March 29, 2020

. . . covid-19: day 17 | US: GA | info | act

Jerry chillin’ in the MGA hat we brought him. Photo by Sharon.

I revived my dormant Twitter account this morning. Let’s see how long that lasts. I had actually considered doing the same for Facebook when this whole thing started, but I’m not that desperate yet.

I also took a 70-mile or so motorcycle ride today. Autumn and Henry were going to visit the grandparents for a couple of days, so I just rode the Scrambler down there to say hello. The weather was conducive to the ride, and traffic seemed about right for a Sunday. On the way back, I cut west across Hartley Bridge Road, and the authorities had the road closed eastbound from the I-75 exit. Interesting. I can only think that COVID-19 is responsible, but I really don’t see how that would help? Blocking infected travelers from going to Kroger, maybe? I wonder if we’ll see more of this?

Sir Patrick skips sonnet 9, finding it “offensive.” It continues the theme of the first eight sonnets: is it fear of making someone a widow, the poet wonders, that keeps you from taking a wife and having kids? Well, by not doing it, you would be murdering your future children. Definitely hyperbolic.

Sonnet 9
By: William Shakespeare

Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye,
That thou consum’st thy self in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep 5
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep
By children’s eyes, her husband’s shape in mind:
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; 10
But beauty’s waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murd’rous shame commits.

                    

Why are you so angry, selfish, and stubborn, dude? If you love me, argues the poet, you’ll change your mind about this.

Sonnet 10
By: William Shakespeare • Read by: Patrick Stewart

For shame deny that thou bear’st love to any,
Who for thy self art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lov’st is most evident:
For thou art so possessed with murderous hate, 5
That ’gainst thy self thou stick’st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O! change thy thought, that I may change my mind:
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? 10
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another self for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.