Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Georgia lost another tooth

Move over, Lauren Hutton.
Georgia lost one of her front teeth last week, and like many things tend to go with her, it was nothing if not dramatic.  It did not go gently into the night, and oh did she rage.   

In short course this small storm passed, the tooth fell out (with a gentle tug from Joe), the blood stopped, and the tooth fairy came.  All was well and right in the world again.     

But in the meantime, June showed her sister great compassion, and for that I am proud of her.  It comes as no surprise to me that the three words she knows how to spell correctly on her own are June, love, and Georgia.  She is such the little caretaker of our family, an honorable role that Joe and I will nevertheless watch with caution as she grows, for it is a risky business to tie one's worth or happiness to the happiness of others.  Maybe every family needs a peacemaker, though.  We are lucky to have such a loving one right now.

Untitled
Window markers by June.   

(And now I will paste this Dylan Thomas poem here for absolutely no related reason other than my having alluded to it above.  A play on words, if you will.  Don't read anything more into this tooth story.  Joe just reminded me that he only remembers this poem from Rodney Dangerfield reciting it in Back to School.) : ) 
nto that

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377#sthash.MrqypXIy.dpuf
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377#sthash.MrqypXIy.dpuf
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,   
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377#sthash.MrqypXIy.dpuf
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377#sthash.MrqypXIy.dpuf
 

1 comment:

Danni said...

That is really sweet.