Saturday, January 03, 2009

Happy New Year!!!!

I am so happy to have made it through 2008! Lots and lots of changes. I don't forsee 2009 being exactly quiet but maybe more productive as folks get into "nose to the grindstone" mode.

The money thing is crazy, crazy and I hope our national leadership can help folks "keep their heads up". Perception is really important and if we think positively...things will *still* be difficult but at least we'll be looking ahead.

For those who didn't make it through to the end of last year, I hope those of us still here can gain comfort through the deep meaning your time on earth gave the rest of us. Lots of losses in the popular arts and more 'off the beaten path" folks. Icons and future icons gone too soon, for us.

Still problems and still possibilities, opportunities. Weirdly, I can't get into the 'bunker mentality' even though all signs indicate that I'm supposed to: Planet's messed up, no money, mo problems, etc. Seems like there hasn't been a moment to relax and rejoice since election day. Maybe I'm a bit on the wrong side here but I just can't buy into the 'nattering nabobs'. I feel that so much of the drama since November has been targeted to keep folks 'anti-optimistic'. Being a contrarian by nature, I just gotta go the other way on it. Hunker down, yes. Bunker, no. (Corny, probably!)

Another poem, as usual, to put the spirit on ya.

xo and hny,

(excerpt) Endymion, Book I, [A thing of beauty is a joy for ever]
by John Keats

Book I

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

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