Monday, January 3, 2011
Well, I made my toast to Beren on this his 119th birthday - a little something I picked up from The League - with a good glass of unchilled oatmeal stout, which is still being drunk as I write this.
I hope to ask Beren some time if my thoughts are correct in thinking that Saruman with his voice purposefully turned Radagast aside from his ultimate mission, even as early on as when they both arrived at the shores of Middle-earth. In other words, that it wasn't just Radagast being distracted by love of animals and such, but his being turned aside had something to do with the cunning of Saruman; Saruman's hating having to take Radagast along with him.
I know I'll be admitted (purely through love and mercy of course) into his company, granted I make it there, without having to first spend time apologizing for having made equivalent comparisons between The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter while I was on earth, unlike what many other Catholic bloggers will have to do.
Oh beer, you are so good;
you are my midnight food.
You are also finest proof
(no less than with the stars above)
of God's uncaused existence,
as has been already noted
by others numerous, before me.
Likewise the full grammatical sentence
that goes to build up paragraphs
without them being bloated.
Likewise the rolling seablue;
likewise the fitted horseshoe.
So many things prove as evidence
which do not remain mere evidences:
not mere items in a juried court,
to prove a hindsight case,
but stronger and stronger they become
to wash the Thomas doubts
and all the baleful bouts:
there is always oatmeal stout.