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27 February 2008


John B.

Wordsworth danced with daffodils, you know. In a poem, at least.

There is a comfort in quartz: a rating of 7 on Moh's Scale, yet so common, being a silicate and all.

Peace to you and yours, Pam.

(Oh: Scruffy behaves in exactly the same way your dogs do when I shower.)


Thanks John. I am aware of that poem - and it is a dance, isn't it?

There are beautiful quartz rocks scattered all around my parent's place - my father and I go fishing for them, more or less.

And thanks. It's a challenging time, for sure - definitely one of life's new experiences. I see people all around me who have lost a parent, and I marvel at them, wondering how they managed, now I know what they know: sometimes one has no choice.

And dogs! That's funny that Scruffy does this too. I imagine it's a common thing, that they all learn in their imaginery dog schools. 'Fake Sleeping 101'. Now that would be a fun course to teach!

The County Clerk

I cannot comment on the pain. I will "listen" and understand. You do a beautiful job of letting the pain seep out with a flavor of beauty. But there is nothing I know of to be said. Do not keep it in.

Top photo: That sweeping perianth is a trait of division 6 narcissus... the Cycalminious. I love 'em too. How tall is it? Also, I think it has some ORANGE in the bell. It might be a 6-Y-O... maybe even a 6-Y-YYO. Crazy.

Those King Alfreds are wonderful.

I love that Wordsworth poem. John always puts the best thoughts in my head.

As do you.


And fathers.

And mothers.

And dogs.

Yes. This is bounty of life. It is good to be rich in these things.


"Daffodils" by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


Riches indeed. "What wealth the show to me had brought."


John, thanks again for the reminder of this poem, and - County Clerk - thank you for such kind words (...And yes, I overlooked the Cyclamineus! That is it - but I went out and looked at it again, and I feel that there is no orange. Just yellow.).


Take good care!


Thank you Peg.

Christopher C NC

Fathers are complicated creatures. Over a lifetime you can build an image in your head of them that may not be flattering. Then they reveal quietly, without fanfare, a more true, beautiful inner quality about their character and it makes you wonder about a lot of the past.

Daffodils, stones and fathers, things that can ground you to your place in the world.


Drats, scads ... those words made me chuckle while your daffodils made me sigh... because I would so love to see something green coming out of the ground. These are beautiful daffodils (like you, I am not good about keeping track of names - I always think I will remember exactly what I planted and where.)

It is wonderful to see that quiet strength and love of one parent for another. Our parents have been married for the same length of time - I had to smile when I read about you and your dad collecting rocks. Whenever my dad comes here, he pulls a few rocks out of his pockets... ones he has collected at our family cottage. (He knows I love unusually-shaped rocks for my garden.)

I read in your later post that you are going off to visit your parents, so that was good to hear! I hope you have a wonderful time with both your mum and dad. These moments are pretty special.

And now I'm contemplating all the times that I stood outside with my tongue out during a snowfall. Maybe it's all good bacteria ...


Between your beautiful words and Hank's... my daffodil prejudice really stands no chance of continuing this year, I fear. *grin*

Richness indeed. And mine doesn't do it when I'm leaving or showering, but I love it when you call them out on the pretend sleep and start to get the tail wag... you just know they can't help it, and the tail is wagging in spite of the dog. Wonderful.

Why is it that we can never fool them, though? I do my best sleep impersonation and it still earns me a knowing lick right across the eyeball... like she's saying, "Riiiight. Nice try. But it's time to get up!" :)

The County Clerk

Geez Christopher... what a beautiful thing to write.


Christopher, yes - my Father is quite uncomplicated, and there has been a strength in his care of my Mother, a kindness - that I am quite in awe of. It is what love is, I think.

Kate, I swear I never use those words, and they just popped into my head like I use them everyday. I do blame the fever. I love how your Father brings you rocks - how nice is that? It's a perfect gift.

Kim, my favorites are the smaller ones - perhaps you should start there. They don't shout SPRING so much as they whisper it - when you see how you feel about those, then you could try the King Alfreds. But ease into them - you have plenty of time to plant them all!

And I know what you mean about dogs. I think that moments before I even know that I am awake, that the Wild Dog knows. She becomes a wiggly squirmy mass of dog wildness.

County Clerk, I wholeheartedly agree. It was indeed a beautiful thing to write.

Annie in Austin

The ability to read this conversation between you-all seems like magic - and some of us really needed to hear these words. It gives me hope that our children will also be able to see us as whole human beings, not just as parents.

Pam & Kim, in addition to the many grand-cats, a new grand-dog has been added out in Washington State. I'll have to ask my daughter about this fake sleeping thing.

Annie at the Transplantable Rose


Annie, it's ashame that we all weren't at dinner together - isn't it?

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