The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“‘Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

—Edgar Allan Poe.  “The Raven was first published on December 29, 1845

This day went surprisingly well considering I work up mad at the Viking because I was dreaming he brought home a pet giraffe and it had eaten all the fruit trees, a 50-year-old maple, and was now eating the shingles off of our roof. We need to check our CO2 detector. — Irish Woman, in a Facebook post.  “The Viking” is her pet name for me.

Irish Woman:  You know, I never learned how to do squats.

Me:  Well, you place your feet like so, then keep your head up and your back straight, then you bend at the knees.

Irish Woman:  OK (Tries to do them a few times.)

Girlie Bear, coming into the room:  My God, are you twerking?

Me:  Bwahahahahahaha!

Society in every state is a blessing, but Government, even in its best state, is but a necessary evil; in its worst state an intolerable one: for when we suffer, or are exposed to the same miseries BY A GOVERNMENT, which we might expect in a country WITHOUT GOVERNMENT, our calamity is heightened by reflecting that we furnish the means by which we suffer. — Thomas Paine, Common Sense, published January 10, 1776

For in a democracy, every citizen, regardless of his interest in politics, ‘hold office’; everyone of us is in a position of responsibility; and, in the final analysis, the kind of government we get depends upon how we fulfill those responsibilities. We, the people, are the boss, and we will get the kind of political leadership, be it good or bad, that we demand and deserve. — President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, May 29, 1917 – November 22, 1963

I could take wrath upon this kitchen like a Viking raid on an Irish village! — Irish Woman

I guess a kitchen remodel is in my future.

Lady doing a lecture about British history:  Over the next few sessions, we will discuss how the Anglo-Saxons replaced the Celtic inhabitants of Great Britain.

Me:  Burn the village to the ground, doo dah, doo dah.

Girlie Bear:  Spread the fire all around, all the doo dah day!

Girlie Bear – So, Dad, do you remember when you guys got me a digital camera for Christmas and I lost it?

Me – No.

Girlie Bear – OK, so, Dad, do you remember when you guys got me a digital camera for Christmas?

Total Stranger, Dealing With His Demons and Self Medication (TSDWHDASM), yelling at pigeon:  What did I tell you?  Stay off my sidewalk!  You got feathers everywhere!

Me, internally:  Better give this guy a wide berth.

TSDWHDASM, seeing me and my polo shirt with my companies logo embroidered on it:  You work for COMPANY?  I used to work for COMPANY!  I helped build COMPANY!

TSDWHDASM points at me and starts walking toward me.

Me, walking straight forward and keeping TSDWHDASM in my line of vision:  Who, me?  Nah, I just got this shirt off a dead guy the other night.

TSDWHDASM, turning back to his pigeon:  Did you hear that?  Man got his shirt off a dead guy!  Let’s get out of here!

I know I shouldn’t mess with the mentally impaired, but I wanted to find a way to deescalate without running.  He was starting to move toward me, and because of my destination this afternoon, I had no weapons that I wasn’t born with.  This got him to stop what he was doing and do something else, and I got to go on with my business.  I call that a win-win.

Irish Woman – Boo has an appointment with the pediatrician on September 19.

Me – Is it in the calendar?

Irish Woman – Yep.

Me – I have a dentist appointment next Thursday at 2.

Irish Woman, smiling – Is it in the calendar?

Me, smiling and nodding – Yes.

Irish Woman – Why are you making that face at me?

Me – I’m smiling.

Irish Woman – Oh, it looks like you want to rip my head off.  Sorry.

Yeah, maybe I need to work on the smile in the mirror a bit.