The Road Not Taken

I did it. I started the tradition for my Dad's birthday, January 18.

The Road Not Taken

Robert Frost

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost is so easy to like, to listen to, to remember; I started easy by picking this classic piece.

But as easy as the words are, I was kind of perplexed by the potential meaning. Mostly, that he first thinks both roads are equally lovely, but then decides the second was nicer; but then recants that they actually do look just the same. And after all that, being so glad he chose that second road--the one that looked just like the first. Why on earth has that "made all the difference" then?

But yesterday I realized my decision-making usually goes about that way:
"There are two roads in my kitchen: fettuccine or the frozen pizza.
I could buckle down and make the fettuccine.
Or I could throw in the pizza.
Fettuccine is probably a little healthier.
Actually, neither is very healthy.
Well, both have grain, dairy and I add veggies, right?--maybe they're both on an equal nutritional plain.
Both need to be eaten eventually...
The pizza. I'll do the pizza.
And after this long tiring day, that has made all the difference."

I guess I do get it.

Fulfilled in Your Ears

This scripture has been rolling around in my heart lately. It beautifully captures the good news of heaven, and why Christmas matters.

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverence to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord.

Stopping by Woods

Following through with one of my Secret Life of Bees to-dos. This poem is so charming. I love the simple language that sets up this vivid scene.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

But what does it mean? It's interesting to me that a few simple lines could make people think so much. On just one website is a collection of published essays analyzing this poem: 29 printed pages worth of explanation. Complete with implications of "seductive luxuriousness" and suicidal connotations.

Maybe going here to see Robert Frost himself recite it will give us amateurs a clue.

The explanation that spoke to me most of all was Ben's. A simple interpretation. I'll try to do it justice:

    You recognize a beautiful moment. You want to stop and embrace it. You want to revel in it. But you worry about being seen, what others' would think. You continue to consider what even your pet would think more than your original reaction to celebrate. You again recognize the beauty, but then determine...no, there's something else to do. I will not stop; I will not embrace it now.

I'm definitely the type that is more likely to act on what a horse will think of me than what I want myself. Since memorizing this, I've tried to take that extra moment to let beautiful scenes and impressions sink inward, into the spirit.

***

I took a moment today on our walk. The quiet neighborhood street was lined with two rows of tall, damp, leafy trees. The air was fresh and chill. I closed my eyes and breathed in. I tried to stamp this scene in my mind. Especially saved if ever I'm unjustly charged with a prison sentence. It will be a place I can visit in my mind to find solace in an ugly place. I suppose I hope I'll never have to use it. But then I kind of hope I do; then I'll see what power can come from stopping and welcoming life in.

Memorizing

Friend MaryAnne's family has a tradition for their Dad's birthday. He's an English professor, so years ago he asked that each kid memorize a poem for him each year. Each got to choose what to memorize and then they would recite their choice to him. 

Now all his kids are grown and have several children of their own. The tradition has continued. Even MaryAnne's little 2-year-old daughter has short verses memorized.

Upon hearing this tradition, Ben and I felt inspired to memorize some poetry ourselves. We cracked open an old poetry book to try to find our selections. I originally chose the very inspiring "Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll. (I had learned some of it years ago, so thought it'd be a fun and easy choice.) I later decided Ben's choice of "Death Be Not Proud" might be a more moving selection.

Death, be not proud    by John Donne

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

And would you know it, I've memorized it! Even though I still don't feel confident in getting my own age right, my mind might just have more capacity than I give it credit for. I also really enjoy being able to engage my own mind at any old moment I want. No ipod, library book or Kindle necessary.  

And lucky for me, my Dad's birthday's not until January. I'll have enough time to cement it down.