The flowers Mom gave me as part of my Valentine's gift are drooping sadly. They were so beautiful while they lasted. Deepest red and sweet smelling, they've graced my computer tower for nearly a week now. I hate to see them lose their beauty this soon, but like all delicate things, flowers never last for long. I wish I'd had some of that stuff that lacquers and preserves flowers. I would've taken the best one of the bouquet and preserved it as a momento. I rarely get flowers, plus as you know now, this was the first Valentine's Day I've enjoyed in years.
(Plus, it coulda been a personal token of my very favorite {and I think personal} fairy tale.) Perhaps in the future I can do so. But for now, I had Dad take pictures of the bouquet for me scrapbook. Still...'tis a shame they're dying.
*********
As I mentioned in an earlier entry we are going into the Classical Greek period in World Lit. Our next assignment is the
Hymn to Demeter then exerpts from the
Odyssey the following week. I think what I'm going to do, as I've already read the
Odyssey once before, is ask her if I can do my response paper for next Monday on the hymn or on observations made between the two works. The worst she can do is say no, do it strictly on the
Odyssey. Either way, she'll get a thoughtful paper from me. And she can't complain about that. That is what she wants anyway, and I think with me she's created a monster. As past
entries have
shown I have been in an analytical mind of late. I find reading these types of works enjoyable and enriching as I can seek personal meaning out of them. But I must remember not to
over-analyze, 'cause then I'll be like the scholars who annoy me so much because their brilliance makes them so dumb. But then, as Kami once reminded me, when you don't have the faith or capability to believe in something unexplainable by logic you then try to use that very thing to explain away the unexplainable.
*knows she is rambling and will stop*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For certain is death for the born
And certain is birth for the dead;
Therefore over the inevitable
Thou shouldst not grieve.
~from the Bhagavad-Gita~
..:: Remembered�����E�����Occuring ::..
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