The Bait by John Donne

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The Bait

by John Donne

Come live with me and be my love

And we will some new pleasures prove

Of golden sands and crystal brooks,

With silken lines and silver hooks.

There will the river -- whispering run

Warmed by thy eyes more than the sun

And there th' enamoured fish will stay,

Begging themselves they may betray.

When thou wilt swim in that live bath,

Each fish, which every channel hath,

Will amorously to thee swim,

Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,

By sun or moon, thou darken'st both

And if myself have leave to see,

I need not their light, having thee.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,

And cut their legs with shells and weeds

Or treacherously poor fish beset,

With strangling snare or windowy net.

Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest

The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;

Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies,

Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.

For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,

For thou thyself art thine own bait:

That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,

Alas, is wiser far than I.

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The Seven Ages of Man by William Shakespeare

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The Seven Ages of Man

by William Shakespeare

from "As You Like It"

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players,

They have their exits and entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages.

At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school.

And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow.

Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth.

And then the justice In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws, and modern instances,

And so he plays his part.

The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,

His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,

For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,

Turning again towards childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound.

Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

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Not Over The Hill

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Not Over the Hill

Up the hill. Over the hill. Down the hill.

I've been up the hill. I'm over the hill. I'm not ready to go down the hill, but I guess that's where I am headed. Today I found out I'll be running in my fifth St. George Marathon. I wanted to run this year because I turned fifty-five, but I don't feel that old.

The first time I ran the marathon I was probably thirty-six or seven. I was celebrating my wife's cancer victory; I figured if she could survive cancer, I could run a marathon. It wasn't a stellar performance, but for a guy who didn't think he could run a mile until he was twenty-five, it was a pretty fun four-and-one-half hours.

That's right. Even though the winners were done in just over two hours, I was still running two hours later. But that was fine with me. It was the most amazing feeling of accomplishment. Surging with endorphins and totally exhausted, I felt on top of the world. But I must have looked pretty ragged, because as I leaned against a tree in the park in the center of St. George, a lady walked up and asked me if I needed to go to the hospital.

I had just jogged, plodded, ran and walked twenty-six point two miles. What should I look like? I felt like an Olympian God ready to send lightning bolts from my fingertips. But I bet I looked like a sweaty, exhausted mess.

It was a long journey from not being able to run a mile to finishing a marathon, and just like everything else I've done in my life, it just takes putting one foot in front of the other and not stopping. It sounds hackneyed and trite but it's true. Just don't stop.

The St. George Marathon is an amazing, exhilarating race where it seems the entire city turns out to cheer every runner for every step. As a celebration for my luck in the lottery to decide who gets to run, I walked up my local hill today. I'm not in the best shape, and the last time I ran the marathon two years ago, I had to walk the final six miles. My knees stopped working. I hadn't trained enough, but I finished the race.

Now as a baby-boomer, senior-citizen, I am officially over-the-hill. I have a hill to climb in the next one-hundred forty-four days. That's the countdown given on the website.

I'm not in the beginning of my race of life, but I'm also not at the bottom of the hill. I've found out a few things on this long distance race. Life isn't a bunch of short sprints but more like a marathon than most people know. Endurance has a lot more to do with success than we might think, and that really is the secret to the marathon -- and to life. Danny Kaye once said, "Life is a great big canvas, throw all the paint at it you can."

I may not win the marathon, but I am a winner in life. I've thrown so much paint at my canvas most people ask if I have a clone. I'm an award-winning gardener, and I love working in my yard. I've acted in more than thirty films, commercials or television shows. On stage I've performed more than fifty different plays. I've had a radio program and recorded all of the Shakespearean sonnets. I have a website which is getting about twenty-thousand visits each month. I've taught high school and college for more than thirty years, continuing to expand my interests like wind-surfing, skiing, writing poetry. But since I am over the hill, I guess I'll just have to increase the speed I learn new things.

As I speed down the hill, toward the end of this race, I'll know I did everything I wanted. And if I didn't do it, I just didn't want to badly enough. Walking up the hill today was a beginning, but mostly a symbol. The St. George Marathon starts at the top of a long canyon and so it is mostly downhill. The course descends a half-mile over the twenty-six miles.

But there is one part of the race which challenges every runner. Veyo. A small hill in the middle of a long race, but it does show up just a little into the race; just enough to discourage anyone looking up at the extinct volcano. My approach to the hill is to not stop running. It may not look like I am running to anyone else, but in my own plodding and determined style, I know as long as I don't stop, eventually I will be over the hill.

Even when I'm already over the hill.

Ladder Follies

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Ladder Follies

I’m reminded of this story from a few years ago because I’ve been painting the porch recently. I’ve told a little about it before, but here’s the full version.

It's still the same summer, I'm still painting "elephant" over the old aluminum siding, and if I do say so myself, it is looking very good indeed. I am so pleased with the results I almost can't wait to be done to see how the house looks when completed.

One problem area of the house has been the northwest corner. The ground descends from the front yard where extra dirt had been brought in during construction. The ground is uneven, and painting this high side of the house is a challenge. I had problems several years ago when I tried to paint all the trim green. After falling from this corner and spilling the paint at the same time, I simply quit and left the rest of the back trim brown. After cleaning up green paint off the stucco on the corner, I threw in the towel.

Determined not to be outdone by the corner architecture this time, I had an extra tall and sturdy ladder for painting the trim. Unfortunately, the grape arbor built on that side had grown tremendously during the past years, and I was forced to push the ladder up through vines. All was going well until I reached the dreaded corner. The ladder could be opened for stability, but the arbor wood was in the way. The solution? Lean the ladder against the wood frame of the grape arbor.

I had forgotten these particular posts were not the most stable of the bunch. In fact, as I climbed up to the tallest part of the corner with my feet at least ten feet off the ground; I was reaching to paint sideways. As I leaned in to get the last parts, the grape arbor began to move away from me under the ladder. As the ladder descended in slow motion, it literally took my feet out from underneath me with it. I was now hurtling to the earth from fifteen feet up.

To understand the landing, it's important that I explain that I had watered this section of lawn earlier that day, after having fertilized with the broadcast spreader. The ground was soaked; there were tiny white pieces of fertilizer scattered around. Perhaps the water had softened it up a bit. But the ground did seem very solid.

I landed flat on my back. The wind was knocked out of me, and as I gasped for breath, I realized I was laying in a pool of water , mud and fertilizer. I rolled on my side, and my back popped a bit, which I considered a good sign. At least I could roll, and my back didn't seem to be broken. Popping a couple of vertebrae actually seemed to lessen the pain, but I still didn't know if I could stand up - or even if I should stand up.

As usual, no one else was home for me to even call for help. I had just locked the dogs in the kennel so I could concentrate on painting that obstinate corner. So I couldn't depend on a Lassie moment where Kase or Kurbis could run to the neighbors and somehow communicate that Dane had done it again.

I resigned myself to the fact that I had to rescue myself, and, of course, this wouldn't be the last time. I rolled slowly to my knees and gradually sat up. Besides being covered in mud and ammonium sulfate, I considered myself lucky to be alive, with no broken bones.

I stood slowly and looked at the ladder. The wood arch of the grape arbor was at a 45 degree angle to the ground, with the ladder lying on top of it. I didn't think it was going anywhere. I looked around for the paint - at least this time I hadn't painted the foundation. I put the lid on the paint, let the dogs out of the kennel, took them and the brush in the house and took off my clothes and left them on the back porch.

After putting on some sweats and taking some ibuprofen, I laid down on the bed to marvel at the persistence of my guardian angel. I waited a few days before going back up to paint the heavens, but I knew if I waited too long the back of the house would go undone again. I chose an easy part to paint on the short back side, and regained my ladder confidence back a few strokes at a time. I eventually got the rest of the house painted without falling from a ladder again. Give me a while. I’ll fall again.