I haven't been doing too well on keeping up with the NaBloPoMo theme for this month: letters.
After visiting some of the other blogs I became embarrassed at my lack of imagination. So here is my tribute to the letter Q. It comes straight from the depths of my memories from my college days so you must forgive any mistakes in grammar or punctuation, especially since I can't get the tildes and upside down question marks and all in here because it's in Spanish; from poet Gustavo Adolfo Becquer.
"Que es poesia?" dices mientras clavas
En mi pupila tu pupila azul.
"Que es poesia?" Y tu me lo preguntas?
Poesia eres tu.
A rough translation:
"What is poetry?" you ask while cleaving
In my eye your eye of blue.
"What is poetry?" And you ask it of me?
Poetry is you.
In other news.
Not too much to report really. However, Ellen is cracking me up. Most babies her age (just over 13 months) start off saying things like "Mama" or "Daddy;" Ummm...no, not her. She can't be bothered to learn such piddly words. She sits and plays with her toys or looks through old copies of magazines or mail order catalogs and asks, "Who is that? Who is that?" just as clear as day. I can hear her now. She repeats it over and over. She will also ask ad infinitum when we are playing or reading a book or eating breakfast or whatever: "Et's that? Et's that?" She's got the word "who" down pat, she is still working on "what."
She is going to be exactly like her father with an insatiable and odd curiosity. He drives me nuts with the questions he asks. Once a friend who lives in the city sent an email describing how she got dog doo on her shoe at her apartment complex and her subsequent reactions. I was telling husband this and he had to ask: "Well, whose dog was it?" I wanted to growl, ARGH and run from the room. What difference does it make whose dog it was? That wasn't the point of the story. Anyway.