I'm a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it. ~Thomas Jefferson

How very true. I was told recently by an acquaintance that I was very lucky to get this job, first off I agreed. I was lucky, my college education consisted of Classical Guitar, boy did I think that one out! What a great career path. Anyway, once I'd realised there were about 3 employed Classical Guitar players in the country, I went a got a real job. So I saw his point, I was lucky to get this job, head of my department (Quality), in a great company, a large multinational, the pay is excellent ( I mean I wouldn't say no if more was offered, but then, whomever would?) and the conditions are good. But what is luck? Was it really luck that got me the job?

The more I think on it the less I would agree with it, so much so by now I almost see that innocent statement as an insult. Had they pulled my name out of a hat and awarded me the job then, yes, that would be lucky. But they didn't, I worked my ass off for the last 7 years trying to get to where I am now, they gave me the job because they saw I was capable, I had earned that chance. So I guess I made my own luck.

Ralph Waldo Emerson had this to say of luck: " Shallow men believe in luck. Strong men believe in cause and effect." Although an arguement to counter is provided by Jean Cocteau, and I must say I find it hard not to agree a little with Cocteau " We must believe in luck. For how else can we explain the success of those we don't like?"




Soo, I don't have much else to say right now, as I'm climbing the walls trying to keep up with the work I have to do. But I'll throw in a few words.

My Gecko's (Anto and Decko) are doing well, they are two of the cutest yet madest little reptiles imaginable, Anto's the shy type (He's soon to be moving in with Sibylle to stop Decko bullying him), and Decko is quite convinced that he's not infact a 10 inch long Gecko, but in fact, a 14 foot long crocodile, I haven't the heart to tell him otherwise. You can see him skulking under a branch on the left here. This picture was taken by Sibylle while she was up drooling over my gecko's, (how could I stand a chance against their cuteness?) I bought a car, no I didn't get rid of the bike, I still drive her. But in the current situation of Noah's flood revisted I felt a car might be handy to have, I can honestly say I have never imagined it possible to rain so much in the Summer, it has rained almost everyday of June and July so far, and it's not drissle but full heavy, dark, muggy torrential downpours. Right, well I must be off and get back to work. But I shall, as always leave you with one my favourite poems for you to have a read of. Be warned this is a classic and a great one, but quite long,




The Raven By Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of surrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This is it, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
Sir," said I, "or madam, 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 chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals 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, "Lenore?",
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my cham- ber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Pluton- ian shore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

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 being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his cham- ber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further 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,"Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never---nevermore."

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 linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee --
by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

"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 raven, "Nevermore."

"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 soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore---
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"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 raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws the shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted---nevermore!



Slán Leat a chára,
Concúbhair O'Nuamain