an hour and then let them cool. i peeled them and mashed them together with the flour.

 then i kneaded the dough and rolled it out into three logs, which i cut into squares and indented with a fork. we boiled water and dropped them in. when they floated to the surface, we scooped them out and let them drain on a paper towel.

 making an arugula salad . . 

 the pesto was made with swiss chard, pignoli nuts, olive oil and parmesan. all the ingredients came in tuesday's box, including the flour, which felt wonderfully "home-made." 

it had a softer feel, mixed with small granules.

now it's november

november is a spinner

spinning in the mist.

weaving such a lovely web

of gold and amethyst.

in among the shadows,

she spins 'til close of day,

then quietly she folds her hands,

and puts her work away.

one of our all souls' day photos: aunt evie relaxing on the deck out on montauk in the '90's.

stories for all soul's day

since i was away for all soul's day, we shared stories of our family members this morning.

we mainly talked about xena and jack this morning. but i did tell the story of my dad and the coffee pot blowing over in the wind when camping at teddy roosevelt state park in north dakota (1979). the picture of him in profile all the way on the right was taken just before calamity struck. he had the coffee pot on the propane stove and it was very hot. the wind was an unpredictable gale and he had constructed a green plastic awning around the kitchen area where we were sitting. my mom and i were very skeptical about his creation. he poohed poohed our concern in his typical and crazy nonno way (i'm a lot like this) and then all of a sudden a gust came and everything was blown to smithereens. what a mess. coffee was everywhere; including on me (and it was hot)! it was all so funny, though i guess not at the moment. he was quite angry! i'm sure my mom and i tried not to laugh right then, but we've laughed about it ever since.

we also had a breakfast of steel cut oats, brown sugar and cream.

all souls' day

all souls' day

 let's go our old way

by the stream, and kick the leaves
as we always did, to make
the rhythm of breaking waves.

this day draws no breath –
shows no colour anywhere
except for the leaves - in their death
brilliant as never before.

yellow of brimstone butterfly,
brown of oak eggar moth –
you'd say. And i'd be wondering why
a summer never seems lost

if two have been together
witnessing the variousness of light,
and the same two in lustreless november
enter the year's night…

the slow-worm stream - how still!
above that spider's unguarded door,
look – dull pearls…time's full,
brimming, can hold no more.

next moment (we well know,
my darling, you and i)
what the small day cannot hold
must spill into eternity.

so perhaps we should move cat-soft
meanwhile, and leave everything unsaid,
until no shadow of risk can be left
of disturbing the scatheless dead.

ah, but you were always leaf-light.
and you so seldom talk
as we go. but there at my side
through the bright leaves you walk.

and yet – touch my hand
that i may be quite without fear,
for it seems as if a mist descends,
and the leaves where you walk do not stir.

by frances bellerby

 xena, aunt evie, and jack

 surprisingly, chanda requested risotto for dinner . .

 and i made another pumpkin pie with fresh butternut squash.

all soul's day and a visit from the halloween fairies

today the girls found a gift from the halloween fairies on the table in the early morning. every year they leave out their halloween treats and in it's place is a delicious organic chocolate bar and other small, but lovely gifts from the fairies.

today was also all soul's day, and so we lit a candle for aunt evie who passed away last march. we miss her dearly.

it being moon day, we had cream of rice for breakfast. it was a nice quiet morning, after a hectic, but fun, weekend.