we guess no angels
are contented to be blind
things may not be seen

Adapted from the poem, The Jig of Forslin by Conrad Aiken (The Four Seas Company: Boston, 1916) in Part IV: (1) where Mr. Aiken writes:

Now, unless persuaded by searching music
Which suddenly opens the portals of the mind,
We guess no angels,
And are contented to be blind.
Let us blow silver horns in the twilight.
And lift our hearts to the yellow star in the green,
To find, perhaps, if while the dew is rising,
Clear things may not be seen.

Stuck in the loop.

Do over.

Do over.

Do over.

Do loop.

Do loop.

Loop.

Death spiral.

Never ends.

Now, unless persuaded by searching music

Which suddenly opens the portals of the mind,

We guess no angels,

And are contented to be blind.

Let us blow silver horns in the twilight.

And lift our hearts to the yellow star in the green,

To find, perhaps, if while the dew is rising,

Clear things may not be seen.

never be idle
or bored, have to take refuge
in the modern age

On November 18, 1948, Winston Churchill received an honorary Doctor of Literature degree from the University of London during its Foundation Day.

In his response to the award, Mr. Churchill said:

The university education is a guide to the reading of a lifetime.

We should impress upon those who have its advantages the importance of reading the great books of the world and the literature of one’s own country.

One who has profited from university education has a wide choice.

He need never be idle or bored and have to take refuge in the clack and clatter of the modern age, which requires something new not only every day, but every two or three hours of the day.

There is a good saying, which you may have heard before, that when a new book comes out you should read an old one, though I perhaps should not recommend too rigid an application.

Reading something new … every two or three hours of the day.

Sounds about right.

As for the clack and clatter of the modern age …

was hugely impressed
name every species of bird
tattooed on her leg

Every once in awhile, I have to take a break from pointing out that the king has no clothes on and other aspects of trying to save the world and just goof off.

Readers of these essays know that a regular part of my Saturday morning reading is the Blind Date column in the Guardian where the, as the paper says, we fix up two Guardian readers.

The paper selects two readers who have requested a Blind Date and set them up at some posh restaurant for a free dinner.

Participants are asked to respond to a list of questions after the date and their responses are cobbled into the weekly column.

I am drawn to their responses as well as to the menu at these posh restaurants as well as the opportunity for me, while writing this down, to use the word, posh.

In today’s column, Holly, 42, a horticulturist, meets Graeme, 47, a forest manager, went on a Blind Date and when asked the question, “What were you hoping for?“, Holly responded, To meet someone interesting and fun, while Graeme (also love to guess how some of the names are pronounced) responded, Really, just a fun night with minimal awkwardness was my fairly low expectation before the meeting.

To the question, “What do you think Holly made of you?”, Graeme said, “I reckon she was hugely impressed I could name every species of bird she had tattooed on her leg.”

Talk about answers to questions that ask more questions than they answer.

Remember, this is the feller, Graeme (see in the way terms of address for Grandparent’s come about, my wife is Grammy, but I digress) said he was hoping for a fun night with minimal awkwardness.

Yet somehow he managed to examine his date’s leg, tick off and identify the species of bird tattooed on her leg, while seated (I guess … or was this later) in a posh restaurant.

If you look at the photo with the article, it shows that Holly’s arms are covered with species identifiable tattoos of birds, but does not show her leg.

Then asked, “Most awkward moment?“, Graeme said, Holly destroying an aphid, which had landed on my forehead, with a firm thumb squish. I should make clear that the poor aphid wasn’t in the lovely restaurant; it was outside an entirely different place, which had hanging baskets.

Not, I point out, checking out his date’s leg … but maybe that wasn’t in the lovely restaurant.

Maybe we just leave this right there.

I will say that Graeme, when asked if they would meet again that he was hugely looking forward to doing so (though it must be pointed out that Holly said, We live quite far apart, but we’ll see …)

So Graeme is out there, hugely attracted to the adverb, hugely, and we will hope for the best for him and Holly as we go forward on our own with our own efforts to enjoy life with with minimal awkwardness.

As a postscript, the restaurant, The Palmerston in Edinburgh, did not disappoint.

Our couple, in their effort to enjoy a fun night with minimal awkwardness were hugely rewarded with a menu that offered such delights as:

Pappardelle, summer girolles, tomatoes, basil, goat’s curd and parmesan
Goat’s curd, friggitelli peppers, basil and pine nuts on toast
Burrata, roast black figs, honey, hazelnuts and Marsala
Grilled squid, cucumber, grilled peppers and tomatoes
Pig’s skin ragu and parmesan on toast
Berkshire pig head salad, dandelion, radishes, shallots and sweet mustard dressing

And for dessert:

Uva fragola sorbet
Alp Blossom and membrillo (Bavaria, Germany, unpasteurised cow’ s milk)
Sinodun Hill, strawberries and honey (Carmarthenshire,Wales, pasteurised goat’s milk)

Hugely.

I like that word.