Happy Birthday George . . . Give Us a Few Words . . .

Power is not a means, it is an end. 

One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship. 

The object of persecution is persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power.

- George Orwell.com, About,

Prior posts here, here, here, & here.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

Well, this is so appalling that the rest of the world is appalled by it. SOME people in America are appalled by it. But in a country which claims to revere freedom, and in which the democratic process is so revered that it would apparently commit any atrocity if enough people voted for it – there seems little that can be done to prevent this kins of revenge killing from continuing. OR the cruel and unusual punishment that precedes it. 

 - Katie Evans Bush.

Orwell.

GREAT NEWS! Utah Republicans have found a way to abolish adultery,

sodomy, & fornication. Maybe they

can do away with rape and molestation while they're at it.

Salt Lake County republicans hold annual meeting; 

may define sex

Orwell would be proud; 

'cause every body knows changing the definition of something 

is the best way to make it go away.

GIVE. ME. TEA.

As anyone who knows me can attest, I am indeed a tea drinker. And I don't just mean that I indulge now and again. I am a tea drinker. I have often said that I drink tea like most Americans drink coffee.

Now as an inveterate drinker of the amber nectar (too cloying?), I could say a thing or two about the particulars of its brewing - like so many many others, it seems. But I find myself put off by the certitude with which each testimony is proffered.

The actual ritual itself can vary widely with each drinker. But each person seems to hold his own ways inviolate and unquestionable. (like some "religious" folk, eh?)

Tea first, milk first, sugar, honey, loose, bags, flavored, plain, - so much controversy. A veritable tempest in a tea pot, one might say.

I, on the other hand, stand more for individual choice, (except, perhaps this) embracing a sort of brewing agnosticism. Or would that be a brewing multi-theism?

Anyway, how I brew my tea changes with the vagaries of whim, (and the amount of time I have).

When hosting a tea party with my granddaughters, I, of course, pull out all the stops: beautiful tea pots, exquisite porcelain tea cups, and all the trappings such auspicious occasions command.

I have tea "balls" and infusers of all descriptions, from the mundane and practical to the unique and playful. A whistling kettle, of course, holds court on my stove at all times. Also included in my brewing cache are a couple of french presses sporting beautiful works of art. And then there are the tea pots, themselves. Unique, singular, artful, they are as much a joy to behold as they are to use.

The heavy hitter in this arsenal however, is my electric tea maker. I put cold water in one place, delicious loose tea in another, push the button, and wait for it to perform its magic. Sacrilege, you say? Because of this magical contraption I can go about my responsibilities, assured of continuous access to my life's blood, delicious hot tea.

If you are interested,

below are some links to amusing

and informative articles on the topic.

 A Nice Cup of Tea (George Orwell),
Tea (Douglas Adams),
How To Make A Decent Cup Of Tea (Christopher Hitchens)

Magical Tea pot.

Tea, of course.

IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN SOME CHRISTMAS RECIPES from GEORGE ORWELL

hop on over to The Orwell Prize.

You'll find Christmas pudding, Orange Marmalade, and more.

QUOTE FOR THE DAY

 

 

"A man may take to drink because he feels himself to be a failure, and then fail all the more completely because he drinks. It is rather the same thing that is happening to the English language. It becomes ugly and inaccurate because our thoughts are foolish, but the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts."

- George Orwell

from: Politics and the English Language

 

Oh! Oh!

(George's wife Eileen and their son Robert)

       (George and son Robert)

George Orwell on teaching (which he did for a while to support his writing)

"No job is more fascinating than teaching if you have a free hand at it - though if you are forced to bore your pupils and oppress them, they will hate you for it."  

And here's the best part ...

"The best moment in teaching are ... the times when the children's enthusiasm leaps up, like an answering flame, to meet your own."

They say he was a well liked teacher, even though he was a bit of a disciplinarian. 

His wife, Eileen O'Shaughnessy, with an English degree from Oxford, also taught. (Not that an English degree is better than any other. Although I am quite fond of mine.)

... And like every self-respecting writer, he wrote poetry too ...

A Little Poem

A happy vicar I might have been

Two hundred years ago

To preach upon eternal doom

And watch my walnuts grow;

But born, alas, in an evil time,

I missed that pleasant haven,

For the hair has grown on my upper lip

And the clergy are all clean-shaven.

And later still the times were good,

We were so easy to please,

We rocked our troubled thoughts to sleep

On the bosoms of the trees.

All ignorant we dared to own

The joys we now dissemble;

The greenfinch on the apple bough

Could make my enemies tremble.

But girl's bellies and apricots,

Roach in a shaded stream,

Horses, ducks in flight at dawn,

All these are a dream.

It is forbidden to dream again;

We maim our joys or hide them:

Horses are made of chromium steel

And little fat men shall ride them.

I am the worm who never turned,

The eunuch without a harem;

Between the priest and the commissar

I walk like Eugene Aram;

And the commissar is telling my fortune

While the radio plays,

But the priest has promised an Austin Seven,

For Duggie always pays.

I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls,

And woke to find it true;

I wasn't born for an age like this;

Was Smith? Was Jones? Were you?

Doggerel seems to lighten the political tone in his poems.

Huzzah!

It's been just over a week, now, since I finished the teacher credentialing program. I am now a credentialed Educational Specialist (Level I). 

Job applications, 

ho ...

I decided to take a few days and decompress from a stressful year, but that's not happening. Life doesn't stop - or even slow down - because I want to rest! 

I have been able to read, though. I've missed it so. I'm reading about George Orwell. Did you know his real name was Eric Blair? I also read Temple Grandin's The Way I See It; a very informative book. When I get a few pennies, I would like to read more by her. That's about all I've read so far; but it's only been a week, and I've been busy. 

I did treat myself to a new book of poetry as a graduation present. It is called Geese in the Fog, by Sylvia Storla Clarke; a retired RN from Chico. I love finding local writers I like. I'd like to share one of her poems. Again, this is by way of celebrating my change in status. I'm no longer a student (for a few months any how) and can enjoy my other title. See if you can guess what that is.

The Grandma House

Once she was a young house

with saplings and a vine,

small white garments, in ballet,

dancing from the line.

Then, she was a lonely house

without a childish song,

who sobbed into her fading eaves

all the seasons long.

But now she is a Grandma-house

with oaks and ivied walls,

cookie jars, and lemon drops - 

and children in her halls.