christmas is coming

q. shenaynay

Hence, it's that time of year again... time, once again, for us to faithfully alert all our Gentle Readers of Oxford's annual sale of their beautiful 6 volume $150 hardback set of The Oxford Illustrated Jane Austen... FOR FORTY DOLLARS.

In case you have a bit of fluff in your ear, allow me to wax repetitious:
SIX volumes. Hardback. Dustcovers. 2832 pages. Illustrated. Oxford University Press. For a mere forty smackers.

Yes, these are in the Beehive library. Yes, they belong in your library, too. Of course they do. So start dropping hints now. You might even buy a few to give to others, but we have found this only works if you already own a set for yourself... otherwise, you'll get all greedy and keep them. Yes, you will. You know you will.

AVAST

Great Scot

Heave to you scurvy bilge rats and leave us a wee comment on Talk like a Pirate Day.

"When you're a professional pirate, you don't have to wear a suit!"

i so totally get this.

q. shenaynay

I kid you not

fa-so-la-la

hahahaha.

I was just doing some research for a paper, and ran across this little gem of an article in the school database:

"Ethnic self-identification and psychological well-being among adolescents with European mothers and Arab fathers in Israel."

Wow.

Sweaters at last!

fa-so-la-la

Well, maybe not just yet. But soon! My dears, today was the first day of fall. Yes, yes I know there's nothing about it on the calender, and maybe it's not fall where you live, but here in the vast metropolis of Greater Dallas, today was most definitely the first of fall. It was pleasantly coolish (which, of course, means lower 70's, but who's counting), and that helped, but it was more than the temperature. It was the air and the light and the smell and the way the wind blew, plus that mysterious indefinable little hint of something that makes fall fallish. It was, quite simply and irrefutably, A Fall Day. It may be 90 degrees tomorrow. I don't care. After today it can't be summer anymore.

It was lovely to finally be at school in the fall today. I've been waiting for the day when it would feel like school was on for the past almost-four-weeks and today, it finally felt right. It was so beautiful on campus today. I get out of my last class right as the sun's starting to set just a bit and the light was pure gold and the sky was blue and the wind was just right. I listened to Madeleine Peyroux and kept my windows open the whole way home, even though open windows on an expressway make for a rather loud trip. It was smashing.

(Or maybe today was so beautiful because I got That Paper turned in? . . . nah. Today was just beautiful, and that's all there is to it. Though turning in the paper certainly helps.)

Now go cook some squash and get yourself in the autumnal mood!

p.s. isn't it amazing how the parking lot is always fullest on the days you're running late?

if

if you can keep your head when all about you
are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
but make allowance for their doubting too,
if you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
or being hated, don't give way to hating,
and yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

if you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
if you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
if you can meet with triumph and disaster
and treat those two impostors just the same;
if you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
and stoop and build them up with worn-out tools:

if you can make one heap of all your winnings
and risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
and lose, and start again at your beginnings
and never breath a word about your loss;
if you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
to serve your turn long after they are gone,
and so hold on when there is nothing in you
except the will which says to them: "hold on!"

if you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
if all men count with you, but none too much,
if you can fill the unforgiving minute
with sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
yours is the earth and everything that's in it,
and--which is more--you'll be a man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling