Tuesday, November 21, 2017

Talking Turkey

Every year around this time, my friend Kathie tells the pre - Thanksgiving, story about the time when one of her daughters had to call the 1 - 800 - Turkey - Talk - Line and was advised to throw out the entire bird due to an oven mal - function. Reading her account of that event is a holiday tradition for me now because it "normalizes" my sad memory of inadvertently leaving the freezer door ajar when the whole family went to Chicago a few days before Christmas (in 2013) to see Wicked. Imagine my dismay to get home and realize that everything had been defrosting for 72 hours by the heat of the light bulb inside the freezer.

Ben and Sam were not sympathetic to my cries when they ran down to the basement and discovered the cause. They said, "Mom, this is nothing; we thought one of the cats had died!" They grabbed a big garbage bag, tossed everything in, and drove it over to the nearby apartment complex with a dumpster (so all that rotting food -- including two turkeys -- would not be in our backyard trashcan for the rodents to tear into).

Ben went to the store and bought everything new for Christmas dinner; and Sam cheered me up by saying, "Don't feel bad, Mom, nobody wanted to eat that food anyway" (in reference to my summer's worth of frozen garden produce -- squash, zucchini, okra, green tomato puree, rhubarb, and so forth). Sigh! The best laid plans . . .

Kathie writes: omg, Kitti, what a great (or something!) story! Your boys responded perfectly! And I'm really flattered that you are now making my post about Christina part of your holiday tradition. I know she'd be flattered as well!

Wishing everyone a happy, high - cal . . .

. . . and guilt - free Thanksgiving!

Saturday, November 18, 2017


A cairn is a human-made stack or mound of stones, assembled from prehistoric times to the present, usually as a memorial, landmark, or spontaneous work of found art representing balance and harmony with nature. One might appear as a guidepost on a hiking trail, as a mile - marker on a walking path, or atop a hilltop to indicate the skyline. I came across the one above in a local cemetery -- and the one below on a wellness website.

Here is my little stack of
literary stones for today:

A couple of days ago, I quoted poet Philip Booth:
“I think survival is at stake for all of us all the time. … Every poem, every work of art, everything that is well done, well made, well said, generously given, adds to our chances of survival."

Which in turn reminded me of this Tennessee Williams quotation that seemed so befitting a year ago:
"The world is violent and mercurial - it will have its way with you. We are saved only by love - love for each other and the love that we pour into the art we feel compelled to share: being a parent; being a writer; being a painter; being a friend. We live in a perpetually burning building, and what we must save from it, all the time, is love."

Which made me think of the closing stanza of Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach":
"Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the word, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night."

Which then brought to mind what my friend and mentor Nancy wrote in her Harry Potter Christmas letter several years back:

"Even if you haven't read
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone,
you surely know Harry's life was saved by love."

As well as this gem
from Nancy, a card featuring
one of my favorite quotations from E. B. White:

Inside, Nancy writes: "Informed women have to keep talking, asking questions, challenging, encouraging others to think. . . . The woman depicted on this card, incidentally, is the true me."

I wondered for a minute of it was E. B. White's wife, Katharine Sergeant Angell White; or maybe the Queen of England, or maybe just an anonymous model from the archives, who represents "the true us."

Nancy's wise words, written in mid - June 2016, became our watchword a year ago in mid - November 2016 when our hopes for the presidential election were dashed. In January 2017, Nancy offered further encouragement:
"It has helped me a lot to find a group of like - minded women. My advice is to go to Washington and join the women's March. There is still time. In any case, find something that speaks to your most important issues and volunteer. No time to despair. We must be strong: Warrior Women! Get out of your head and emotions and Act! Righteousness and love have kissed."

In closing,
"let us be true to one another" . . .
"for we live in a perpetually burning building!"

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Survival is at Stake

In this picture, our Nation's
capital looks as pretty as Paris!

Some Words to the Wise
for these Troubled Times
1. As poet Philip Booth reminds us: “I think survival is at stake for all of us all the time. … Every poem, every work of art, everything that is well done, well made, well said, generously given, adds to our chances of survival."

2. As Oscar, from "The Office" warns us: "It's a very dangerous time. The coalition for reason is extremely weak."

3. As Samuel Beckett observes in his novel Watt: "Times are hard, water in every wine" (27).

4. As Woody Allen cautions: "Mankind is facing a crossroad -- one road leads to despair and utter hopelessness and the other to total extinction -- I sincerely hope you graduates choose the right road."

5. As the school principal tells Billy Madison: "what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."

For more thoughts concerning
the first year of Trump's presidency,
please see my current post

"Water in Every Wine"

@ The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker

Sunday, November 12, 2017

Leaves & Lace

~ From Inside Looking Out ~

"The heart of Autumn must have broken here,
And poured its treasure out upon the leaves."

Charlotte Fiske Bates
American poet and essayist, 1838 – 1916


"There is always one moment in a day
when I think my heart will break. . . .
It may be when you turn and look down
a blazing autumn road or it may be when you
see your house under great ancient trees . . . "

Gladys Taber
American naturalist and columnist, 1899 - 1980

~ Same Tree Seen From Outside ~

Check out these beautiful seasonal blogs:

Stillness at Cherith & Irish American Mom

Thursday, November 9, 2017

Black & White

Challenge: Seven Days.
Seven black and white pictures of my life.
No people. No explanation.

Day 1 ~ Black & White Drawing of Brigadoon:

Day 2 ~ Black & White Drawing of Cockroach:

Day 3 ~ Black & White Skeletons:

Day 4 ~ Black & White House
Complete Modern Home No. 115:

During graduate school ~
I lived in one that looked like this:

Another college rental ~ Summer 1978
This odd little duplex has been torn down
for a long time but it used to be so cute!

Day 5 ~ Black & White Backyard ~ Christmas 1966
For My Sibs & Cousins:

Day 6 ~ Black & White Plum Tree:

Day 7 ~ Black and White Chariton
First Issue:

Bonus Days
Black & White Wise & Foolish Virgins

I Wall Street Journaled our photograph!
See preceding post: No Goats, Only Sheep

Monday, November 6, 2017

No Goats, Only Sheep

Breakfast at Good Shepherd

I have to completely agree with business writer Brett Nelson who wrote that the phrase "'Come To Jesus Moment' Is The Most Annoying Business Expression On Earth." I understand that the concept has some currency in the common parlance, with connotations of humor and threat; but if you were subjected to the real thing as a child and urged repeatedly to "come to Jesus," it is not even remotely funny, and the threatening aspect falls sickly flat.

In his essay, "Salvation," American poet Langston Hughes explains it much better than I ever could. For anyone who was not brought up in an evangelical tradition, he provides a glimpse of the impact that fundamentalism can have on the heart of an impressionable innocent child; he makes the point that trying to force kids into some kind of mystical religious experience might make them more cynical rather than increasing their faith. His description certainly rings true to my experience. I did not come across his essay until I was an adult, but it made me feel less lonely and bizarre about my religious upbringing in the Church of the Nazarene -- such a strange way to be raised, such a harsh thing to do to a kid or to an adult.

Hughes writes: "My aunt told me that when you were saved you saw a light, and something happened to you inside! And Jesus came into your life! And God was with you from then on! She said you could see and hear and feel Jesus in your soul. I believed her. I had heard a great many old people say the same thing and it seemed to me they ought to know. So I sat there calmly in the hot, crowded church, waiting for Jesus to come to me. . . . And I kept waiting serenely for Jesus, waiting, waiting - but he didn't come. I wanted to see him, but nothing happened to me. Nothing! I wanted something to happen to me, but nothing happened."

Like young Langston, I decided long ago that if I kept waiting around for a conversion experience or a personal relationship with God, I'd end up waiting forever. Perhaps it is a matter of personality or maybe it's "just my nature" to doubt or be unmoved by emotional appeals to the supernatural, while other people have a deep response to those methods. In the Church of the Nazarene, experiencing these emotions was the central act of faith, so I always felt really excluded -- a goat, not a sheep -- because I never felt the hand of god move or heard Jesus speaking to my heart.

Though I realized early on (by age 10) that it would never work for me, I stayed in the church, trying to remain in favor with my family, until age 26. With huge relief, I finally resolved not to do that anymore and started actively seeking another path. I was committed to the insistence that religion has to make some kind of sense, and to finding a church where human intelligence is valued, rather than the hypocritical "please leave your brain at the door" attitude that I resented throughout my formative years. I knew that I would never want my children subjected to the criticism and judging and unnecessary shame of Protestant fundamentalism.

First, I tried a couple of campus - oriented Unitarian services -- very academic; then I visited a big impersonal Methodist church once or twice because it was just a few blocks from my house and easy to walk to. Next came Notre Dame during the Hesburgh years, where, not surprisingly, I met many Catholics, including Gerry. While at Notre Dame, I attended various masses with friends of mine around the campus from time to time (some fancy in the Basilica, others in dormitory lounges or at the Grotto). I never really felt that Catholicism was for me -- too exclusive and sexist and every bit as judgmental as the Nazarenes, but I liked the liturgical nature of the ceremony, which was new for me after all those years of touchy - feely protestantism.

Maybe it's a literary thing, but I decided then to cast my lot with ritual and liturgy. I like doing things like reciting or singing or listening to certain prayers, poems, psalms, hymns because I like those words, and I like the act of singing or choral reading or just hearing certain words or phrases. For the duration (5 minutes) of hearing someone sing "Ave Maria" or for the duration (2 minutes) of reciting the Apostles' Creed, I feel convinced of meaning, grace, history, connection. I can easily believe that the world's most beautiful words, songs, and buildings have all been created to the "glory of God," even though I'm not entirely sure what that means. What I'm willing to do (and maybe this is my "faith") is to accept that sense of fulfillment and participation as a worthwhile act in itself.

When Gerry and I decided to marry, I was willing to join the Catholic church, despite my misgivings that once again I would be considered a goat instead of a sheep. For a variety of reasons, however, this was not to be our fate; but that's another story -- a rather long one -- for another year.

Instead, we decided to try St. John's Episcopal, in Lafayette, and immediately felt welcome. There were our neighbors from across street, who we did not know attended there! There was the couple from Gerry's work who often hosted the book group that we had recently joined -- we didn't know we'd see them there. As you can see, it seemed like a perfect fit, even before the fact. Around the same time, the Purdue Episcopal Campus Ministry advertised for an office administrator, and it became an even better fit! I enjoyed that job -- working for Peter and Nancy back in our Wesley Foundation Building Era -- for 3 1/2 years; and -- between Good Shepherd and St. John's -- the Episcopal Church became the center of our life at Purdue.

Gerry and I had a couple of months of pre-marital counselling with Peter and had our wedding service at St. John's in September 1989. A few months later, we officially joined the church and have been attending ever since. After Ben was born, my tolerant and understanding boss allowed me to bring my little one to work with me every morning. Ben became the Good Shepherd Office Baby, doing such an excellent job in this role that before long he was promoted to Office Toddler! I stopped working at Good Shepherd only because we re - located to Philadelphia. While there, we attended three Episcopal Churches -- St. Mary's on the Penn campus, St. James' in the suburbs, and St. Peter's right downtown where Ben and Sam served their time as choristers.

After 11 years in the City of Brotherly Love, we made our way back to West Lafayette and back to Good Shepherd, just in time for Ben and Sam to join Friday School, where they met the Knapp brothers Chris and Brendan. Hey, I remembered these boys being born -- Chris a few months before Ben, and Brendan a few months before Sam, back in the early days when I had worked at Good Shepherd! And now, in one of those uncanny life - affirming parrallelisms, they were all reunited -- in the same grades at school, in the same confirmation classes; Ben and Chris as roommates at Purdue, Sam and Brendan as best friends at West Side. If that's not church family, I don't know what is! At Good Shepherd, there is never any doubt that we will find people with similar interests, values, and notions of humor and social justice.

In conclusion, I would like to share some inspiring, inclusive words that I have been fortunate enough to hear spoken before communion, inviting all -- not just some -- to the table. I am nearly moved to tears by such unexpected generosity of spirit:

The first is: "None forbidden, none compelled."

The second is: "All who seek the truth are welcome here."

These kindhearted and introspective invitations stand in stark contrast to the many excluding, forbidding messages that I have heard proclaimed at various churches over the long years. "None forbidden, none compelled," is so much more respectful than the typical agenda of restrictions and requirements. And how refreshing to welcome "All who seek the truth" rather than only those who tread the exact same path. At Good Shepherd, I have been able to apply these two pre - communion blessings as personal mantras and continually strive to internalize the inherent value they assign to individual integrity and spiritual quest.

At Good Shepherd there are no goats, only sheep.

Following in the footsteps of my son ~ Sam,
I gave the above presentation yesterday morning
as part of Stewardship Sunday
at The Chapel of the Good Shepherd
The Episcopal Campus Ministry at Purdue University

I drew from the following recent blog posts:
1. July 14 ~ Born Only Once
2. July 28 ~ O Ya - Ya of Little Faith
3. August 14 ~ None Forbidden, None Compelled
4. September 10 ~ Soul Searching

I do feel a little bad about using goats
to represent the negative aspect.
They don't deserve that! After all,
they are innocent, just like the sheep!

Thursday, November 2, 2017


Four Trees / Vier Baume, 1917 ~ Egon Schiele, 1890 - 1980

From Missouri Photographer Jay Beets:
"Trees in the Sunrise two mornings ago . . .
the painting reminded me of them . . . "

All Souls' Day / Allerseelen

Place on the table the fragrant mignonettes,
Bring in the last red asters,
and let us talk of love again,
as once we did in May.

Give me your hand, so that I may secretly press it;
and if someone sees, it's all one to me.
Just give me one of your sweet glances,
as once you did in May.

Flowers bloom and spread their fragrance today on every grave;
one day in the year is sacred for the dead.
Come close to my heart, so that I can have you again,
as once I did in May.

by the Austrian poet Hermann von Gilm (1812 - 1864)
set to music in 1885 by Richard Strauss (1864 - 1949)

This beautiful song for The Day of All Souls first came to may attention in the 1984 film of Malcolm Lowry's novel Under the Volcano, which takes place in Mexico on November 2nd, aka: All Souls Day or Allerseelen; The Day of the Dead or Dia de los Muertos.

Alternate translation for stanzas 1 & 3:

Place on the mound sweet mignonette before us,
The last red blooming asters hither bring
Let memr'y's charm our early love restore us
As once in Spring.

How sweetly blooms each grave with fragrant flowers
Sacred to all souls of our dead, this day,
Come to my heart, through all the blessed hours
As once in May

In his eerie "November" dirge, contemporary American Tom Waits provides an interesting comparison to the German love song. As von Gilm hearkens back to May at the conclusion of each stanza, so Waits calls out to April for rescue from bleak November's skeletal imagery:


No shadow
No stars
No moon
No care
It only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That's the color of bone

No prayers for November
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We'll slaughter them all

November has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to April
To rescue me
November's cold chain

Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You're my firing squad

With my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hare

Tied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flag

Go away you rainsnout
Go away, blow your brains out

Tom Waits, b 1949
Singer-songwriter, composer, actor, poet

Related Article for
Día de los Muertos:
"A Brief History of the ‘Danse Macabre’"

Wednesday, November 1, 2017


"When the last person here is dead,
who'll put a tombstone at his head?"
Lenore Eversole Fisher, (1900 - 1990)
Contributing writer to the Indianapolis Star,
the Kokomo paper, and the Poetry Explorer.
Other poems include: "Survivor," "Motif," and "Spring Day."

As you can see from the above collage that I put together in one of my teen - age scrapbooks, I've always known myself to be just a bit like Keats, who was "half in love with easeful Death," and never more so than at this mystical time of year. Fittingly, Keats was born in 1795 on All Hallow's Eve; he loved Autumn, and died young -- "Here lies one whose name was writ in water" -- in 1821.

All Saints and All Souls; Allerheiligen and Allerseelen -- whether in Germany, England, Mexico, or the United States -- these are the days for contemplating mortality and immortality. In Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason , Bridget Jones and her friends are compelled to focus on these issues. When Princess Diana dies, Bridget writes in her diary:
"Is unbelievable. Like dream or sick newspaper April Fool. Is unbelievable. Diana dies is just not kind of thing she would do. . . . Cannot believe it. Is so scary when is obvious no one in authority knows what to do. . . . Seems like the world has gone mad. Is no normality to come back to. . . . Is like Jude or Shazzer being there and full of life and giggly jokes and lip gloss then suddenly being something so grown - up and horror - filled and alien as dead. . . . 'And now Princess Diana is dead,' said Shazzer solemnly. The mood abruptly changed. We all fell silent, trying to absorb this violent, shocking and unthinkable thought" (emphasis added).
A Local Cairn

Tuesday, October 31, 2017


For more October postcards
and wit & wisdom from Victoria Amador
please see my current post

"October Light, October Heavy"

@ Kitti's List

~ 28 October 2002 ~

"Happy Halloween!
Happy Samhain!
Happy All Souls Day!
Happy Dia do los Muertos!
Happy Wiccan New Year!
Have a marvelous & scary time!
Boo! Boo! Boo! Boo!

Well, it wasn't Paris, but I enjoy being back in Romania.
Next year I am doing the Transylvania Tour!
I didn't see any ghosts, but I certainly met a lot of odd people.
It has triggered a renewed interest in ghosts and paranormal activity.
What's your take on the afterlife?
Are there famous haunted sites in Philly?"


In Other Halloween News:
Many thanks to our sweet neighbor Tami,
who has kindly made sure that we would not be
without trick - or - treaters this year!

Look who has already been seen on our front porch:
Happy Halloween to this fearsome T - Rex!

Related amusing video: "This is why I don't
let my family pick me up from the bus anymore!"

Saturday, October 28, 2017

Dogwood Days

For more dogwoods
and poetry by Linda Pastan,
please see my current post

"Dogwood, Spring and Fall"

@ The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker

The dogwood tree next door to us:
above ~ April 2016, looking south;
below ~ October 2017, looking north.

At Auntie Jan's House
in the South of England ~ October 2016

Thursday, October 26, 2017

A Question of Apple Paring

An Apple - Peeling Coincidence!
"There will be time . . . for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate . . . "

~ T. S. Eliot ~
from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"


The Spell of the Apple Paring
Pare an apple, take the skin,
And fling it straight behind you;
Whatever letter it may frame,
That will being your true love's name,
And (s)he will surely find you.

The Apple Parings
With a sharp knife pare an apple
Round and round and round.
Toss the paring o'er your shoulder --
The initial found
Will be the one you'll marry --
Do not be afraid?
'Tis an old prophetic omen
Good for man or maid.

both rhymes found in
Romantic Art and Customs of Yesteryear

by Diane C. Arkins (p 23)


And this is just me, playing with the food
on my plate at Cafestar, Astana, Kazakhstan

Sunday, October 22, 2017


Spring and Fall

to a young child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844 - 1889)

A few years ago, not long after fellow writer Curtis Cottrell and a few other friends had shared commentary on "Spring and Fall," I happened to come across these old headstones, both of which seem to go perfectly with Hopkins' poem (more pics).
The stone says that Margaret was the "Consort of" Lewis Davisson.
Did they live at the edge? Drink life to the lees?
(Thanks to "Tombstone Tourist @ A Grave Interest"
for additional information on how to read old gravestones.)

Both tombstones are located
a few miles from my house in West Lafayette, Indiana
in nearly forgotten Burton Cemetery ~ Tippecanoe County

This once rural graveyard
now stands on the corner of a busy highway,
adjacent to the parking lot of a Menards DIY;
probably not the final resting place that Margaret & Lewis
envisioned for themselves at the time . . . kind of sad.

It is Margaret we mourn for.


Here is my friend Victoria in 1978 at another,
as yet unidentified Indiana cemetery.
We are on a quest to find this long lost grave.
Any leads for us?
"Everretta T. Parsons ~ AD 1815"
Is it Everretta that Victoria mourns for?
Or is it Victoria?

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Hushed October Morning

Tina & Alastair's Backyard Paradise
See the little heart hanging in the lower right corner?
October 2016

Robert Frost has given us so many unforgettable lines of poetry,
including this beguiling invocation to October . . .

"O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know."

. . . which appears on my

Current Post ~ "Bright Blue October"

@ The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker


Previous Frost Posts

"A Time to Talk"
~ "No, not as there is a time to talk . . .
I go up to the stone wall / For a friendly visit."

"After Apple Picking" ~ "But I am done with apple-picking now. . . .
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight . . . "
[See also: "Harvesting" & "Ten Thousand Thousand"]

"Gathering Leaves" ~ "But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where / The harvest shall stop?"

"Christmas Trees" ~ "A thousand Christmas trees I didn’t know I had!
Worth three cents more to give away than sell . . . "

"Departmental" ~ "Go bring him home to his people. . . . Lay him in state . . . Wrap him for shroud in a petal. / Embalm him with ichor of nettle."

"The Gift Outright" ~ "Something we were withholding made us weak / Until we found out that it was ourselves / We were withholding . . ."

"Mending Wall"
~ "Something there is that doesn’t love a wall . . .
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.'"

"Nothing Gold Can Stay" ~ "Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold."

"Fire and Ice" ~ "Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice."

April 2017

Monday, October 16, 2017

Pear as Punctum

I know I posted this picture from last fall only a few days ago, but something about it jogged my memory, reminding me of . . . what was it? Oh, that's right: yet another "pear as punctum" picture, taken six years ago! What's the odds?

Apple Harvest (with pear as punctum)
October 22, 2016

Pear as Punctum
July 6, 2011

To review: Punctum is French critic Roland Barthes' intriguing term for that touching or disconcerting detail which pierces through the still life, the object, or the studium. Rather than the usual sequence of subject first, object second, for Barthes, the "second element which will disturb the studium I shall therefore call punctum; for punctum is also: sting, speck, cut, little hole – and also a cast of the dice. A photograph’s punctum is that accident which pricks me (but also bruises me, is poignant to me)" (Barthes, Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography, 27).

All Punctum Posts
"Pilobolus, Punctum, Yellow Squash"
"The Lughnasa Moon"
"The Handwriting on the Wall"
"This Little World, This England"
"Pear as Punctum"

Friday, October 13, 2017

This Little World, This England

Sunnyfields in Fall & Spring

Only a year behind in posting these these autumnal
favorites from last October's trip to England:
2016 ~ England in the Autumn

And a mere six months late with this batch
from our English Easter Break:
2017 ~ England in the Spring

Guara Flower
You might think that this picture is from the Spring album, but no -- I took it last October in Auntie Jan's backyard, in the south of England. Imagine such a delicate pink blossom thriving in October!

I also love this one for its more conventional autumn tone:
Apple Harvest (with pear as punctum)

Auntie Jan's Dreamy Wishing Well
~ in October 2016 ~

~ in April 2017 ~
(with little blue toy car as punctum)

Aerial View

"This other Eden, demi-paradise . . .
this little world . . .
This precious stone set in a silver sea . . .
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England . . ."

~ Shakespeare ~ from Richard II ~