Margaret’s Song

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  There was a king in Thule,  True even to the grave;  To whom his dying mistress  A golden beaker gave.  At every feast he drained it,  Naught was to him so dear,  And often as he drained it,  Gush’d from his eyes the tear.  When death came, unrepining  His cities o’er he told;  All to his heir resigning,  Except his cup of gold.  With many a knightly vassal  At a royal feast sat he,  In yon proud hall ancestral,  In his castle o’er the sea.  Up stood the jovial monarch,  And quaff’d his last life’s glow,  Then hurled the hallow’d goblet  Into the flood below.  He saw it splashing, drinking,  And plunging in the sea;  His eyes meanwhile were sinking,  And never again drank he. “Margaret’s Song” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) in “Faust. Part I.”

Fastest Ever

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Just got back from a run. I use a tracker to log my distance, time, and a bunch of other stuff. My wife often "follows" me "live" as I run, even tracking me on GPS.

This afternoon I came home and she pointed out that at one point in my run, I hit my fastest speed: 85.98 mph (see the chart, below). She showed my on her computer. I double checked my tracker, and sure enough. There it is.













That spike (above) is where my jet pack kicked in. Or something.

I have no clue what happened. But there it is. In the record books.

No wonder I'm so tired!

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