Sept 21. Cedar and I are still organizing for our very local election. Today we discussed election rules and she came up with some cute ones. She was so serious I could not even smile. We posted the list of ten for residents and visitors to read and appreciate. #1. there will be no pushing and shoving for ballots.
My pile of letters will soon be answered. Today I am mending my lap desk. It had along crack across it for several months. I feel it would have endured. However, Cedar sat on it and finished it off.I have put it together with Gorilla Glue, the adhesive miracle.
Well as Mark Twain may have said, "Surprise sometimes arrives unexpectedly."
Sept 22. The ballot box is ready, the voter registration prepared and ballots (12) have been hand printed.
I must also get fruit fly invasion in hand.
Verlyn K wrote, "Labor is both a trap and a liberation, servitude and release..."
From John Keats: "Old Meg she was a gipsy, And lived upon the moors; Her bed was the brown heath turf, And her house was out of doors."
It is a long affectionate collection of words and in my journal (Undated) I have written a response. "Oh, I can see her! Walking up the heathered hill. Her red cloak flapping around her. She raised that old brown hand to greet me and smiled a broken grin. 'Good day to you, Old Meg,' I whispered. Then she and the hill are gone and I am home alone. Rain is tapping on the rain drums, Sam is sleeping at my slippered feet and long-ago Meg sits down to 'stare full hard' at the rising moon."
Sept 23. Yesterday 1982 May S had written "ten or more letters in the morning..." My stack of mail is still waiting for attention! She said "it is the wild piles that make me feel wild and disorderly." I know that feeling well. I am neglecting friends who are watching their mail for a few words from me.
Robert Burns, "Near by arose a mansion fine The seat of many a muse divine; Not rustic muses such as mine." I know my muses are not the high browed, well endowed, sophisticated muses that occupied the mansion in Burns' poem.
Wendell Berry wrote of Port William... "it had a beginning that was forgotten and an end that was unknown." I might almost say that of myself but I have heard much of my beginnings from my father.