The Roundup

Encounters: During a recent trip to my eye doctor, we were visiting and the subject of dreams came up after she confessed she thought she was neurotic. As an example she told about a reoccurring dream that mixed her job with her family life. The dream unfolds at a baby shower and she is showing two dresses for the recipient to choose from, as she does with lenses at her job. “Do you prefer dress number one,” she asks with a smile, “or dress number two.” “One,” she repeats, or two?” It turns into a nightmare as she continues to repeat the question and the guest of honor can not decide. We both laughed, and I conceded she might be a little neurotic.

Read: Because of a year-long project I have been involved in I have not been doing much reading, other than news on the internet and some magazines here and there. However, being a lifelong fan of comics and graphic novels I reread Blankets, By Craig Thompson. The final lines in the book read, as the main character (Craig) walks through the snow by himself: “How satisfying it is to leave a mark on a blank surface. To make a map of my movement, no matter how temporary.”

Observed: Very few migrating birds this fall. Where are they, or have I missed all those flyovers?

Website: Leftovers and Food Safety

Recipe: Baked Potato Soup

A White Rose

Instead of lyrics this month I decided to share a poem I found in a small book titled “A Pocket Treasury of Irish Verse.”

Inside the little book is an inscription that reads: “Dear Joann, It’s great having you on this trip. Congratulations on BINGO! Verg & Dorothy 2001” As far as I know this poem has nothing to do with Joann, Verg or Dorothy, I just like it.

A White Rose

By John Boyle O’Reilly

The red rose whispers of passion,

And the white rose breathes of love;

Oh, the red rose is a falcon,

And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rose bud

With a flush on its petal tips;

For the love that is purest and sweetest

Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

My Father’s House

Bruce Springsteen, 1982

Last night I dreamed that
I was a child
Out where the pines grow
Wild and tall
I was trying to
Make it home through the forest
Before the darkness falls

I heard the wind rustling
Through the trees
And ghostly voices
Rose from the fields
I ran with my heart pounding
Down that broken path
With the devil snappin’ at my heels

I broke through the trees and
There in the night
My father’s house stood
Shining hard and bright
The branches and brambles
Tore my clothes and scratched my arms
But I ran ’til I fell shaking in his arms

I awoke and I imagined
The hard things that pulled us apart
Will never again Sir
Tear us from each other’s hearts
I got dressed and to that house
I did ride
From out on the road
I could see its windows shining in light

I walked up the steps and
Stood on the porch
A woman I didn’t recognize
Came and spoke to me through a chained door
I told her my story
And who I’d come for
She said: “I’m sorry son but no one by that name
Lives here anymore”

My father’s house shines
Hard and bright
It stands like a beacon
Calling me in the night
Calling and calling
So cold and alone
Shining ‘cross this dark highway
Where our sins lie unatoned

Written by: Bruce Springsteen

Album: Nebraska

Released: 1982

Lyrics provided by Musixmatch