Evening On Calais Beach
By William Wordsworth
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquility;
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder -- everlastingly.
Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,
If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.
I am cranky because I'm sick, our front door fell off its hinges and is probably going to cost a lot of money to repair/replace, and Lenscrafters (which I visited after lunch hoping for a small crowd, which thankfully I got) has to order the lenses for my new glasses so they're going to take a week. This is somewhat mitigated by the fact that my parents brought us fancy animal cupcakes from Mastoris on their way home from New York and Paul decided we needed a proper Mardi Gras dinner so he made jambalaya, bourbon chicken, black beans and rice, and bread pudding.
And after dinner we all watched the first of the Horatio Hornblower movies, The Duel (or The Even Chance depending on which side of the Atlantic you're on), which is always a delightful way to spend an evening (and wow, Ioan Gruffudd and Jamie Bamber look like babies). So I was an irresponsible citizen and just not in the mood to sit through Obama's address...in fact I turned off Twitter updates because other people's swooning got on my nerves. I'm sure it was a wonderful speech, they always are, he talks like a progressive even if he appoints like a moderate, but I could not work up Obama Girl enthusiasm tonight. To make up for my lack of Illinois spirit, here are some photos from Lincoln's birthday celebration in Gettysburg:
The greetings will be part of a larger exhibit at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC later this year.
My father-in-law drew a little Lincoln face...
...while my son, of course, drew a penguin.
The exterior of the station, which is no longer a working train stop but has displays on its appearance in the 1800s and a window to see the original flagstones beneath the ground.
Like many buildings in the city, the train station and this Lutheran church served as field hospitals and morgues as the battle came to the streets of Gettysburg.