“Oh where are you going with your love-locks flowing/ On the west wind blowing along this valley track?”*


It has been a busy week, the highlight of which was my visit to the wee babes’ preschool one morning for Grandparents’ Day. I went to chapel with them and to an activity (coloring) and a snack. I had to leave early to get to work, but they were in the good hands of their other grandparents. At two, life is just one activity after another and then you take a nap. Sounds pretty good, right?

After quite a few busy weekends in a row, I am going to take it real easy this weekend. I have no plans besides babysitting the wee babes on Saturday night. I am hoping the OM and I are capable of handling/wrangling them for two hours. We’ll see.

Since tomorrow marks the 137th anniversary of the death of the brilliant, but ultimately misguided, Sage of Concord, Ralph Waldo Emerson, I will be toasting him.

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When Emerson died of pneumonia in 1882, he was buried on “Author’s Ridge” in Concord’s Sleepy Hollow Cemetery —a cemetery that was designed with Emerson’s Transcendentalist, nature-loving aesthetics in mind. In 1855, as a member of the Concord Cemetery Committee, Emerson gave the dedication at the opening of the cemetery, calling it a “garden of the living” that would be a peaceful place for both visitors and permanent residents. “Author’s Ridge” became a burial ground for many of those famous American authors who called Concord home—Louisa May Alcott, Henry David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Emerson. Good company for sure.

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I should also note that tomorrow Christina Rossetti is honored with a feast day on the liturgical calendar of the Anglican Church.

Somewhere or Other

Somewhere or other there must surely be
The face not seen, the voice not heard,
The heart that not yet—never yet—ah me!
Made answer to my word.
Somewhere or other, may be near or far;
Past land and sea, clean out of sight;
Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star
That tracks her night by night.
Somewhere or other, may be far or near;
With just a wall, a hedge, between;
With just the last leaves of the dying year
Fallen on a turf grown green.

Join me in toasting her as well! And have a good weekend!

*from “Amor Mundi” by Christina Rossetti