Here are the results of Liz Strauss’ 25 Words of Work/Life Wisdom Project! Liz put the creations into a beautiful and moving slideshow (which doesn’t seem to want to play on this blog–:-P 
). The inspiration in these words is amazing.
Enjoy!
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© 2008 Christine Taylor
To take cough syrup, or not take cough syrup: that is the question.
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous coughing,
Or to take arms against a sea of maladies,
And by opposing, ease them?
Ay, there’s the rub…but where’s that bottle??
It Couldn’t Be Done
By Edgar Guest
Somebody said it couldn’t be done,
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing and he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.
Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one has ever done it”;
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing and he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.
There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.
~~~~~~~~~~~
One of my favorite poems/writings of all time. Just thought I’d share. :):)
Happy Thanksgiving to all!
It Couldn’t Be Done
By Edgar Guest
Somebody said it couldn’t be done,
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing and he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.
Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one has ever done it”;
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing and he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.
There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.
~~~~~~~~~~~
One of my favorite poems/writings of all time. Just thought I’d share. :):)
Happy Thanksgiving to all!
It Couldn’t Be Done
By Edgar Guest
Somebody said it couldn’t be done,
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing and he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.
Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one has ever done it”;
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing and he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.
There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.
~~~~~~~~~~~
One of my favorite poems/writings of all time. Just thought I’d share. :):)
Happy Thanksgiving to all!
I had Scottish currant scones for breakfast this morning. :):) I considered that very good timing, because I had only just completed this artwork the evening before. It’s inspiration is in a poem by Robert Burns, the national poet of Scotland:
A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns
My love is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June :
My love is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I :
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun :
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only love,
And fare thee weel a while !
And I will come again, my love,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.
I love hidden pictures. As an art enthusiast, I enjoy searching for them. As an artist, I can’t help drawing them into my work. My inclination is to incorporate meaning into the work through the use of symbolism and stories—in other words, hidden pictures. Even when I don’t intend to put them in, my subconscious is on overdrive, and causes me to incorporate them anyway.
Love looking for hidden pictures? You can take a glance through the examples of my artwork. Many, like “Beauty and Beast” above, have several pictures or meanings woven throughout the work. All my art these days, though, includes one particular hidden picture: the mousewords mouse.
You can find him in this art piece—he has a tendency to hide right out in the open, as it were, sometimes. Other times, he’s a bit harder to see. But he’s always there.
Robbie Burns was the poet who quoted the famous line, “Of mice and men.” His poem, “To a Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough,” has been a long-time favorite of mine. I can often relate to the tiny character in the story.
A modern-day reader might do a double-take over the 18th-century Scottish writing, but the meaning endures—the best-laid plans of Mice and Men often go awry, and bring nothing but grief and pain where joy had been promised. Mr. Burns felt this, as he couldn’t help but “cast his eye” on the dreary past, and “guess and fear” about the future. I’m guilty of both, I’m afraid! But I shall try to be a bit more like the little Mouse—the present only touches her. Her well-laid plans for promised joy may have been uprooted and laid to waste; but after her first shock and sorrow, she gathers herself together again, and moves along, starting over elsewhere. It’s the only thing she knows how to do, but it’s a blessing of an example to her fellow-mortals.
Truly.