Yes we can!

Text found on barackobama.com


A few weeks ago, no one imagined that we'd have accomplished what we
did here tonight. For most of this campaign, we were far behind, and
we always knew our climb would be steep.

But in record numbers, you came out and spoke up for change. And with
your voices and your votes, you made it clear that at this moment - in
this election - there is something happening in America.

There is something happening when men and women in Des Moines and
Davenport; in Lebanon and Concord come out in the snows of January to
wait in lines that stretch block after block because they believe in
what this country can be.

There is something happening when Americans who are young in age and
in spirit - who have never before participated in politics - turn out
in numbers we've never seen because they know in their hearts that
this time must be different.

There is something happening when people vote not just for the party
they belong to but the hopes they hold in common - that whether we are
rich or poor; black or white; Latino or Asian; whether we hail from
Iowa or New Hampshire, Nevada or South Carolina, we are ready to take
this country in a fundamentally new direction. That is what's
happening in America right now. Change is what's happening in
America.

You can be the new majority who can lead this nation out of a long
political darkness - Democrats, Independents and Republicans who are
tired of the division and distraction that has clouded Washington; who
know that we can disagree without being disagreeable; who understand
that if we mobilize our voices to challenge the money and influence
that's stood in our way and challenge ourselves to reach for something
better, there's no problem we can't solve - no destiny we cannot
fulfill.

Our new American majority can end the outrage of unaffordable,
unavailable health care in our time. We can bring doctors and
patients; workers and businesses, Democrats and Republicans together;
and we can tell the drug and insurance industry that while they'll get
a seat at the table, they don't get to buy every chair. Not this
time. Not now.

Our new majority can end the tax breaks for corporations that ship our
jobs overseas and put a middle-class tax cut into the pockets of the
working Americans who deserve it.

We can stop sending our children to schools with corridors of shame
and start putting them on a pathway to success. We can stop talking
about how great teachers are and start rewarding them for their
greatness. We can do this with our new majority.

We can harness the ingenuity of farmers and scientists; citizens and
entrepreneurs to free this nation from the tyranny of oil and save our
planet from a point of no return.

And when I am President, we will end this war in Iraq and bring our
troops home; we will finish the job against al Qaeda in Afghanistan;
we will care for our veterans; we will restore our moral standing in
the world; and we will never use 9/11 as a way to scare up votes,
because it is not a tactic to win an election, it is a challenge that
should unite America and the world against the common threats of the
twenty-first century: terrorism and nuclear weapons; climate change
and poverty; genocide and disease.

All of the candidates in this race share these goals. All have good
ideas. And all are patriots who serve this country honorably.

But the reason our campaign has always been different is because it's
not just about what I will do as President, it's also about what you,
the people who love this country, can do to change it.

That's why tonight belongs to you. It belongs to the organizers and
the volunteers and the staff who believed in our improbable journey
and rallied so many others to join.

We know the battle ahead will be long, but always remember that no
matter what obstacles stand in our way, nothing can withstand the
power of millions of voices calling for change.

We have been told we cannot do this by a chorus of cynics who will
only grow louder and more dissonant in the weeks to come. We've been
asked to pause for a reality check. We've been warned against
offering the people of this nation false hope.

But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been
anything false about hope. For when we have faced down impossible
odds; when we've been told that we're not ready, or that we shouldn't
try, or that we can't, generations of Americans have responded with a
simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people.

Yes we can.

It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the
destiny of a nation.

Yes we can.

It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail
toward freedom through the darkest of nights.

Yes we can.

It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores and
pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness.

Yes we can.

It was the call of workers who organized; women who reached for the
ballot; a President who chose the moon as our new frontier; and a King who took us to the mountaintop and pointed the way to the Promised Land.

Yes we can to justice and equality. Yes we can to opportunity and
prosperity. Yes we can heal this nation. Yes we can repair this
world. Yes we can.

Thursday 13 #43- Tour de France fans

Thirteen Things about Bookwormom

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This week's list originates in my obsession with the Tour de France. It's on tv here every morning for three weeks each July. My family has learned that nothing will happen until the day's stage is over. I drink coffee and eat my toast while Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwin discuss the day's stage and the scenery (which never fails to be gorgeous).



1. Saw a nude man running up L'Alpe D'Huez

2. Pair of matching Elvises (Elvi?) on Col de Fer

3. An inflatable roo waved at the camera to cheer on the Aussie riders

4. Several historical reenactors dressed up in medieval costume dancing and waving banners and charging around on equally outfitted horses atop the ruin of a castle.

5. So many flags along the route it looks like you're riding through a tunnel.

6.A veritable tower of babel of languages written across the roads

7. A merry band of blue gowned wizards cheering beside the road

8. The devil is wearing yellow this year. Or maybe it's an imposter. Usually the devil wears red.

9. On the mountains the fans pour water all over the riders as they pass by

10. At the summits riders will snatch bits of newspaper to stuff inside their jerseys to keep them warm as they barrel down the mountains

11. High gas prices or not Europeans seem to be as enamored of RVs and satellite dishes as Americans if the number of RVs parked along the sides of the roads are any indication.

12. Someone dressed up in a chipmunk mascot type costume (big and furry) in one of the little villages

13. People stand on the very outside shoulder of the mountain roads, seeming not to mind the sheer drop behind them or the lack of a barrier between them and the fall.

For My Valentine

My Funny Valentine, Linda Ronstadt




Frank Sinatra, Stangers in the Night



Time in a Bottle, Jim Croce

Summertime

Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

Ella Fitzgerald sings Melancholy Serenade

A favorite

Iceberg floats past New Zealand

THE ICEBERG
by Charles G.D. Roberts

I was spawned from the glacier,
A thousand miles due north
Beyond Cape Chidley;
And the spawning,
When my vast, wallowing bulk went under, 5
Emerged and heaved aloft,
Shaking down cataracts from its rocking sides,
With mountainous surge and thunder
Outraged the silence of the Arctic sea.
Before I was thrust forth
10
A thousand years I crept,
Crawling, crawling, crawling irresistibly,
Hid in the blue womb of the eternal ice,
While under me the tortured rock
Groaned, 15
And over me the immeasurable desolation slept.
Under the pallid dawning
Of the lidless Arctic day
Forever no life stirred.
No wing of bird—
20
Of ghostly owl low winnowing
Or fleet-winged ptarmigan fleeing the pounce of death,—
No foot of backward-glancing fox
Half glimpsed, and vanishing like a breath,—
No lean and gauntly stalking bear, 25
Stalking his prey.
Only the white sun, circling the white sky.
Only the wind screaming perpetually.
And then the night—
The long night, naked, high over the roof of the world,
30
Where time seemed frozen in the cold of space,—
Now black, and torn with cry
Of unseen voices where the storm raged by,
Now radiant with spectral light
As the vault of heaven split wide 35
To let the flaming Polar cohorts through,
And close ranked spears of gold and blue,
Thin scarlet and thin green,
Hurtled and clashed across the sphere
And hissed in sibilant whisperings, 40
And died.
And then the stark moon, swinging low,
Silver, indifferent, serene,
Over the sheeted snow.
But now, an Alp afloat,
45
In seizure of the surreptitious tide,
Began my long drift south to a remote
And unimagined doom.
Scornful of storm,
Unjarred by thunderous buffeting of seas, 50
Shearing the giant floes aside,
Ploughing the wide-flung ice-fields in a spume
That smoked far up my ponderous flanks,
Onward I fared,
My ice-blue pinnacles rendering back the sun 55
In darts of sharp radiance;
My bases fathoms deep in the dark profound.
And now around me
Life, and the frigid waters all aswarm.
The smooth wave creamed
60
With tiny capelin and the small pale squid,—
So pale the light struck through them.
Gulls and gannets screamed
Over the feast, and gorged themselves, and rose,
A clamour of weaving wings, and hid 65
Momently my face.
The great bull whales
With cavernous jaws agape,
Scooped in the spoil, and slept,
Their humped forms just awash, and rocking softly,— 70
Or sounded down, down to the deeps, and nosed
Along my ribbed and sunken roots,
And in the green gloom scattered the pasturing cod.
And so I voyaged on, down the dim parallels,
Convoyed by fields
75
Of countless calving seals
Mild-featured, innocent-eyed, and unforeknowing
The doom of the red flenching knives.
I passed the storm-racked gate
Of Hudson Strait, 80
And savage Chidley where the warring tides
In white wrath seethe forever.
Down along the sounding shore
Of iron-fanged, many-watered Labrador
Slow weeks I shaped my course, and saw 85
Dark Mokkowic and dark Napiskawa,
And came at last off lone Belle Isle, the bane
Of ships and snare of bergs.
Here, by the deep conflicting currents drawn,
I hung, 90
And swung,
The inland voices Gulfward calling me
To ground amid my peers on the alien strand
And roam no more.
But then an off-shore wind, 95
A great wind fraught with fate,
Caught me and pressed me back,
And I resumed my solitary way.
Slowly I bore
South-east by bastioned Bauld,
100
And passed the sentinel light far-beaming late
Along the liners’ track,
And slanted out Atlanticwards, until
Above the treacherous swaths of fog
Faded from the view the loom of Newfoundland. 105

Beautiful, ethereal
In the blue sparkle of the gleaming day,
A soaring miracle
Of white immensity,
I was the cynosure of passing ships 110
That wondered and were gone,
Their wreathed smoke trailing them beyond the verge.
And when in the night they passed—
The night of stars and calm,
Forged up and passed, with churning surge 115
And throb of huge propellers, and long-drawn
Luminous wake behind,
And sharp, small lights in rows,
I lay a ghost of menace chill and still,
A shape pearl-pale and monstrous, off to leeward, 120
Blurring the dim horizon line.
Day dragged on day,
And then came fog,
By noon, blind-white,
And in the night
125
Black-thick and smothering the sight.
Folded therein I waited,
Waited I knew not what
And heeded not,
Greatly incurious and unconcerned. 130
I heard the small waves lapping along my base,
Lipping and whispering, lisping with bated breath
A casual expectancy of death.
I heard remote
The deep, far carrying note 135
Blown from the hoarse and hollow throat
Of some lone tanker groping on her course.
Louder and louder rose the sound
In deepening diapason, then passed on,
Diminishing, and dying,— 140
And silence closed around.
And in the silence came again
Those stealthy voices,
That whispering of death.
And then I heard
145
The thud of screws approaching.
Near and more near,
Louder and yet more loud,
Through the thick dark I heard it,—
The rush and hiss of waters as she ploughed 150
Head on, unseen, unseeing,
Toward where I stood across her path, invisible.
And then a startled blare
Of horror close re-echoing,—a glare
Of sudden, stabbing searchlights 155
That but obscurely pierced the gloom;
And there
I towered, a dim immensity of doom.
A roar
Of tortured waters as the giant screws,
160
Reversed, thundered full steam astern.
Yet forward still she drew, until,
Slow answering desperate helm,
She swerved, and all her broadside came in view,
Crawling beneath me; 165
And for a moment I saw faces, blanched,
Stiffly agape, turned upward, and wild eyes
Astare; and one long, quavering cry went up
As a submerged horn gored her through and through,
Ripping her beam wide open; 170
And sullenly she listed, till her funnels
Crashed on my steep,
And men sprang, stumbling, for the boats.
But now, my deep foundations
Mined by those warmer seas, the hour had come
175
When I must change.
Slowly I leaned above her,
Slowly at first, then faster,
And icy fragments rained upon her decks.
Then my enormous mass descended on her, 180
A falling mountain, all obliterating,—
And the confusion of thin, wailing cries,
The Babel of shouts and prayers
And shriek of steam escaping
Suddenly died. 185
And I rolled over,
Wallowing,
And once more came to rest,
My long hid bases heaved up high in air.
And now, from fogs emerging,
190
I traversed blander seas,
Forgot the fogs, the scourging
Of sleet-whipped gales, forgot
My austere origin, my tremendous birth,
My journeyings, and the last cataclysm 195
Of overwhelming ruin.
My squat, pale, alien bulk
Basked in the ambient sheen;
And all about me, league on league outspread,
A gulf of indigo and green. 200
I laughed in the light waves laced with white,—
Nor knew
How swiftly shrank my girth
Under their sly caresses, how the breath
Of that soft wind sucked up my strength, nor how 205
The sweet, insidious fingers of the sun
Their stealthy depredations wrought upon me.
Slowly now
I drifted, dreaming.
I saw the flying-fish
210
With sliver gleaming
Flash from the peacock-bosomed wave
And flicker through an arc of sunlit air
Back to their element, desperate to elude
The jaws of the pursuing albacore. 215

Day after day
I swung in the unhasting tide.
Sometimes I saw the dolphin folk at play,
Their lithe sides iridescent-dyed,
Unheeding in their speed 220
That long grey wraith,
The shark that followed hungering beneath.
Sometimes I saw a school
Of porpoise rolling by
In ranked array, 225
Emerging and submerging rhythmically,
Their blunt black bodies heading all one way
Until they faded
In the horizon’s dazzling line of light.
Night after night 230
I followed the low, large moon across the sky,
Or counted the large stars on the purple dark,
The while I wasted, wasted and took no thought,
In drowsed entrancement caught;—
Until one noon a wave washed over me, 235
Breathed low a sobbing sigh,
Foamed indolently, and passed on;
And then I knew my empery was gone;
As I, too, soon must go.
And well content I was to have it so. 240

Another night
Gloomed o’er my sight,
With cloud, and flurries of warm, wild rain.
Another day,
Dawning delectably 245
With amber and scarlet stain,
Swept on its way,
Glowing and shimmering with heavy heat.
A lazing tuna rose
And nosed me curiously, 250
And shouldered me aside in brusque disdain,
So I had fallen from my high estate.
A foraging gull
Stooped over me, touched me with webbed pink feet,
And wheeled and skreeled away, 255
Indignant at the chill.
Last I became
A little glancing globe of cold
That slid and sparkled on the slow-pulsed swell.
And then my fragile, scintillating frame
260
Dissolved in ecstasy
Of many colored light,
And I breathed up my soul into the air
And merged forever in the all-solvent sea.

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