Super early Pubski. I did some spring (fall) cleaning around the site tonight. veen that draft bug is resolved. Devac that prev thing, much too belated. There are a couple of other small things I'd like to do. Halloween was a success, but cold. My daughter had a great time with her cousins. I'm actually not slated to travel for almost three weeks, but that could change tomorrow. I am reading Jane Eyre; it is good. lil this month's poem is Emerson's Rhodora.
It's one of the shitty things about working brunch. Church folk come in with largish parties, same group every week. They leave pamphlets and no or a meager tip. They end up getting a reputation and bad service. Not all of them leave bad tips but lots of wait staff are biggoted assholes who play the average. A new party shows up in their Church best on a Sunday and get written off as bad tippers, receive bad service and leave a bad tip and a pamphlet because their eternal soul is in peril and they were terrible waiters. Both sides end up thinking less if the other. Parents with young kids and black or brown people often get the same treatment. I've heard some horrible shit, "I don't want to wait on those nigs." Tell my shitty coworker to give me the table and no I'm not giving them my next table in return. Treat people decent and usually pull at at least a 15% top in return, often more when they receive shockingly decent service.
Rhodora: nice choice. That would be lovely to recite should one come across a flower in the woods. I'm still working on becoming more acquainted with the night (Robert Frost), but this Rhodora seems also memorizable. I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook. The purple petals, fallen in the pool, Made the black water with their beauty gay; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew: But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
"And better?" "And better - so much better as pure ore is than foul dross. You seem to doubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my motives are; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of the Medes and Persians, that both are right." "They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalise them." "They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new statute: unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand unheard-of rules." "That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at once that it is liable to abuse." "Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods not to abuse it." "You are human and fallible." "I am: so are you - what then?" "The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which the divine and perfect alone can be safely intrusted." "What power?" "That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action, - 'Let it be right.'" "'Let it be right' - the very words: you have pronounced them.""I am laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as flint. Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than they have been."
