These are charming, David. Thank you. And thanks for the reminder of the many ways to speak of the dead. I took this up in an English class many years ago. Some of the loveliest I came across were also French. He's folded his umbrella for the last time. He won't suffer any more tooth aches. Interesting that they both celebrate the end of life's little annoyances.
A friend at Tai chi answers, when asked 'how are you,' that he can't complain as he's still on the right side of the grass. Just moving right along, I'm reminded also of the joys of non-jealous gods. It is said that the average Chinese:
is Confucian in public Taoist in private Buddhist at the time of death wears a Confucian hat Taoist robes Buddhist sandalsThe world is so full of poetry...
Thanks, David, for the byways... ------------------------------------------------------- David Ritchie wrote:
OneA cold counts for nothing. Tell someone you have a serious-sounding ill--a pox upon the ventricle--and she may toss you a quarter's nip of sympathy. A cold is a groat,a blister on a Cromwellian pikeman's foot, an Amazon's menstrual cramp. You are richer than the guythird from left, in the second to back row, of Dante's light-infused fabulous nosebleed seats,for you are not, as the French say, eating dandelions root first, pushing up the late or last daisy. That's amazing. Awesome. TwoWhen comparing memories, given your views of trivial things and great,and mine, which of course differ, the sum adds up to tundra, something spongy, remote and chancy, which chucks up old bones when it moves. We toast one another, compare how we think the past happened, grip hands, make plans for when next, knowing full well. David Ritchie,Portland, Oregon
