Okay, I've been a bad blogger. And I can't help it. Well I can, but I've been occupied of late and tired, and so when I sit in front of a blank composing screen my mind matches it, blank. I actually almost fell off the office chair a couple of days ago when I fell asleep in front of the "Compose Post" screen.
I've got things to write about, its not a lack of material by any means. I finally got to watch Passchendaele the other day and want to write a review, but I've got so many expectations and come at it from different interests and levels and I still can't decide whether I like or dislike it. Probably both.
Mostly I've been spending time in meetings and committees and such. Four this week. And they've been long, or some have. Kids to the dentist, a pile of work for the B&B (and that sound was a deadline swooshing by), and endless pots of coffee for meetings taking place at the House and it seems like I actually work for a living for a change.
Clouds? Well, today the sun was supposed to be above the horizon, but the weather gods, with their infinite sense of humour decided it was time for the first truly overcast day in weeks. There was a beautiful sort of lemony light at noon today though. So I suspect the sun still exists, and the human sacrifice worked yet again. Tomorrow is supposed to be clear, so perhaps there will be photos. And a video if an idea comes to fruitation.
While I'm rambling all over the place. It's Bob Marley's birthday. Do yourself a favour and go to your iPod and play some Marley. A lot of it actually. And if you don't have some on there, for shame.
I had another poem that I planned on sharing with you today but it will wait for the return of the Sun post. Instead, here is one from the Writer's Almanac today that made me chuckle.
What the children remember about Uncle Jim
is that on the train to Reno to get divorced
so he could marry again
he met another woman and woke up in California.
It took him seven years to untangle that dream
but a man who could sing like Uncle Jim
was bound to get in scrapes now and then:
he expected it and we expected it.
Mother said, It's because he was the middle child,
and Father said, Yeah, where there's trouble
Jim's in the middle.
When he lost his voice he lost all of it
to the surgeon's knife and refused the voice box
they wanted to insert. In fact he refused
almost everything. Look, they said,
it's up to you. How many years
do you want to live? and Uncle Jim
held up one finger.
The middle one.