posted on October 26, 2001 09:07:42 PM new
If we're already registered with AW and are using their launching services, they have a credit card number from us already. Do we have to re-register or will that do?
posted on October 27, 2001 04:54:52 PM new
Dang it. One of the reasons I check in here every once in awhile is in the hopes of seeing you Antiquary because I miss you. Never see you anywhere else. I don't have any credit cards...
posted on October 27, 2001 07:14:46 PM new
Thank you, Herself,
I'm always delighted to see you, but I'm just a stodgy old creature of habit and don't get out and about much, especially lately. See, I even use the ancient ID by which I first knew you.
It grieves me that you will not be able to post here soon. I truly wish that everyone who wants to do so could stay. I am uncertain exactly who will be here, but I hope for the best under the circumstances.
posted on October 27, 2001 07:23:53 PM new
Hi stusi,
Just hit the "My Account" tab at the top of this page, and it will direct you to a page which contains a heading for Personal Information. That is where you can register your CC.
posted on October 28, 2001 11:33:09 AM new
Blame Pat and Snowy, they started it with the e e cummings poetry in another thread, but here's a little tribute to you rachel, via, Marianne Moore:
The Mind is an Enchanting Thing
is an enchanted thing
like the glaze on a
katydid-wing
subdivided by sun
till the nettings are legion.
Like Giesking playing Scarlatti;
like the apteryx-awl
as a beak, or the
kiwi's rain-shawl
of haired feathers, the mind
feeling its way as though blind,
walks along with its eyes on the ground.
It has memory's ear
that can hear without
having to hear.
Like the gyroscope's fall,
truly equivocal
because trued by regnant certainty,
it is a power of strong enchantment. It
is like the dove-
neck animated by
sun; it is memory's eye;
it's conscientious inconsistency.
It tears off the veil; tears
the temptation, the
mist the heart wears,
from its eyes - if the heart
has a face; it takes apart
dejection. It's fire in the dove-neck's
iridescence; in the inconsistencies
of Scarlatti.
Unconfusion submits
its confusion to proof; it's
not a Herod's oath that cannot change.
