Of Angels and Plants

The adventures of gardening

Of Favorites and Frustrations January 29, 2012

Filed under: good books,Queen's Thief — Aeneas Anchises' son @ 9:20 pm

My favorite series of all time (after LOTR, of course, though it’s only a little bit behind) is the Queen’s Thief series, by Megan Whalen Turner. Her books are written for rereading (I think I’ve read King of Attolia, my favorite, at least 10 times by now…). And the author has deigned to give her readers an interview!


No!! But then I’ll never figure out how old Gen really was, why Ornon lost his sheep, and what happens to Costis. Ms. Turner, you really have to write more books! I don’t think we’ll ever find out all that we want to in just six books!

Although, thanks to the Livejournal community Sounis, I’ve learned more than I’ve wanted to about Gen’s underwear…


And the Game is…. January 23, 2012

Filed under: robotics — Aeneas Anchises' son @ 7:35 pm

Ok, a bit of explanation is needed FIRST (hehe, you’ll get it later). I am involved with an organization called For Inspiration and Recognition of Science and Technology, which hosts robotics competitions each year (no, they don’t fight each other. In fact, if you even pin a robot against a game piece or something then you get a foul) . And each year, a different game is played, and you have 6 weeks to build a fully functioning robot from scratch (they supply a kit of parts, but if you want more, you have to buy them).  And this year’s game is [cue drumroll]


Which is annoying because 1. our robot has to shoot accurately (can I hear a groan from the Programming Committee?) and 2. I personally hate basketball. But perhaps to give you a better sense of what the game is:

And we have 6 weeks (well, now it’s about 4, because the build season starts Jan 7). Which means that we will eat, sleep, study, and do robotics (rinse and repeat). Hello to fried brains!


Happy New Year, and Happy Birthday Professor Tolkien! January 3, 2012

Filed under: Tolkien — Aeneas Anchises' son @ 8:13 pm

Well, now it’s 2012. Last year I got pretty much no gardening done, and this year I want to be more organized and be less slothful in regards to these tasks. We’re thinking about getting new chicks this year, and the chickens we have now will become chicken soup.

It’s hissss birthday, precioussss! The Professor would have been 120, according to the Tolkien Society. So what better day to post this, which I have watched at least 10 times now:

And my favorite poem from the Lord of the Rings:

The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.

There Beren came from mountains cold.
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.

Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.

He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beachen leaves
In wintry woodland wavering.

He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.

When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.

Again she fled, but swift he came,
Tinuviel! Tinuviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinuviel
That in his arms lay glistening.

As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinuviel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.

Long was the way that fate them bore,
O’er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.