Politics, Plagues and Religion

The 21st century is my kind of place and time…but there is something I find intriguing about the 13th century or thereabouts. Why am interested in the middle ages? I have no idea, given the lack of personal hygene and everything. Yet, the germs and filth, serfs and waifs, knights and maidens, jousting and ale [a potentially lethal combination mind you] – it all fascinates me.

So I just finished a tome written by Ken Follett entitled World Without End. Incredibly researched and tantilizingly engaging, the novel weaves an historical narrative that paints a detailed portrait of life in late 13th century England.

If you’re interested in monks, cathedrals, castles, knights, plagues, political power and corruption–this book is for you.

FYI…this is not a funny book.   If looney middle ages is what you want you’ll have to look elsewhere.  Perhaps below at this classic scene —

The Happiest Day

With the exception of Dr. Seuss and a few assorted limericks, I was never one for poetry when I was young. My son Corey is different. He’s an avid reader and lover of poetry. He recently shared his current favorite with me — reciting portions of it from memory with apparent ease. I was impress both with the poem and more significantly with him. The poem he recited is entitled The Happiest day by Linda Pastan.

It was early May, I think
a moment of lilac or dogwood
when so many promises are made
it hardly matters if a few are broken.
My mother and father still hovered
in the background, part of the scenery
like the houses I had grown up in,
and if they would be torn down later
that was something I knew
but didn’t believe. Our children were asleep
or playing, the youngest as new
as the new smell of the lilacs,
and how could I have guessed
their roots were shallow
and would be easily transplanted.
I didn’t even guess that I was happy.
The small irritations that are like salt
on melon were what I dwelt on,
though in truth they simply
made the fruit taste sweeter.
So we sat on the porch
in the cool morning, sipping
hot coffee. Behind the news of the day–
strikes and small wars, a fire somewhere–
I could see the top of your dark head
and thought not of public conflagrations
but of how it would feel on my bare shoulder.
If someone could stop the camera then…
if someone could only stop the camera
and ask me: are you happy?
perhaps I would have noticed
how the morning shone in the reflected
color of lilac. Yes, I might have said
and offered a steaming cup of coffee.