The return of the RavenMaven has taken time. She flew away 5 years ago and has now landed in South Florida. She briefly stopped in The Blue Ridge Mountains for a year or so. She was happy there, but the Winter settled thickly and relentlessly and drove the old bird to Tennessee for a little R and R from the cold mountains of Virginia. On the way she visited some relatives living in South Carolina. She settled there in a tiny cabin with luxurious features for the Maven. She enjoyed the time with cousins and friends. She even thought it might be a good place to settle, but Tennessee was calling.
Tennessee was full of lakes and the RavenMaven enjoyed the water views and golf courses. She learned to play a few rounds and touted around her pink golf bag, improving her game daily. The game was a good one, but ended abruptly one warm Tennessee day.
The old Maven packed up the Jag and headed South. As far South as she could fly. She landed in South Florida and has not looked back. There are other Mavens in the area, she is happy. She is learning the underworld life of diving.
Scuba diving in the Florida Keys may seem strange for the RavenMaven, but it suits her perfectly. She loves the Sounds of Silence (Simon and Garfunkle) had some insight into that life evidently. The silence of 50ft under water is amazing. Very Zen like - listening to nothing but your regulator allowing you to breathe and stay alive underwater.
The Maven is out on the water every weekend. She has a Captain, he takes her everywhere. The RavenMaven is back in her new element and ready to Rock and Roll.
Specifically, Fleetwood Mac this weekend in Palm Beach. Be there. More to come, will be sure to let you know how the old Mac sounds with all the original members. Catch me after the concert!
Rock On!
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Monday, January 26, 2009
The RavenMaven
Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849)
Altered by Ravenmaven
The Ravenmaven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I queried, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious websites of forgotten lore—While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my computer door."'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my computer door— only this and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its host upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my sites surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Restore—For the rare and radiant savior whom the angels name Restore— Nameless here for evermore.And the glassened, sad, uncertain bursting of each blackened curtainThrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my computer door—Some late visiter entreating entrance at my computer door;— This it is and nothing more." Presently my search grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Search," said I, "or Google”, truly your forgiveness I implore;But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my computer door,That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;— Darkness there and nothing more.Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Restore?"This I whispered and an echo murmured back the word, "Restore!" Merely this and nothing more.Back into the computer turning, all my searches within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window vista;Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;— 'Tis the modem and nothing more!"Open here I flung the printer, when, with many a spurt and sinter,In there stepped a stately Ravenmaven of the saintly days of yore;Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my computer door—Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my computer door— Perched, and searched, and nothing more.Then this ebony nerd beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and learned decorum of the countenance it wore,"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no misbehaven,Ghastly grim and ancient Ravenmaven wandering from the Nightly shore—Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Screen's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the RavenMaven "Searchnomore."Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his computer door—Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his computer door, With such name as “Searchnomore."But the Ravenmaven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his site in that one word he did outpour.Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—-On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." Then the bird said "Searchnomore."Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and storeCaught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never—Searchnomore.'"But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Searchnomore."This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall search, ah, nevermore!Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor."Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent theeRespite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the RavenMaven "Searchnomore.""Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me tell me, I implore!" Quoth the RavenMaven "Searchnomore.""Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—Tell this site with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aiden,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Restore—Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Restore." Quoth the RavenMaven "Searchnomore.""Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the RavenMaven "Searchnomore."And the Ravenmaven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my computer door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is scheming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my site from out that shadow that flies gloating on the floor Shall be lifted— searchnomore!
Altered by Ravenmaven
The Ravenmaven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I queried, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious websites of forgotten lore—While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my computer door."'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my computer door— only this and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its host upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my sites surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Restore—For the rare and radiant savior whom the angels name Restore— Nameless here for evermore.And the glassened, sad, uncertain bursting of each blackened curtainThrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my computer door—Some late visiter entreating entrance at my computer door;— This it is and nothing more." Presently my search grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Search," said I, "or Google”, truly your forgiveness I implore;But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my computer door,That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;— Darkness there and nothing more.Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Restore?"This I whispered and an echo murmured back the word, "Restore!" Merely this and nothing more.Back into the computer turning, all my searches within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window vista;Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;— 'Tis the modem and nothing more!"Open here I flung the printer, when, with many a spurt and sinter,In there stepped a stately Ravenmaven of the saintly days of yore;Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my computer door—Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my computer door— Perched, and searched, and nothing more.Then this ebony nerd beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and learned decorum of the countenance it wore,"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no misbehaven,Ghastly grim and ancient Ravenmaven wandering from the Nightly shore—Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Screen's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the RavenMaven "Searchnomore."Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his computer door—Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his computer door, With such name as “Searchnomore."But the Ravenmaven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his site in that one word he did outpour.Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—-On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." Then the bird said "Searchnomore."Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and storeCaught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never—Searchnomore.'"But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Searchnomore."This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall search, ah, nevermore!Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor."Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent theeRespite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the RavenMaven "Searchnomore.""Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me tell me, I implore!" Quoth the RavenMaven "Searchnomore.""Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—Tell this site with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aiden,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Restore—Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Restore." Quoth the RavenMaven "Searchnomore.""Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the RavenMaven "Searchnomore."And the Ravenmaven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my computer door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is scheming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my site from out that shadow that flies gloating on the floor Shall be lifted— searchnomore!
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