The Sun Is the Same, In a Relative Way

Well, friends, I must apologize for taking such a long break between posts. The last couple of weeks have seen me pack up my earthly possessions and fly once more from the place I had called "home" to hover, for a summer, in suitcase mode, until I settle down in Bloomington for what I am calling my "long march to the sea" (i.e., the end of my formal education).

I'm spending the summer just outside of Nowhere, Michigan (I mean Carson City), with my grandparents. To give a brief sketch of what life is like here, I will only say that my internet connection here is a 28.8kbps modem, and that yesterday I was passed on the road by a truck with a Confederate flag hanging from the rear cab window. This followed my witnessing a brief flirtation between two twentysomething townies, in the check-out line at the local Spartan supermarket, in which they compared stab wound scars.

One of my goals this summer is to organize and catalogue some of my grandparents' things that are currently scattered around their enclosed porch, garage, and pole barn. This morning, I spent some time cataloguing books, and ran across one particularly interesting volume: Sanders' School Reader, Fifth Book ("Designed As A Sequel to Sanders' Fourth Reader"), published in 1863. The book is divided into three parts: one containing instruction on "elocution" (the art of speaking), and two separate sections of readings from famous essayists and poets. There are fascinating things to be found in the printed pages themselves, to be sure, but I often find the marginal notes and scribblings on blank filler pages the most interesting aspect of old books such as this one. In the back of the book, there are two four-line poems, written in pencil, presumably by the book's original owner, "J.C. Stetson, Wis., Sep 30 1866."

On the inside of the back cover:

"Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief? [yes]
Then read this good book leaf by leaf -
In it thou wilt surely find
Relief from sorrow and sweet peace of mind"

And a couple pages before, a poem whose sentiments I would echo today:

"When you with other friends are found
And in their presence sit around
Though sweet their company may be
Will you not sometimes think of me?"

The poem seems to be signed with symbols from some kind of code, so who knows who actually wrote it, and under what circumstances. In any event, I'm sending it along (as the Beatles would say) with love, from me, to you. More marginalia to come, perhaps, in the future...