By Rabindranath Tagore
If it is not my portion to meet thee in this life then let me ever feel that I have missed thy sight -- let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.
As my days pass in the crowded market of this world and my hands grow full with the daily profits, let me ever feel that I have gained nothing -- let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.
When I sit by the roadside, tired and panting, when I spread my bed low in the dust, let me ever feel that the long journey is still before me -- let me not forget a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.
When my rooms have been decked out and the flutes sound and the laughter there is loud, let me ever feel that I have not invited thee to my house -- let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.
Have been trying to work on Snape/Lockhart fic for elanor_isolda, and the fic is absolutely rebelling; Lupin is pretty much insisting that I rip it up and write about him instead, and is threatening not to cooperate in the Monster Snape Fic that I must write for the FQF otherwise. So please forgive the fanfic silence as I am wrestling with characters.
Though it was cooler today than Monday, it is still very much spring here; my allergies are being reasonably cooperative but again I keep wondering whether inability to stay awake is supposed to be an allergy symptom or whether I somehow still have jetlag. My kids have a terrible case of spring fever and getting my younger one to do homework tonight involved a full-out war; then, at bedtime, he had a complete crying meltdown because another boy in the neighborhood had broken one of those stones with secret compartments that people hide their keys in, which belonged to yet another neighbor who has since moved away, but my son apparently found it wasteful that the stone was broken and was brokenhearted about it. Earlier I had lunch with vertigo66 though I forgot to bring her souvenirs and I didn't have photos with me so could only bore her to a moderate degree blabbing about England. *g*
I had intended to watch Veronica Mars in the evening (which UPN has renewed! Yay!) but our local UPN station carries the Nationals baseball games now, and the show was preempted. I am worried that the Enterprise finale will be preempted as well, as the episode a week from Friday will be, and I will have to scramble to find and review it. Being thus deprived of Veronica Mars, we watched the third and fourth episodes of Barchester Towers, which I had received before we left town but didn't get around to opening let alone watching. We had watched the first two parts over the weekend and loved them, even though Alan Rickman -- the reason I sought out this BBC miniseries -- does not appear until part three. He plays a wonderfully sleazy selfish character in ministerial robes who is great fun to watch and even more fun to listen to (what a preacher that man could have been), but the entire cast is superb -- Donald Pleasence as a minor theologian who's far too honest for his own good, Geraldine McEwan as the most overbearing, completely wicked "good" woman in the history of television, Nigel Hawthorne as the archdeacon you first want to throttle and then end up rooting for. I am enjoying this enormously.
Once again I can barely keep my eyes open -- will catch up on comments tomorrow.
A hovercraft ferry leaves the beach at Southsea near the Clarence Pier amusement park. A few yards away, a memorial marks the spot where Nelson embarked for the last time.