A Lady Who Thinks She Is Thirty by Ogden Nash

I’ve decided to do a revamp of sorts in honor of the Birthday! No resolutions anymore (A definite waste of time unless you happen to be iron-willed. I’m Not!), just revamps 😉 Nothing drastic…just an overhaul of the category list, so it’s more cohesive, relevant and makes more sense to me!

I’ve also decided to start including stuff that I haven’t written myself but that resonates within. I have no clue why I haven’t done this before…but better late than never! If you haven’t figured out already, this is just an excuse to spend more happy hours surfing the Virtual World for stuff I love (as if I needed one!). I have decided to include these in the main category on the site – Happiness Central 🙂

Picture from http://casiestewart.blogspot.com

You’ll probably see poetry I enjoy, images that speak to me, quotes that I love,  a bit of Edward Monkton for sure, a little bit of George Carlin most definitely, music that touches my heart, people I admire…you get the drift…rather like a “These are a few of my favorite things!” moment from The Sound of Music (one of my favorite feel-good movies :)) A great thing about this, is that it takes pressure off me on days when I can’t write (too many, too many :(), but more importantly opens up my sphere of thought, offers me inspiration and by its very nature is endless 🙂

I begin with a poem by Ogden Nash, an old favorite. I loved this one by Nash, because of its universal theme, Age and our normal human reaction to it, Despair. Now that the Birthday is round the corner, and another year added to my ‘Numerical Age’, it put things in perspective! I love the way he handles such a sensitive subject in such a clever way and could that last line be more meaningful…”How old is Spring, Miranda?” What could be more poignant, poetic and to the point?

Well done Mr. Nash and Thank-you for today’s much-needed, life-saving, Smiley Moment 🙂

A Lady Who Thinks She Is Thirty

Spring Maiden by Nadezhda Galitskaya (A Chernobyl Survivor)

Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.

Miranda in Miranda’s sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.

Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.

Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who makes the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.

Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What’s a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?

Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then–
How old is Spring, Miranda?