My husband and I went down to DC on Thursday to meet an old friend of his who was in town to do research at the National Archives for a book he is writing. We met in front of the Archives, had lunch and toured a couple of art museums. My husband had always spoken of his friend as being intelligent and well-read, and so he proved to be. We talked about everything from the origins of the New Testament (he's learning Greek) to the latest Jane Austin movie. You have to like a guy who reads Jane Austin, and can converse about her books and movies. He liked Pride and Prejudice but felt like the sound track was too "Beethoven" and not right for the period. We all had a wonderful afternoon.
If I didn't have to work, my husband and I could do things like that every day. My husband is, of course, intelligent and well-read, also, and is wonderful company.
I only have about 3 more years until retirement. I can last that long.
It's cherry blossom time in DC so I am sharing a poem about cherry trees. I remember reading this in a high school English class, and disagreeing with the teacher about what age the author is claiming to be. The teacher said 70, but it's obvious he is only 20. He only has "50 more" springs in which to view the cherry blossoms.
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
A. E. Housman
