May-be life will eventually slow down?

I keep thinking that eventually life would May-be slow down ... but no.

Last week was the last week of the academic year at the Big J, capped off by Commencement on Friday in Alice Tully Hall. What you can't see in this blurry photo from the balcony is the dignitaries that included Daniel Day-Lewis* (as himself) and my favorite work-study student. It's weird to think that almost 20 years ago there was a Development officer at my graduation being wistful that HER work-study student (me) was graduating after four years.

20 years ago that Development Officer didn't have wi-fi to entertain her during the loooooooonnnnng ceremony, or digital cameras to capture the action. She probably would have wanted to pay money, though, too, to bribe the organist to slip in a phrase or two from Phantom of the Opera into the recessional.

It was a happily sad day. I had to take the floral decorations from the fancy schmazy lunch home as a consolation. The hydrangeas promptly died the next day. What does that mean?

The whole week was sweet, somewhat spicy from the stress of getting everything done, but totally nuts.

I wouldn't be lying if I said that this was dinner one night, after 10 p.m. As was this fried egg sandwich. I've been told that meals after 9 at night that aren't a mid-night snack, are called the 22:00 breakfasts. That's just too late to be eating any kind of dinner. But that's what last week was.

After a busy week of work, late trains, rains, projects, and deadlines, this ad for Maine tourism really caught my eye.

Sounds about right, "write now."

Instead of a speech from the School president, "Dr." Day-Lewis read this poem to the graduates. If you need to know, Daniel Day-Lewis as Dr. Day-Lewis (Hon. Doctor of Fine Arts) is just as impressive as Daniel Day-Lewis as anyone else. 

Today

By Billy Collins

 

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,

so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw

open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,

indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths

and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight

that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight

on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants

from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,

holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,

well, today is just that kind of day.

Source: Poetry (April 2000).

All these "quality" photos via iTouch.