Wassail, traveler, and welcome to The Gable Grey -- a place of retreat, of renewal, and of resistance: a tree-shaded refuge in Dark Times. Now pass the threshold, and rest from journeys! For a cold wind is blowing; and here, if you wish, you may hear tidings of the world without...

Sunday, February 10, 2008


I am going to be a father again!

We are very excited, nervous, anxious, all that. Already there is a name list. Most everyone knows by now. Some are happy, some are elated, some are cool. I am by turns happy, elated, and cool, myself.

But two will be enough, I think. Belle is already more than a handful. Do I want a son, or another daughter? With three girls in the house, I'd be very well taken care of! But a son... hmm. Whole new set of challenges, there. We shall see in about three or four months exactly what direction the Carlisle family will take.

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Whiles carried o'er the iron road,
We hurry by some fair abode;
The garden bright amidst the hay,
The yellow wain upon the way,
The dining men, the wind that sweeps
Light locks from off the sun-sweet heaps --
The gable grey, the hoary roof,
Here now -- and now so far aloof.
How sorely then we long to stay
And midst its sweetness wear the day,
And 'neath its changing shadows sit,
And feel ourselves a part of it.
Such rest, such stay, I strove to win
With these same leaves that lie herein.

-- William Morris, from
"The Roots of the Mountains"