Friday, November 14, 2008  Tennyson and a two-year-old  Tennyson
put it all rather better in In Memoriam A.H.H. -  I sometimes
think it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel: For words,
like Nature, half reveal And half conceal the Soul within.  But,
for the unquiet heart and brain, A use in measured language
lies; The sad mechanic exercise, Like dull narcotics, numbing
pain.  In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest
clothes, against the cold; But that large grief that these
enfold Is given in outline and no more.  In other words, it's
good to have a bit of a moan but it's better not to overdo it.
(Tennyson had just lost Arthur Hallam, his best friend.) So I'll
stop for now. Thank you for your finely judged sympathy - much
better.  I'm sure I do it myself - try to put the bright side to
people who - darn it - don't want the bright side right at that
moment. They want a bit of a wallow. And possibly cake.  To
deviate slightly - one of my evening class students was telling
me about an occasi