'My Boy Jack' (1916)

'Have you news of my boy Jack?'
Not this tide.
'When d'you think that he'll come back?'
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

'Has any one else had word of him?'
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

'Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?'
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind -
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

Kipling's son, John, was lost in action during the Battle of Loos, September 1915.
His body was never recovered until long after his father's death and the war's end.
Kipling and his wife had to endure long years of uncertainty regarding their son's fate.

* I just watched Masterpiece Theatre's My Boy Jack, terribly sad. Because of his poor sight, Jack failed two eye exams for the army and one for the navy. But because of his and his father's persistence, Jack was finally admitted into the army as an officer. He was 18 yrs 1 day when he died.

I'm back on a caffeine addiction -- woo hoo, green tea!

Created by

"He who forgets the humming of the bees among the heather, the cooing of the wood-pigeons in the forest, the song of the birds in the woods, the rippling of rills among the rushes, and the sighing of the wind among the pines, needs not wonder if his heart forgets to sing and his soul grows heavy.
A day's breathing of fresh air upon the hills, or a few hours' ramble in the beech woods' umbrageous calm, would sweep the cobwebs out of the brain of scores of our toiling ministers who are now but half alive.
A mouthful of sea air, or a stiff walk in the wind's face, would not give grace to the soul, but it would yield oxygen to the body, which is the next best. The firs and the rabbits, the streams and the trouts, the fir trees and the squirrels, the primroses and the violets, the farm-yard, the new-mown hay, and the fragrant hops -- these are the best medicine for hypochondriacs, the surest tonics for the declining, the best refreshments for the weary. For lack of opportunity, or inclination, these great remedies are neglected, and the student becomes a self-immolated victim."
- Charles Spurgeon to his students

"You know, like nunchuku skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills... Girls only want boyfriends who have great skills."

Cyber space. Cyber friends. Cyber spies.
a story about imagined community

Eight or nine years ago I found a web site created by this girl. It was beautiful. Creative and off-beat with a feminine quirkiness. She had a blog, too. This was before I even knew what a blog was or before blogger was big or perhaps before it even was. idk.

I began reading her blog pretty regularly. You've done it, too. Started reading someone else's life just one day when you've had nothing else to do. Suddenly, I was identifying with this person I'd never seen. A bizarre concept then. She was studying art history and loved C.S. Lewis. Was she a Christian? She was. She spoke French. The summer before I went to the south of France, she went there with a friend to take pictures by the sea. She idolized Audrey Hepburn. me too. She's now at graduate school in England.

I was her secret friend. Her secret admirer. a devotee.

Through the internet we were a part of this new community. A community where thoughts and emotions were shared but the members never met.

Then...she disappeared.

For two years, I couldn't figure out if she'd really just stopped blogging or if she had moved sites and didn't say. It was crazy but I felt as though I'd lost touch with a friend with whom I use to be on a secret-sharing, intimate basis. That's the worse. Remembering how it use to be. I'd think about it once in a while and feel mournful.

But, then...I'd remember that she was a believer and that we would actually meet one day...for the first time.

That was the last two years.

Last night, on a whim, I googled. And found.

!!

Sometimes it makes me think about who is reading my blog. Whom I don't know, I mean.

I present my apologies for neglecting the blog world recently. Below you will find wild examples of the disarray of my life. My room looks like the abode of a madcap professor with stacks of books, papers, and folders; decaying fruit, tea-stained mugs, and applesauce cups; lists, lists, and lists; and motivating goal cards.


I am feverishly writing three papers at once of which one is my thesis. Now that I am actually working (ahem), I love it! The process is a mélange of crazy jumbled ideas that slowly make it into notebooks and the slight heart palpitations caused by approaching deadlines.

I usually make my bed no matter the state of the rest of ma chambre because my mom used to say that just doing that made a room look so much tidier. But today was one of those....sleepless night due to loud, drunk roommates/spill tomato soup on your tan coat and new shoes/high strung boss/no time for a nap/think I'm going to fail sort of days. So, no bed making. Surprisingly, the best part of today was visiting the financial adviser to get the spiel for my official loan exit interview. Woo hoo.


Dirty laundry.

Well, O.K., maybe the best part of today was waking up to use my Josh Groban mug. After all, "The best part about waking up, is Josh Groban on your cup!"