Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod. And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the […]

Watch Crazy Lanea knit socks, and then tell her what she is doing is wrong. I need your help.  And I need it enough that I was willing to hold itchy yarn in my décolletage to make that little film.  And grow a third arm.  Ok, fine, Scott took the movie, but please humor me […]

So, I think every Heaney discussion should start with this poem.  I’m probably the only one who does, but since I’m at the helm for the moment, I’ll continue on apace.  Once upon a time, I gave a paper about his bog poems at an Irish Studies conference.  I used slides of the bog bodies.  […]

It’s about time we did some more work around here.  The Potomac Celtic Festival has come and gone (sheeeew), and it’s too hot to garden, and my Mom-in-law and her beau are flying back to Utah this afternoon, despite the pleading of our pets.  So I’m stepping up to the plate to crow about Seamus […]

I’m posting all quick-like because my wonderful Mom-in-law Karen is in town with her beau Lee, and Scott, the pets, and I are soaking up all of the goodness we can.  Kayo, Yarrow, and Speedwell are all likely to hitch-hike to Utah when Karen and Lee leave. Very briefly–the festival went well, though it was […]

I alluded to this poem by Paul Durcan, and I figured it would be cruel to brag on a poet’s talent without actually sharing the goods.  Particularly when I’m mentioning an Irish poet right before the Potomac Celtic Festival, which honors Ireland this year.  Paul Durcan is one of my favorite poets from Ireland.  He’s […]

Cramming Irish down your throats now.  Because, for some odd reason, it relaxes me. I’ll give a lovely present to anyone who can explain the allusion in the title of this post.  It’s a hard one.  But it’s worth it, because a very good poet is involved. The Irish word for president is Uachtarán, which […]

Not much time for words these days, but here are some images from the annual groovywomen’s trip to the rivershore. Friday’s arrival scene.  Gray and blustery.  That’s Virginia in the distance, and the Chesapeake bay is down the river to the left. Some pictures of me and my spinning, courtesy of Andrea, who knows my […]