The return is in progress



Well, that took longer than expected!  They just got the van fixed this week.  It looks great!   However, there is no way that we will be back by October 1st.  Thanks to all for your patience.  We should be back in a week.  We’ll  try to share pictures along the way.



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No, really! Our website for Magpie Curios, due to launch on September 1, 2015 has been postponed due to an unavoidable encounter with a deer in Wyoming. While making our leisurely return to our Tennessee home, a deer decided to play chicken with our van. There were no winners in the long run. Fortunately, there were no human casualties. The deer was given last rites. They grow Really Big Deer in Wyoming! The van was undriveable, and the insurance company decided that it was cheaper to fix it where it was, than to send it home on a trailer. The repair shop estimates that it should be ready by September 11, 2015, if all goes according to plan. Our stock, of course, is mostly on the van, and we don’t want to advertise what we can’t yet deliver. We plan to return to Wyoming as soon as the van is repaired, and drive it safely home, avoiding all of the native wildlife. To be on the safe side, and allowing for the unexpected during the repair process, we decided it was best to postpone the Grand Opening until October 1st. We apologize for any inconvenience. Please do come back to see the new and improved Magpie Curios!

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This is a new post

This is to test the blog listing.

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro’ soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
‘T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.



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