A Hoot Full of Hollers

Well, it's definitely still not spring. I had it on good authority (my neighbor) that it would start getting warm towards late March, alas here we are, post-Ides, and nothing but gray skies and borderline freezing mercury.

Of course I can't whine too much, as I awoke to a very unexpected blanket of snow last week. It supposedly snows once every few years here, but this was our second round. The dreary cold has been taking it's toll, but it's not every day you wake up to snow and icicles in central Texas so I bundled up and went on a lomo expedition...

I think that's an owl's house up there. We've heard some scattered hootin' at night (the hollerin' was from us).

Here are some other pictures I took on the bus with my new camera... I spent every Wednesday last month traveling to Daegu, two hours away, to get some much needed dental work done. It ended up being literally a fraction of the cost of what it would have been in the states (we're talking $250 for a gold crown vs. $1,000), and the dentist was as efficient and professional as any back home. Point being, if you need any dental work and are planning on doing a spot of traveling, come take advantage of Korea's attempt at becoming a medical tourism destination. Anyway, this was one of those long, boring bus rides. Gives you an idea of what the countryside looks like, which you see plenty of going from city to city.It's a lot prettier sprinkled with snow.

One of many small country schools.

Cold, dead rice paddies. They look so lovely in the fall, then they're harvested and left with sad little stumps.

Love that I caught the sign. Not easy to do when you have one of the 'confident' bus drivers...

That's the one. He's very friendly, but my god does he love pretending he's a Nascar driver. Going around those narrow country roads gets pretty hair-raising sometimes, especially when the driver is holding on and yawning while going 60 mph around a hairpin turn.

Last weekend, our friend threw her birthday party at a bullfight. I was really excited about going, but hadn't factored in some unforeseen drawbacks. For example, the epic trek there (inner-town commutes are impossible without a car or paying out the wazoo for a taxi, so a bus to the nearest city and then to said town is the only option), the unfortunate ratio of tourists to natives (I realize I am one of them, but when all you hear is your own language in a foreign country it's a bit disheartening), and finally my inability to comfortably watch animals fight, no matter how natural and ancient the tradition may be. The centuries-old sport is based on the bulls defending their grazing territory, and subsequently being trained by their owners, having come to realize the benefit a winner. Obviously, it's not based around the same goal, but it's still not as cruel as most other sports which take advantage of the temperament of these animals. Most notably, one from my own home state... Yeehaw.

Damn you, Disney and your adorable personification of all animals, great and small...

Of course, I got over all this, and started picking winners. I was on a roll- if only they had a sportsbook in Cheongdo, South Korea (one that isn't infested with mob bosses and hookers). I had a corndog, Dunny had a chicken. Oh, that's right- a whole chicken, served up in an old jerky bag. Guess I can't pretend to be too concerned with animal welfare...

I also don't mean to say that it was just a bunch of whitie's hootin' and hollerin' at some cowpokes. It was mostly old Korean people, but seeing, on average, one white person per day (yeah, that'd be Dunny) it's a bit shocking to be surrounded by a mob of them.

Finally, a shot of the stadium post-testosterone blow out (referencing the bulls, not the fine young men in uniform, of course).

I may not have appreciated Spring as much in my life, of course that could be due to the fact that Texas goes straight from winter to summer... Nevertheless, buds are starting to open their eyes all over town, and if I keep talking about how much I want it to come, it'll be gone. Next time I post I should have piles of pretty foreign flower pictures!

Lovely

So what do you think? Just put the new header up- not sure if it's the one, but being my first attempt, and after putting so much dern effort into trying to figure out the HTML (when all I needed to do was click a few buttons...), it'll probably be the one for at least a little while. Considering all I have is Paint and Picasa, I think I did alright. I used two of the shots I took around our 'hood with my diana mini and plopped the little Victorian gal in the middle.

Of course, now it's too pretty for a silly little blurb about myself, so I figured balancing it out with an equally pretty poem was the way to go. I've had these lines scribbled on note paper tacked to my fridge for a few years now, and it still makes an impression on me each time I glance at it. So, in honor of the lovely new Wonderblog, please enjoy the (very) full length of Mr. Blake's

Auguries of Innocence

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
♥