Claudia's Page

Week Ends, Another Begins

2012-03-04T16:03:00.000-08:00

Getting ready for a spring auction at family farm this week. The sky was nice all day before the coming storms that evening.

Mercy, the days have been packed this week and the coming week looks the same. This weekend has been a bridge between the two, as I have tried to catch up from the first and prepare for the second. When I told DH last night that I had pared seven 5x7 note cards of chores down to three, he asked, “ What, do you have one line on each card?” Funny, he isn’t! Of course in a busy week the clothes don’t stay clean, DH doesn’t stop being hungry, and the bills continue to flow into the mailbox--all in addition to the other activities. Each day I had writing and some pleasure reading jotted down. That never happened!

The week was traveling to Kansas for family issues and coming home to a sleepless night with the storms. Again we sat in the middle of funnel clouds that chose to pass us over like children in a game of Button Button. No, not our turn yet. Then on Friday we got a call that the family farmhouse had lost all the shingles on one side. More wind issues. Meanwhile we worried about children and grandbabies in Kentucky tornado. All ends well there for them, but not for so many other folks. I hate the word tornado!

Thursday afternoon was book club which is always nice. We discussed Hiding in the Spotlight, the story of two sisters who escaped from Nazis in WWII. They played classical piano which might have saved their lives. The discussion was interesting and most agreed the book was decent despite the writer’s stiff and journalistic style.

Part of Friday was a play day with a birthday luncheon. After salads we went to the Nature Center. The building here is built very GREEN and one can see things growing out the roof. At this time of year, it looks more like an abandoned building suffering lack of care. Then again, the entire landscape looks barren and desolate. The birds came in for food and the cardinals were numerous. It was lovely to see their red robes this time of year.

Saturday Centus, Loving Her

2012-03-03T05:20:00.000-08:00

This morning is chilly and provides a slower start to a Saturday. It is time for Centus and Ole Jenny said she is taking it easy on us today with the prompt. I liked finding Saying goodbye was harder than she thought... for the prompt. I saw lots of possibilities, but since Jenny suggests it might be too easy, it needed some sort of whammy to zip it up. I think I found it!
For full rules to playing Centus and more 100 words story with the prompt, go to
http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2012/03/saturday-centus-saying-goodbye.html

Have a good weekend!

Loving Her

She never knew when she started loving KB. Maybe it was hearing the vibrating laughter that sounded like glass beads in a wind chime. Maybe the tenderness started in quiet times when silence wasn’t a dismissal but an inclusion, folding her inside a comforting solidarity like a flannel robe on a winter’s night. Whatever made her love KB felt right, fitting like a glove, until the wedding.

As the nuptials began, the murmuring crowd quieted. She glanced at Doug. Did he realize how lucky he was? As he slipped the ring on Katie Bridget’s finger, a tear trickled down Aggie’s cheek.

Saying goodbye was harder than she thought...

Book Blurb/ A Brewing Romance

2012-03-02T07:01:00.000-08:00

Here we at Friday again and now the days are starting to race through March. It has been a busy week that included more tornados in our area. Oh, I hate and fear this tumultous weather! The coming week has a loaded calendar also. This morning I have a birthday brunch on the calendar, but I wanted to take a few mintues to try the Book Blurb. The picture this week has all kinds of possible stories hidden in the scene of the tea table. The limit of 150 words was quite limiting this week! My own blurb falls short because oh, I see so much more story in my setting! However, the calendar calls and I will have to leave the blurb at this point, although I would love to spend some time developing the rector!

For complete rules and links to more of today's book blurbs, visit Lisa's blog at

http://www.writinginthebuff.net/2012/03/book-blurb-53-pekoe-boo-baby.html. Now on to the brunch and you all have a good Friday!

A Brewing Romance

Camray Hardisty had played at tea since she was five years old. She set out her toy china on a tea towel, filled plates with marshmallows, and hostessed doll tea parties. Now her dream came true with her grandmother’s trust fund, and she opened the Tea Spoon on the village square.

But Bingville residents did not take easily to the new. Councilmen that hindered her business license for so long, now shied away from sipping tea at her tables. The grand dames only came in to appraise her cranberry scones and tilt their noses up at her Darjeeling before turning over the china to check its mark. Her shop was struggling to stay afloat.

Then the rector began to drop in regularly, first for Wednesday quiche and then for afternoon tea. The village tongues began to wag as Camray began to ponder what was behind-or under-the clerical collar.

Paper, Not Paperless, Thank You

2012-02-27T21:06:00.000-08:00

I wasn’t hunting this book, and I never meant for Eunice Richardson to take over my life for a few days. But as happens, I was looking for a certain book at the public library when this volume jumped out at me. I love true stories and brought it home.

History researcher Martha Hodes became fasciintated with Eunice when she met her in a dusty letter collection of Lois Wise Richardson at Duke University. Here Hodes found stacks of letters from Lois’s daughter Eunice and her other children. This was a family hammered by hard times and living through the changes of the 19^th century. The letters captured action from New England to the South to the Cayman Islands and back to New England again.

The first chapter of the book includes the details of letter writing in the times. How it cost three cents to post a letter, and the mail often never arrived or took a long stretch of time to arrive at its destination. Writing tools for the middle class were paper (often hard to come by), pencils, pen, and ink that came in a powder that was mixed with water. Once a page was filled, it was often turned 90 degrees and written over again, new lines covering the first news. Letters were saved for rereading or maybe passed on to another family member.

Eunice lived a hard life, had watched her father desert the family, married a man who could not support her, had a husband who served in the Confederate Army against her Union brothers, lost husband and brother in the war, married a man of color, and died in a hurricane. The story of how this unfolds was gleaned by Hodes from the family letters. It is the story of a family, of an era, of both class and race struggles, and it is a fascinating glimpse into history.

I have to wonder what researchers in another hundred years will find from our own times. Will emails be saved somewhere? Will text messaging develop a new feature for history storage? What will Facebook say about our culture and society…other than playing Farm games was a chosen pastime?

Recently paper and technology combined have given me a chapter in my own family story. I knew two great aunts had been nuns in Missouri. So I wrote to an archives employee of the Sisters of Mercy for help; I wrote by email I confess. He was in North Carolina but went right to work. He found two pages of a personael log and mailed it to me. Oh, what a find! It told me that Sister Mary Teresa and Sister Mary Loretto has been born in Lebanon,Missouri, that their father (my great great great grandfather) had been born in Dublin when I only knew of Ireland and how he spelled his name (I had the wrong version). I learned his wife’s name was Laura Curran, with maybe a middle name of Lavinia. An image of the woman who I had no idea existed began to take shape. I began to see a wee glimpse into Thomas and Laura Lawders’ life.

Another detail was that one of the nuns had worked in St. John’s of Joplin in the 1920s. Amazing…the hospital is once again on the Mercy line. Another worked teaching in a Catholic school in Marshall, Missouri where my good friend comes from. Of course, it was before her time, but I loved the connection anyway. Then one day a lone picture of Sister Loretto came which was a real prize for me. It was in her later years, and she wore a simple and almost non-habit compared to the wimple and rosary tied robe I am sure she must have worn in the 1920s and l930s.

Their nephew (my grandfather) was to marry into a non-Catholic family from Oklahoma but with Missouri roots too. These Brashers were Democrats but so distressed when JFK, a Catholic, was running for president that they changed their political party preference. In time, they would change their attitude some, enough to hang a JFK portrait in the matriarchal home.

Oh, wouldn’t I love to find a box of letters from either or both sides of my family! How I wish I could “hear” their own voices from the page. It is amazing how we come to be who we are…I think a pile of paper letters might help us all!

Saturday Centus/Chair of Distress

2012-02-25T07:11:00.000-08:00

I slept well last night which is a bit unusual here. I came to at 5:30 but still did not want to face daylight. I went back to sleep until 7:30, a real oversleep for me! The sun was brilliantly bright coming through the window glass, but the outside air was cold. The tea kettle burbled while I checked in at Saturday Centus.

Jenny says today’s prompt of “the chair dominated the small room…” is more traditional and I agree. She allows pictures this week to go with the prompt and 100 words, but I will pass on that. I want words to paint mind pictures, and for the reader to not be influenced by the visions of others.

For more Centus stories, many with pictures I know, and full rules to write Centus, go to Jenny’s blog at: http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2012/02/saturday-centus-chair-dominated-small.html

Chair of Distress

Two silent men, armed muscled like canon barrels, escorted him to a new place.

He could smell an odd odor hover in the air as he was guided down a shadowy tight hallway before being shoved through an open doorway. In a hazy light, the chair dominated the small room. Wires, manacles, chains, and gadgets hung around the chair like bling on a floozy. Behind him the door shut and a gorilla of a man stood up from the shadows.

“So, Jim, are you ready to tell us what we need to know?”

Please excuse the mismatched fonts. Blogger said it was this way or no way this morning. Blogger needs to sit in Jim's chair a while!

Book Blurb Friday/The Preacher Murders

2012-02-24T06:29:00.000-08:00

Lisa over at http://www.writinginthebuff.net is celebrating a full year of Friday Book Blurbs. They are fun and mentally challenging. Visit Lisa's blog for full rules to play and how to do this 150 word writing assigment. I have fallen off from writing the book blurbs, the mircofiction, and Centus only because life intervenes!

Even now I am racing to get out of the house, to get the day started. My blurb isn't my best one, but it sure is better than nothing-I hope! Maybe when March comes in, I can get back on my writing track, do better.

The Preacher Murders

No one in Ridge Corners could figure out any reason or explanation for the sudden rash of deaths in the village. Seven people had died in the last year of various causes, and one just plain disappeared.

Then at cranky old Olivia Hussing’s wake, Reverend Josiah gave an impassioned prayer service the night before her funeral. It was Bill Tuttle who noted Olivia couldn’t have been helped into Heaven any better than if a choir of angels escorted her through the pearly gates. One by one, the local citizens began to count up when the deaths started, and they seemed to happen only after Rev. Josiah came to preach for them in the steepled white country church.

Who wouldn’t want Rev. Josiah to sing and wale for them, his tenor voice rising to the rafters. He put on a good burial. But could he be keeping himself in business?

Sun, Warmth, and New Folks

2012-02-23T13:40:00.000-08:00

Unbelievable! The weather that is! At 5 a.m. this morning a couple of song birds were singing their hearts out. They had no idea it was February and not April. The temps have pushed 70 for two days in a row. There is a little breeze but very tolerable one, and the sun on my face warms me clear down to my toes. DH and I even had a coatless sandwich lunch on the deck today.

I have painted a little flower bench a nice minty green, and I have bought a few yard things. Oh, I know it is way too early to get serious about fixing up deck and yard. Besides we have another problem to handle first about the yard and that is CATS!

I am an animal lover, but the cats are making me feel nasty. At the moment I have no pet of my own and yet my yard smells like an unattended outhouse at a highway rest stop. The neighbors have two cats with a cat door and assure me they stay at home. Who are they kidding? With the cat door, they jaunt over here for a poot! We find flower beds dug up and piles of dung at our south deck steps. GRRRRRR.

The only bad side effect of the weather is that I write my best on long, dark winter days. I have not been writing much new material this winter, and even my reading suffers. A friend brought me a book this morning and I moaned because it looks so good. But…I have four started already and have stacks more waiting after them. I find I can’t concentrate on anything, spring fever maybe, and if I do concentrate heavily, I get sleepy! It is a no win situation.

A good thing happening right now though is there are new members coming to the Writers’ Guild. Yippee! There are about five young women from various stations in life who are interested in the group. They have diverse interests such as fiction, poetry, fantasy and technical writing. Yesterday I met with Camille who has recently moved from St. Charles, Missouri. She is a bright gal with a sweet and agreeable demeanor. She plans on coming to visit the guild, and I hope she will become a member. After living so close to the St. Louis writing guilds and critique groups, I think our group might measure up a little short. But already, one cup of tea later, I know she will add something to our group and maybe help bring us to a higher level of writing.

Speaking of which…I have never attended or heard of a local writers open mic night around here. I wonder if I should make this happen? Any advice for a novice about how to do this?

So back to my list of things for this day… I have exercised twice, taken a load to post office, done lunch, but still one more meal for today remains along with a colossal laundry to be done, bills to be paid, letter to be penned, meeting notices to be created and well, some books to be read if I can get the chores finished soon.

I hope you all have sunshine in the last week of February.

Reading with Jim, Stephen, and Louie

2012-02-20T09:09:00.000-08:00

I loved reading James Michener years ago and miss seeing his books in bookstores now. Okay, sometimes he was criticized for churning out books that were considered less than literary, but the man told a good story and that is the important thing, right? He wrote sweeping epics like Hawaii, Centennial, and Chesapeake along with books like Sayonara which became a popular movie in its day. This story of infidelity taught a young, sanctimonious Midwesterner that a person could be in love with two people at the same time; I never forgot the lesson nor how painful leaving a love could be.

And there was his Fires of Spring that I toted home from the public library when I was about thirteen. My mother picked it up and told me it was not a recommended read for a young girl. I noted that she read every page before she took it back to the library herself.

Michener said every writer needs one great asset which was a good wife to handle the rest of his life. I seem to be short in that department!
Louie L’Amour was a prolific writer, hammering out westerns faster than a fraternity goes through beer cans. One of the most interesting things I learned about the man was that he started keeping a reading journal when he was very young, filling page after page with a variety of subjects. I followed his lead in 1999 and started my own reading journal. I keep only the book title and author’s name while some rate their reads or note what the book is about. If you are more interested in an online type storage, go to http://www.goodreads.com/. Here you can list your reads, review them, and read suggestions and favorites of other readers. If you open your own page there, look me up!

Stephen King advises if one wants to be a writer she needs to do two things: “read a lot and write a lot”. Sounds easy, but there are so many books to get through and so little time to do it! King says he reads about 80 books a year. Wow, I average between 50 and 60 a year, and my family thinks that is too much reading time.

Stephen King also says that morning is his writing time. In the afternoon he naps or writes letters. Evenings are spent with his family, reading, and sometime a revision. Hum, I notice he has not scheduled food preparation, mopping the floor, laundry, vacuuming the rugs, mowing the grass, grocery fetching, or swishing toilets. He must have one of those wives Michener talked about!

How many books a year do you read?
What is your first choice for a reading genre?

Stphen King and Writing

2012-02-17T07:49:00.000-08:00

I have a whole shelf of writing books, but they are a lot like diet books. They don’t make you a writer unless you take the time to write. Diet books don’t make you thin by seeing the covers, and writing book don’t make you a writer unless you do the work and practice.

Although I was surrounded by books and had chores calling, I picked up Stephen King’s On Writing yesterday. I liked the book years ago and always meant to reread it. As I scanned the first pages, I was hooked and read the book like it was an entirely new one for me. King’s language can be crude, but his story is fascinating. He came from humble beginnings, had no leg up from anyone, and got his toe in the publishing door by his work. The rest is history. The first third of the book is his memoir and includes details about his winning the battle against alcoholism.

I have never been a King fan because I wasn’t crazy about his genre. I do admit he is a fascinating writer. When my son was in junior high, there was some parental discussion about having King on the shelves. I had tried to steer my son to literature, but like other kids, he was hiding Stephen King in his locker. I asked him to bring it home so I could see what he was reading as I had never read King. It was a collection of short stories, and while it had sexual references and some vile language not suitable for kids, the writing was so good I could see why the kids were reading King’s work. I read one story, “The Raft” I think it was, that scarred the bejebbers out of me. My palms sweat and my heart raced. In the end, the community balked at King and had him removed from school library shelves.

I later read a King novel about a Buick that I also found frightening. An engrossing story, but I think it was my last King until his book on writing.

King recalls that he wrote as early as second grade in a primary tablet. His mother encouraged him, and he wrote stories and sold them for a quarter a piece. Having someone believe in you helps you value your own work at any age. I loved words, learning, and knowledge from the get-go, and I remember one of my dad’s cousins giving me a great feeling about my putting pencil to paper. I was probably in second or third grade when I started “keeping facts”, research for future writing. I wrote important things like how long the Nile was, how a volcano worked, and what a Morgan horse was used for on pieces of paper and kept them in a folder. No one paid attention to me except Clara Marie who was single at the time, worked as the Farm Bureau secretary, and sometime slept on our couch. When night meetings of Farm Bureau directors kept her in town late, she avoided the rather long country miles home in the dark by sleeping on our couch.

One day she asked me if she could type my “book” for me. She made it all orderly, put the pages in a manila folder and stapled them together into a book of sorts. Oh, I was so proud of my writing! I kept that little folder until well into adulthood; I wish I had it now.

Yesterday I got a contract from True Story for use in the coming May issue. About two years ago I wrote a story and peddled it to every romance/confession market I could find. It came back faster than I could send it out, and I never knew what was wrong with it. I stuck it away. When I heard Dorchester’s call out for Mother’s Day stories, I remembered the story and pulled it out. There were new editors now; would they read the story differently?

I guess they did because in ten days, they responded with acknowledgement that they received the work (wow, this courtesy was something new—and nice!), then yesterday they sent me a contract. It is already signed and back in their hands. So another lesson in not giving up, leaving no stone unturned. It was worth a try to submit again because the worst they could do was say NO, a word I am familiar with for sure. This time it paid off. So I am sure King would agree to not giving up in any phase of the writing/publishing arena. A rejection doesn’t always mean the work is unworthy, just that the manuscript landed on the wrong desk. Keep sending...

Now excuse me as I want to finish this Stephen King book, again.

A Baby Snow and Tea

2012-02-13T09:05:00.000-08:00

Local weathermen said last night that snow would begin to fall at 3 a.m. So at 4:00 a.m. my eyelids flew up like a venetian blind that would not go back down. Was it the soft silence caused by snow sounds that brought me awake? Sure enough, snow was falling and beginning to gather under the street lights. Each flake refused to hold hands with the others. This is the first snow of our winter and will only be a couple of inches they say.

No matter how many years that mount up between my own school days (and I am not counting!) or teaching days, I will never lose my love for a snow day! So I guess the excitement of a snow day held my sleep hostage. By 4:30 I was brewing tea, setting up my books, and watching the snow fall, resulting in that distinctly muffled noise on the streets!

A couple of chapters about the Cherokee Trail of Tears in a book by Diane Glancy, a first cup of tea, and two miles of an exercise video were finished by 6:30 and time for more tea. It seemed the right day for the snowman tea cups, although there would not be enough snow for building a snowman. Yet the thrilling thought was still in place. A strong Yorkshire brand black was strong enough to meet the cold house at that hour, and the fiber muffin was a healthy, hearty side for this snow day.

Now a chicken is in the oven and potatoes rumble in a pan on the stove. Yesterday’s homemade croutons wait for a salad; lunch will be soon. The tea this time will be St. Dalfour Lemon. And after lunch, I will have my work cut out for me: I need to edit a story and to NOT fall asleep.

I don’t want to miss a minute of this snow day!

Are You Sad Today?

2012-02-10T07:20:00.000-08:00

This has been one crazy winter. It doesn’t feel right, and some of us feel worrisome about what real spring will be like. No one feels up to facing spring turbulence again…nor the devastating heat and drought of last summer either.

A friend tells me two pairs of doves have returned, and DH saw our pair on the roof again this week. People have spring flowers popping up…too soon, too soon. One friend has already planted her garden lettuce!

Despite the mild winter, the many days of bright sunshine, I had a major case of S.A.D. on Thursday. A week of bad lab reports, wrangling with pharmacies and insurance companies set the week up for a crash. I knew when I got up that I ached, moved slow, felt lifeless. I stepped to the door and saw the blankety blank squirrels had finally managed to knock over my favorite statuary of a fairy girl reading a book. It landed on the concrete and busted into a jillion pieces; then the tears began. I couldn’t believe it, but there is was—S.A.D. reaction. Although early in the year, it was like my body knew it was February even though there had been no gray days with zero temps or twelve inches of snow.

Unless you have had S.A.D., you can’t imagine what it feels like. It is a physical/mental pain that nothing alleviates. People say, “Oh, you are depressed, shake it off.” “Take a walk, eat some chocolate, count your blessings.” Yes, all of those sound good, but hard to do when you feel like you are down for the count.

I went on to Tai Chi that morning and tried not to say much for fear what might come out of my mouth. A couple of ladies noticed, said I looked sick. Well, I was. I made it through, and went on to Book Club in the afternoon and made it through that. A couple of Advil finally in late afternoon helped some of the back pain and then mental clouds lifted slightly.

I did not know I had S.A.D. because when I was young, it had no name. I only knew that spring semesters at school were the roughest. The year I had a horrible Shakespeare class was in the spring semester. My roommate thought I would implode from dealing with old Will before spring and summer came. It was about that time I began to watch the calendar and noticed a yearly pattern! Late February and March were hard months squeezed in between a reading January and a blooming April.

Finally late in life I learned more about the whole syndrome that I thought was just me being peculiar! Some people start feeling the effects as early as August. That is when the rays of the sun take a weaker tilt. As one moves into fall, the urge to store up goods and fill cupboards takes over. Sufferers often buy stacks of toilet paper, powdered milk, and canned soups. The body and mind begin to prepare for winter like a squirrel storing nuts. The body craves heavy carbs, another preparation of storage for winter. Metabolism slows and weight increases. Sufferers are urged to use a full spectrum light to trick the body into thinking it is sun time.

I did not use my light this year, thinking it was unnecessary. The days were warm and bright. Just going to the store or post office should have been enough extra Vitamin D. It might have been a mistake. I don’t write this here to whine, but to inform. If you know someone who is lethargic, fatigued and withdrawn even, it is not necessarily a depression or health issue other than S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder). It is real, it is painful, but it will pass!

**************If you have an Alzheimer patient in your life, you might want to read the blog Stealing Mother at http://stealingmother.blogspot.com. Here Kathleen writes about her care giving and her mother’s illness. It is sad but others might not feel so alone if they read Kathleen’s trials.

Also welcome to new follower Chris at http://chelencarter-retiredandlovingit.blogspot.com!

Blogger is being testy again and won't let me control my own spacing, so time to leave today!

Who Painted "No Egg Found" at Crystal Bridges

2012-02-04T18:03:00.000-08:00

I just loved the detail in this colonial farm woman's dress. This is a detail from the painting "No Egg Found", but I forgot who the artist was. Does anyone know? I loved this painting but particularly this dress. I wish you could see the colors and pattern more clearly than shows in a photo.

Other favorites at Crystal Bridges were paintings by Mary Cassatt. I love her use of blues, her soft women and gentle moments. The woman reading here portrayed a well-to-do woman of her times because she had the leisure time to sit and read. Do you feel rich when you sit and read?

One other special painting to me was 'Autumn Harvest, 1940". I loved the soft hues, the billowing smoke, and the grain shooting from the shocks of wheat. My great-grandfather owned a threshing machine that he pulled around Crawford County, Kansas. Of course, I never knew those years, but I would love to experience them briefly in some kind of time machine. The crew was called The Cold Potato Threshing Company. When I asked my dad once where that name came from, he looked at me in wonder. He had no idea but said he guessed it was because they ate cold baked potatoes for their lunch. Now I suspect there was a famous threshing crew meal cooked by some farm wife somewhere, but maybe the men carried had a cold potato in their pockets for snack?

Blue and Whites

2012-01-31T18:16:00.000-08:00

It appeared that old coyote trickster was at work on Saturday making the day feel like a March day instead of the end of January! People were out and crawling around like snakes and turtles slipping about on a river bank in spring. I ran to post office drop box and to Braum's for milk and eggs…then added some cream thinking of berries or maybe of a porridge of steel cut oats.

Then I dashed into flea markets because I could not bear to go back home quite yet. I found some great little bargains, though not things I was looking for really. I have stayed honest to NOT shopping anywhere in January. Warm weather did me in, I guess.

I found a brand new copy of the 2010 book Work Song by Ivan Doig, a Montana author I have read before and liked. It was only $2 and then I found another titled Grandmothers which was edited by Nikki Giovanni. A cookbook jumped into my arms, and I am trying to STOP cooking. I don’t need another cookbook of any kind anyway; why did I bring this one home?

Then this lovely wooden tray caught my eye. I picked it up and put it down. I picked it up a second time and left it. Before I paid my bill though, it tugged me right back to the booth and wrestled itself onto my ticket. It was a litter pricier and time will tell if it was worth it. But the size is so nice….the deep carving a tactile wonder to touch.

While paying, I looked up and spotted a glimmer of blue and white. Anyone who knows me knows that my love for Blue Willow started when I was five years old. I have a practiced eye for spotting those flying birds! I asked the store manager if the tiny child-sized casserole was coming or going. She said sort of both…that someone brought them in and she was thinking of adding them to another partial set she had for sale. I asked if she would even consider selling it alone. Sure and she shot me a price for the casserole and the platter it sits on. The price was so low for Blue Willow anything I gasped.

Okay, so a snow storm might come soon and I won’t be getting out for a spell. I will have lots of pretties to relish, to ponder, to drool over while the winds blow!

I can’t cook in the child’s casserole dish, but I can make a nice pot of Darjeeling in the tea pot also bought this winter and sip away while reading a stack of books waiting for my attention…or merely sup and daydream in blue and white!

Reprise:Joy of Letters

2012-01-30T16:45:00.000-08:00

Both Lynn at http://lynnobermoeller.blogspot.com and Becky over at http://beckypovich.blogspot.com

have recalled the days of letters in the mailbox and have promised to write a real letter to their readers if they so desire. Mail is a subject dear to my heart, and I can't imagine how history will change when we no longer have handwritten letters that expose the inner thoughts of our writers, leaders, clergy, lovers, grandmothers, town mayors, poets...well, you get the idea.

I wrote about letters myself in 2009 when I first started blogging. I have called it up again for a reprise today.

The Joy of Letters

The sky is as steel colored as a gun barrel, the air is chilly, and my November is looking more like a harbinger of winter than the colorful leaf quilt of autumn I so love. It is a legal holiday and there will be no mail delivery which adds to the feeling of gray isolation. However, I don’t get much real mail these days because people have changed to emails rather than use the pen these days.

Not only do I miss face to face contact by replacing conversations with emails, the joy of reading letters is eliminated. In letters folks take the time both in the writing and the reading. Writing used to mean choosing the right stationary, color and paper weight, picking a fine pointed pen, maybe even selecting a shade of ink. Then the thoughts were chosen with equal care, mulling over words and expressions, taking the time to capture our lives for sharing with another in just the right way.

Ah, and to receive a letter! Carrying it in from the mailbox, I hold an envelope with expectation, one I can identify by penmanship as a greeting from a friend carrying news or simple chat! It means pouring steaming water from a kettle for a cup of tea, a sit down in the kitchen, a few quiet moments for reading and re-reading the letter. Still the letter can be saved for yet another read, maybe kept in a ribbon tied box. Emails don’t urge me to save them in anything other than maybe a stiff manila folder.

I have two letters my Dad wrote his mother from Ft. Knox right after World War Two had ended and I was not even a thought in his head yet. But I can glimpse what he sounded like as a young man, his loneliness for home and family. I have other handwritten letters from people who no longer walk the earth. Yet, when I miss these people the most I can pull out the letters and “hear” their voices tell a story or share some news. I can see the way they looped their letters and curled their signatures.

Now I think I will turn off my You Have Mail button and dig my letter box out from the bottom desk drawer. I will go light a candle fragrant with cinnamon and apples, pull my sweater tighter across my chest, and put the kettle on for tea. I can come back to the cyber world later, but for now, I want to read a real letter even if the mailman doesn’t come today.

Little More Joplin at January's End

2012-01-29T16:26:00.000-08:00

The winter feels odd here. No snow, temps moderate in the daytime hours, and nights are chilly but not frigid. A friend of mine this week said she feels like she is suspended, waiting for something to happen. I think that is a shared feeling here. The warm temps sometimes reaching almost 70 in January remind us this is another form of weather extreme. At the back of our minds is the coming spring. Just how turbulent will the winds be THIS year?

Then again the dry, warm weather is a blessing in that the people can clean up Joplin, rebuild, get a fresh start on a new life without some intense winter weather. Heaven knows that the people suffered enough this spring with the F5 followed by radical and punishing heat of summer.

Today was beautiful weather...sun warm and breeze gentle. After a nice lunch with friends, we drove around Joplin witnessing the rebuilding that was uplifting to see. There is still a lot of demolished houses and spots with bare earth showing, but optimism and anticipation abound too. Among other things we saw the block of homes done on the Home Makeover Program. Ty and his bunch left some beauties here.

Today St. John's Hospital had a celebration of ground breaking for the new hospital. They also had a ceremony where the wrecking ball smacked the husk of a building that the F5 left. It was both a sad memory and a happy hope for the new.

Saturday Centus/Turtle Boy

2012-01-28T07:15:00.000-08:00

January is almost over and has remained amazingly mild in this area. In fact, we need snow because we need moisture. While others celebrate the Florida-like temps, I am leery of what this strange weather pattern means for spring and summer. We humans are living in a shift of things, be it global warming or whatever.

Finally a chance to do Centus though this morning. Jenny gave us the prompt of "We know where the bodies are buried". There probably will be a lot of mystery and murder stories. My own is a little weird, even for me. For Centus rules and more 100 word stories using the prompt visit Jenny at:http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2012/01/saturday-centus-we-know-where-all.html

Have a good weekend, readers!

Turtle Boy

Ivan recognized the shoulder insignia because he visited the Conversation Center often, but he paled when he saw a crew with shovels head to the backyard.

“We know where all the bodies are buried,” said Agent Hoff. “We need to dig them up for lab work.”

A technician was readying a syringe. “We need some of your blood too.”

His mother was rolling up his flannel shirt sleeve.

A turtle had followed him home from school. Then more came and several died. Ivan buried them, but still they came. When traffic stopped for a parade of turtles to his house, the media showed up. Now, the investigation….

Something from My Cheesy Childhood

2012-01-26T19:48:00.000-08:00

I never thought much about my life being Southern, although I married into a family with one branch of their tree linked to Georgia. I don’t drink the sweet tea, make Chess pie, or have fresh coconut cake as part of my childhood. The only recipe with Southern roots I have is a wonderful horseradish cheese spread that is known for its connections to the Kentucky Derby.

The new Southern Living magazine carries an article called “Pimento Cheese: The Pate of the South”. I thought how strange, was pimento cheese a Southern dish? I grew up on pimento cheese, and then I remembered my mother was born in Russellville, Arkansas. Could her tastes be more Southern than I thought?

I remember so well those days when Mom would pull out the wooden cutting board built into the kitchen cabinets. When she screwed on an industrial strength grinder, I knew it was pimento cheese day! Eventually, I got to help when I was old enough. Pushing chunks of buttery Cheddar through those steel wheels, I watched the pieces come out like yellow worms. Then Mom did the juicy scarlet pimentos before slathering the mounds with heaps of mayo before we ate this concoction on white bread or crackers.

Over the years, I have occasionally bought a tub of pimento cheese at the store, but never made it a priority on my shopping list. Then I saw the Southern Living article with five unique pimento cheese recipes. Some had pecans, chili powder, or even bourbon in them. Sounded strange to me, but I was enticed to try some anyway as they reminded me of homemade pimento cheese from my childhood. So yesterday I made the first on the list.

I started with the Louis Osteen pimento cheese which had a bit of cream cheese added and a dash of red pepper. I cut the red pepper down a bit so DH could not detect it. Wow! What a great pimento cheese recipe! We ate it last night on white crackers as a side to the potato leek soup I had also made that morning. I think we will try it as a grilled cheese with hearty whole grain bread today. Ah, what a great find and touchstone back to childhood.

Louis Osteen’s Pimento Cheese

Grind/Stir together the following:
6 cups of grated cheddar
4 oz. softened cream cheese3/4 cup mayo
1 T grated yellow onion (I used 2 T)
1 t. ground red pepper
7 oz. pimentos

Art at Crystal Bridges

2012-01-26T04:08:00.000-08:00

I think it wonderful that there is an art museum in our area where anyone can go at any time with no admission fee. The grounds are full of walks around streams, through wooded areas, and across hills. It is a beautiful place. This American Art Museum was rather crowded on Friday. Everyone wanted to experience the thrill of this new place.

Here DH ponders a painting that is one the few remaining works that shows a city west of the Mississippi. It is titled View of St. Louis between 1832 and 1835. Note the steamboat smoke near the busy levy!

There were also bronze and marble works. Isn't this a real beauty? The white marble glistened under these lights!

Why, there was even this one teapot which was artwork urging the election of Harrison for president.

American masters such as Grant Wood, Norman Rockwell, Thomas Hart Benton, and George Catlin among many others were represented.

Catlin

Benton

The wall color was gorgeous, each gallery a different hue. Note the wonderful rose shade here. The galleries are housed in five separate buildings link by glass walkways. One has the feeling of being outside, among nature, while passing from one painting era to another. Also note the lovely wooden beams that echo the native hardwoods outside.

Such a beautiful place to visit, especially on a cold winter's day.

More details and outside pictures posted on Friday at: http://claudiapage-bookie.blogspot.com/2012/01/crystal-bridges.html

Gladys Taber and Tree Cutters

2012-01-24T12:57:00.000-08:00

Gladys Taber is an old writer and few will know or appreciate her anymore. I met her in the column "Butternut Wisdom" that she wrote for Family Circle magazine in the 60's. She wrote about the simple and bucolic life of living in the country raising dogs and kids during the first half of the 20th century. My grandmother loved her works, and I learned to love them too. My mother-in-law also followed her work, and we often shared Taber books. It was our practice to reread one during the winter months while confined inside by winter weather with books and a cup of hot tea. Although the winter has been mild, I decided to keep the tradition.

I pulled Stillmeadow Calendar off the shelf, a book that recounts a year of life in the Connecticut Valley where Taber lived in an farmhouse built in the 1700's. In June of that year, Taber had the tree men out to trim and save the old oaks and maples that were on her property, ones planted by the original owner two hundred years earlier. She said this about tree men: "Tree men are very special people. They are hard-muscled, slim-hipped, and weathered. They speak of a tree as if it were a person."

That description reminded me so much of my own tree man, Dewey. He is hard-bodied even in his 70's, still scurries up trees, is slim-hipped, and with skin weathered to a the warm hue of a light pecan shell. He is Ozarks all the way with his slow speech, easy stance, hands on hips or maybe shoved in his back jeans pockets. His blue eyes, still the shade of glistening sapphire crystals, are shaded by a workman's cap. He comes when called but on his own schedule. He cocks one long leg with a slight bend, stares at the tree in need like a cowboy wrangler pondering the cutting of a steer from the herd. His face shows the question, how ornery will this beast be? Soon he quotes a fair price, hands are shook, and a deal is made.

When we first moved to our ranch-styled home, trees and limbs were broken and piled after a record breaking ice storm. We hired a part-time tree cutter who was not Dewey to trim up the maple tree still standing. He made decisions we still pay for today years later. Later by the time the big oak and a couple of maples needed help, we learned of Dewey. When the beloved huge maple that covered the children's sand box, shaded the tree house, and finally was so large it could no longer be climbed by boys' legs became diseased, Dewey was the one who laid the tree to rest.

There are additional perks to hiring Dewey for work. One is he can tell great stories! Also he or his crew clean up after the job is done. They do the best they can to leave the yard clean and ready to go. In this day and age, that is worth something. While DH is the main worker here (and we all know who cleans up after husbands), we have had one bathroom floor laid and the worker left a smear of glue on the back of the door that is still there today. A roofer secretly smoked in our attic, leaving cigarette butts on old wooden rafters for DH to find much later. No, you can count on Dewey to straighten up your yard at best he can.

About a year ago, Dewey came to trim the northern oak away from the roof. The tree is scary because it is so big, but we gamble that winds will not bury us under its limbs some spring night. This time Dewey brought his grandson along who is now his helper. The young man happened to have been a student of mine once, and I was glad to see him. Ken was a sturdier version of Dewey with brown eyes like serious, dark pools. He listened to his grandpa and did a good deal of the work. In time he will also make a good tree man, what Taber calls "a very special person", one just like Dewey.

January Is Hot Tea Month

2012-01-22T13:07:00.000-08:00

I still have a lot of reds out this time of year. I guess they will stay until after Valentine's Day when pink and yellow tulips come to mind for spring. I can't complain thus far about winter confinements because this winter month of January has been cold but not frigid, dry with no snow or ice. Frankly, I rather miss the normal winter weather.

January is National Hot Tea Month and I do my part. I have given up my diet soda pop so tea is even more important now. I have been trying to "weed down" my freezer and cupboards just like my overstuffed closets and this includes the tea shelf. There are so many good teas, but I have favorites so I am trying to get down to just buying those particular ones. DH loves dessert teas; I am more of a basic black person. Our friends in Wales once sent us a supply of their favorite "supermarket tea". It was one of my favorites too. Rich, dark and robust!

Because caffeine is a problem after early afternoon, we use herbals in the evening. A new one from Simpson and Vail is a Tusli with cranberry and ginger. It is very good as hot tea. When the weather is warmer, I will try it as iced tea. It has a lovely scarlet hue and must look like punch when served over ice.

Hot tea calls for a goodie or two with a cup or mug of brew. One shortbread cookie or piece of cheese is nice, DH likes a plate full. But snacking piles up the carbs, whacks the blood sugar. Hot tea is good for you--if you can leave the sweets alone. I am hoping Paula Deen will find some grand low carb snack for us all! She, Gladys Taber, and Mrs. Harry Truman filled their dishes with cream, sugar, and butter. Oh, those were the days! I did find a nice macaroon from Bess Truman that is fairly harmless and supper easy if you like coconut and can stop with just one...well maybe two.

Bess Truman Coconut Macaroons

3 cups coconut, one can sweetened condensed milk, 2 t. vanilla and dash of almond extract. Drop by round spoon. Bake at 350 for 15 minutes. Each cookie is about 60 calories and 7 carbs.

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I have been getting some emails about not being able to comment on my blog, and I appreciate the effort made by readers to comment. As long as blogger keeps nailing my blog, I will post an address for comments for those of you who want to use it. bookwoman1015@sbcglobal.net

Crystal Bridges

2012-01-20T17:12:00.000-08:00

After a poor night's sleep and feeling like a rumpled rug, I agreed to keep to our plans for the day which were to visit Crystal Bridges, the art museum built by Wal-mart money in Bentonville, Arkansas. The day was brisk but warmed to over 50. However, the skies remained gunmetal gray and pressed close to the earth. Late in the afternoon, it felt three hours later than it was due to the fading light and low clouds.

This American Art Museum is named after a local Crystal Spring and sits on 120 acres. There are walking trails...five linked buildings of period art...and includes a lovely dining area under the copper roof with glass walls. DH and I agreed on the loveliness of design, but I felt the concrete walls could have used some color. He felt that in the greenery of spring the building would show off more style. He was right that today the building walls and sky were the same color.

I do have to apologize for the poor quality of the pictures. I did not realized that I was taking pictures with a great deal of reflection from the glass walls. This is the dining room cafe from the outside and then from the inside.

The lunch was quite lovely. I had the Autumn Harvest salad with blueberries, pecans and a tangy dressing. DH had a open-faced beef sandwich. Ice tea was delicious.

The art inside was wonderfully thought provoking. Some of it will follow later.

Just My Opinion

2012-01-17T21:48:00.000-08:00

Although it is to warm again, the temps dropped 35 degrees last night. Yesterday was so warm we could run about without coats. We did some chores, but made time to both see friends and see the movie War Horse. It was not great to waste time inside on such a nice day, but the theater wasn’t so freezing, crowds were non-existent, and the car was not an igloo to crawl into after the movie.

We rarely go to the movies anymore for a variety of reasons, including a $9.50 admission fee. Our local theater maintains a monopoly and can choose what it shows. It is filthy to the point of having a musty smell. I have seen mice race across the floor looking for corn kernels! Even the staff has the look of needing a shampoo and wear shirts that need some laundering. I have tried the management with discussion; I have tried upper management with letters. So we watch DVDs, drive to Springfield for something special, or succumb to the local theater when we can find it maybe tolerable.

I wanted to see War Horse on the big screen because I thought the scenes would be worthy of the effort. Knowing Spielberg is a master with both visuals and story, I thought War Horse would be an eye feast and I wasn’t wrong. I got the bonus of hearing a musical score written by John Williams. The countryside and the characters were wonderfully picturesque in the film. Lighting and chosen camera angles were reminiscent of old movies where the shots showed the emotion of the story. Unfortunately, a lot of the story is war and that was dark, muddy and harsh-which war is. The scene where the horse is caught in barbed wire was hard to watch but powerfully done.

The movie was taken from a book, a young person’s novel, which is not unusual. The author wrote the book as anti-war, and Spielberg develops that theme quite well. There is NO glory in this war story, but it is a testament to love, even if it is love between man and horse. The scene where both sides stop the fighting and enemies work together for a few minutes to free the horse are reminiscent of other true stories of enemies temporarily stopping a war for a higher cause. Why can’t it last?

The previews at the theater were interesting that day in that a long line of garbage films were promoted before this nice family film was shown. Okay, so that is my opinion, but if we sit in front of stories about blood, gore, supernatural horror, and abject stupidity glorified by non-talents, why are we surprised civilizations mimics those behaviors? I believe in the power of story and want to see stories told where goodness overcomes evil, where people are decent, even if flawed. Maybe humanity would then mimic those stories and the world would be a better place to live.

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I have been getting some emails about not being able to comment on my blog, and I appreciate the effort made by readers to comment. As long as blogger keeps nailing my blog, I will post an address for comments for those of you who want to use it. bookwoman1015@sbcglobal.net

Hats

2012-01-16T17:35:00.000-08:00

Blogger continues to baffle me. While I can open/comment on most blogs, a few just go blank and refuse to cooperate. So then I wonder who is not able to open mine? I have changed settings, updated search engines, done all I know. I wonder if I should surrender or keep up the struggle? Technology 50/Bookie 0!

Libby's hat rack made of antlers

Hats for Inspiration

We often speak of “wearing many hats” when referring to different jobs we do in our lives. Writers certainly wear many hats because they compose, edit, report, work the PR, and sometimes publish works. But I also like to wear hats literally.

In my childhood, all women wore hats, and a few men still wore them too. While girdles, gloves, petticoats and other things aren’t missed, I do miss hats. I particularly love those 1940 styled fedoras for both men and women. Maybe it is the cloak and dagger of mystery they carry, but then I also adore a great felt cowboy hat. Hum, I like the straw ones too, especially if they are tinged with a tea-colored sweatband suggesting roping and racing!

For a long time I had a hat rack hanging in my hall with antique hats on them. One of my favorites was a 1930 riding hat with sequins. I also loved a flat crowned hat trimmed in grosgrain ribbon. A 1940’s beaded clutch and some old gloves were hanging among the hats. I never looked at the display without wondering who wore these items and where the hats had been in their lifetimes.

My grandfather was a wearer of hats. At Christmas he always donned a black derby. Oh, he was a dashing figure with his bold ties and hat during the holidays. Earlier in the fall he had lived daily in khaki and neon orange quail hunting clothes so his holiday attire was definitely an improvement. During the summer, his choices were pointed toed cowboy boots, a straw wide brim, and a bolo or string tie.

Oh, I do miss hats as fashion! But then again, maybe I should wear a hat at my desk when I am writing. Maybe instead of just wearing my “writing hat”, I should truly dress for the occasion. Could a fedora inspire me to write of a steam train through Europe, would a beret induce me to create a story where the character fights in the French Resistance? Would (hubby’s) great-grandmother’s fuchsia colored felt with peek-a-boo veil pulled down to the nose take me to 1930’s Arkansas? Then again, wearing my felt cowboy hat might let me hear the squeak of leather when the saddle horn was grabbed by a feisty female outlaw. Oh, think of the possibilities hats create!

Excuse me, I must visit my stack of hat boxes.

Miss M!!!

2012-01-14T10:21:00.000-08:00

It is nearly noon and the house smells with the fragrance of garlic and onion. A small pork roast is in the oven for lunch and posole is in the crock pot for supper. I brought the dried hominy, garlic buds and dried red peppers home last fall from New Mexico. What a wonderful way to make the holiday last, the Southwestern aromas bouncing off the walls today. I am just starting to dress, to do household chores, and I am not bothered by my lax behavior.

Yesterday I introduced Grace Episcopal Church members to Madeleine L’Engle’s work. A few weeks ago, sipping tea at the Tai Chi and Tea day, I was the only person (a non-church member) to know who L L’Engle was. It was surprising that none of the Episcopalians knew this great spiritual writer. So yesterday at the church’s monthly Encore Luncheon I was the speaker.

Along with introducing the person (who was married to the Oklahoman who portrayed Dr. Charles Tyler on the long-running soap opera All My Children) and the writer, Newberry Award winner for her YA A Wrinkle in Time, I explained how I came to be a MLE reader. Sometimes the books we choose, along with the words we write, seem to be a produce of Divine Intervention.

How did I come to know MLE? She chased me down. When I came to town, I used the library and checked out Circle of Quiet, one of her early memoirs. I hated it and returned the book. A few years later, I took it home again and returned it. Then a third time the book glared out from the bio shelves, and I took it home again. This time I was enthralled with her story. The time was now ripe for me to read her words. The book deals with her years in Goshen, Connecticut when she was rearing her family, fine-tuning her faith, and writing. These were the years her Wrinkle in Time was rejected 28 times.

Then on a family vacation in Bar Harbor, Maine, I spied an independent book store. After the shops and viewing the clipper ships, I raced through the local book store while my kids moaned. It was a nice shop but ordinary, and I was moving through the aisles quickly due to family's pressures. Then I turned back from the end of an aisle, saw one lone book standing in an empty space on the wall. Curiosity drove me back, and it was Walking on Water; Reflections on Art and Faith by MLE. It must have been meant for me since it seemed to be calling my name. I bought the book without opening the covers and was finally launched into reading all this authors works.

I have been reading her ever since. I read all her genres, but poetry and fantasy are my least favorites. I enjoy her novels, but it is the memoirs and religious commentaries I love the best. She deals with many common themes, some which are:

Parallel universes
Co-existence of God and science.
Brokenness and healing
Contemplations and listening prayer
Truth vs. Mystery
Love vs. Power
Particle physics
Incarnation-epiphany-redemption-celebration
Human freedom and responsibility

Certainly there is much more to Madeleine L’Engle than even these topics. She can’t be reduced to a few lines in a few minutes. She said that Advent wasn’t just a season of waiting but one of listening. She calls us in her work remember to listen during the winter months. I think I had better add one of her books to my already mile high stack. She is good reading any season.

Is Miss M on your reading agenda?

A Writers' Guild Meeting and Blogger Boo Hoo

2012-01-13T15:54:00.000-08:00

Last night the local writers’ guild had their first meeting of 2012. It seemed like the weather problems of the previous year might follow us when the air was so frosty and the day had started with a touch of ice and a film of snow. However, many writers made the effort to get out, and even a few guests appeared.

Member Summer Farnsworth gave a great lesson on making characters more vivid, on how to show traits that identified them as protagonist or antagonists. She taught us that when we have a bad character or one of lower status, to have him slow down his speech and actions. This shows him having power and self-resistant, making him a more intense character. Summer also urged us to go the mall and do some people watching, saying that our social skills need to be sharp from both watching people and interacting with them.

We learned a member is dealing with Dayspring for some verse, a member is working on a dissertation about how coroners and death examiners dealt with the Joplin Tornado, that member Larry Wood has a new book out on Teddy Roosevelt, and a guest from Bentonville also has a new book on the market, a memoir about being a victim of parental abuse titled Don’t Cry, Daddy’s Here.

After some critiquing, Orville Jordan winning the door prize of a writer’s mug with tea, and all present being infused with writing zest, we all headed out for a cold trip home to our computers!
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I want to welcome Joy Keeney and Betty Jo for becoming new followers!!!! I hope you aren't having too much trouble reading the blog!

Blogger is driving a lot of people nuts today. While not all blogs are affected, many blogs can not be opened by their readers. Others can be opened, only to lock up and have the comments jammed. I can't even get to my own blog's comments, so I am guessing readers can't leave them either. I am going to try to post this wee bit today and see what happens.

If you have questions or comments, you can always fall back to using email at: bookwoman1015 at sbcglobal dot net.

How Do You Write?

2012-01-12T05:28:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know. If I read blogs too much, if I try to do all the writing practices, do all the creative suggestions, leave comments on them all, and participate in any writing game I find, I will never accomplish the true writing I aspire to produce. However, so many good blogs out there give guidance and practice, tips and pointers; good ones are worth the time spent there, and they are hard to ignore. Good writing blogs are worth the time investment.

Recently, thanks to C Hope Clark over at http://hopeclark.blogspot.com/, I found another delightful and helpful writing blog. Actually, Hope was on a bit of diatribe about writing prompts. While she urged writers to ignore the prompts and just write, she did suggest one good blog with inspiring writing prompts at http://thewritepractice.com. Here Joe Bunting not only writes an inspiring blog about writing but actually gives writers a daily prompt and a place to critique each other’s work.

Today the assignment was to look at a boring wall in your house for 15 minutes and then write what you see, feel, hear. Here is what I wrote about the wallpaper behind my desk.

When I chose the wall paper for a bedroom, I thought it pretty. Now the room has become my office and the paper on the wall behind my desk is too repetitive to inspire creativity, shaded in colors too soft to inspire brilliance. The moderate stripes laid out like rulers become railroad tracks in my mind. I hear the clickety clack but sense no destination. The tiny vining flowers that looked so delicate and graceful for sleeping now seem to be ropes choking down my inspiration. Then a lone little daisy beckons to me...causes me to spin a story about a fictional Daisy. The paper fades…the keyboard looms…a story begins.

I had no idea I thought this about my wallpaper until Joe pointed me in right the direction with a prompt and then had me turn lose my imagination. It was fun and worth keeping. Maybe it will be used in a story or a poem someday.

How about you, do you use writing prompts or writing practice? Do you journal first or practice and then write for real?

How Do I Write, Let's Count The Ways

2012-01-08T08:31:00.000-08:00

Writing is writing, right? I was surprised to read recently that different parts of the brain are used for writing and typing. Maybe that explains why for so many years I loved the feel of pencil in my hand, why I never could type worth a darn. Some section of my brain was more developed than the other!

My first writing that I remember was on a Big Chief table with a red cover. Can anything replace the smell, the texture, and the memories of writing on a Big Chief? That somewhat yellowed paper with occasional tiny brown flecks of fiber made a rather scratchy sound as the pencil lead, usually a big fat one for little fingers, scrawled across the page, leaving those miraculous tracks called words.

When I graduated to a slender pencil, only a #2 lead would do. I hated any other lead weight. It didn’t scribble right, didn’t glide across the page correctly, didn’t feel comfortable as it moved across the page. I was so enamored with #2 weight lead that I could not compose in ink! If I had an assignment due, I had to write it in pencil for my brain to work. Then, once the inspiration and creating were finished, I transferred it to a nice clean page in ink. This is work that modern students would never do!

When I moved to typing, it was a nightmare. I could not make my fingers work well. I was adequate at best in the years when females were still judged by their wpm and steno pads! There was a lot of copying at the typewriter too because I could not think, could create at the keyboard. I had to write it out on bright notebook paper first, scribble a bit, erase a smidgen, write in the margin and then, only then, could I sit at a typewriter to “write”.

Finally, over the years I have retrained myself to compose at a keyboard. I still make a lot of mistakes and only find a portion of them for correcting. I am grateful for the speed and efficiency of computers, but I still hold a great wooden pencil in high regard! A nice ink pen with a firm feel in the hand, a medium point, and smooth black ink that races across the page is still a wonder too.

I wonder with texting, laptops, ipads and the many ways students learn to compose and do homework now, if kids will ever know the joy of a freshly sharpened wooden pencil, point honed to a piercing tip that could double as a dagger. How deprived they will be of the smell of painted wood freshly ground away to make an instrument of creation, one that captures their stories for them.

How about you, how do you compose?

Lucubrating Planned for the New Year

2011-12-31T21:14:00.000-08:00

Okay, I am ready now.

I am ready to say goodbye to 2011 and to greet the new year. Frankly, it looks a lot like the old one. But there is always hope that I can actually make the changes I want to see happen in my life, to find energy and passion and smarts and financial gain with a thin profile to boot. Then again, I might flounder like some trout thrown up on a grassy bank under a hot sun! Who knows?

My first thrill of the year is this great new word, lucubrate. It means to work and write laboriously, esp. at night. I think that is a number one plan for me. I want to see words race across the page, see characters sit up and challenge me to make them sparkle, to feel the relief of finishing a well-told and crafted story. I have given up on it being a paying gig; I just want the satisfaction of a job well done.

Vocabulary has always been fun for me, like a game. I was always thrilled and tested to do the Reader Digest vocabulary quiz. I read new words better than I could use them. I never said them quite right, always hearing them in my head a certain way that wasn’t always correct. Friends and co-workers have teased me when I used new words. One son when he was a child accused me of trying to speak in a foreign language just because I used words he didn’t know. I love words.

Today the wind blows rather fiercely, but the temps are in the mid 60’s and that is on the threshold of January! It isn’t often you can stand on the borders of December and January to photograph any flowers on the deck, but today I could not help snapping the winter pansies. They are just as vibrant as a spring flower. The sky was also a message from Heaven I think. It was perfectly cloudless and blazing in a shade of blue topaz. Even the moon didn’t want to miss this day!

Happy with today’s serendipity, I made sandwiches and grabbed granola bars. We went to the city lake, despite the brisk wind, to soak up sun with a quick picnic. There the ducks and geese floated on water warmed by sun rays and let the wind bluster them into a flotilla of fowl. Man and bird alike could not ignore the good luck of the fair day!

So, starting off 2012 right, I intend to lucubrate tonight with books and paper and pen and keyboard. I want some poetry, some fiction, some blogging, some letters, some journaling, some…..

How about you, do you like new words?

Saturday Centus/Meeting of the Minds

2011-12-31T08:54:00.000-08:00

It is New Year's Eve. I for one am ready to wrap the year in a tea towel, box it up, and store it in the garage. There have been worse, there have been better, but a new year is in the wings. Time to move on no matter what. No big resolutions for me; I just want to be more accepting of who I am and where I am at in the moment!

Happy New Year with Peace and Happiness to all my friends and readers!

It is the last Saturday of 2011 and Jenny still finding time for a Centus! Today Resolution Schmezolution is the prompt. Below is my used of the two words and a scene of 100 words using them. For more Centus and the rules, check out Jenny's blog at: http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2011/12/saturday-centus-resolution.html

Meeting of the Minds

“I can’t believe you have not started a list of changes for 2012 yet,” he said.

“I’m not doing it this year."

“Why not?" he pressed.

“Because nothing changes anyway. I’m just going to float my boat in the same murky waters of the last few years. Lucky for you, I’m still here helping paddle yours!”

“How about shrinking the muffin top?” he pushed.” Or cleaning the hall closet? Learning to cast a straighter fly line? Keeping supplies of toilet paper ready?”

“Resolution, Schmezolution!” I exploded. “Why make NewYear’s resolutions when I am already PERFECT!”

Silence can be deafening.

Happy Winter Solstice!

2011-12-21T21:29:00.000-08:00

Today is the Winter Solstice. Some might find it too pagan to discuss. But truly we all came from the same source, and it is very interesting what things we practice now that came down to us from folks we now consider undesirable. We drag in Christmas trees and light them up when pagans took in greenery to remind themselves that spring will come again after the dark winter. In the spring we decorate with eggs that were the pagan symbol for fertility.

The fact is the Winter Solstice marks the beginning of winter and is worth acknowledging. Ponder Stonehenge in England, Ballynahattin in Ireland, the cliff dwelling rooms of the Southwest where the Anasazi seemed to have lined up doorways for the seasons of light. This day is the shortest of our year, making it the longest night too. How people have longed for the return of light to their days during the dark winter months! The fact that we celebrate Christmas about the same time, a coming of a different kind of Light, was no accident. Think how brightly that star must have shown in the dark winter sky!

So as you continue to cook and clean, and get merry for Christmas, take time to notice the Winter Solstice. Think of ALL the people before us that have stopped, looked at the night sky with wonder, and waited for the bright days of spring to return.

Christmas, a Stone's Throw Away

2011-12-20T12:02:00.000-08:00

While most holiday planning was finished, I was ready yesterday to start the week simply enjoying the coming festivities. The morning was to start with a breakfast and then I had company coming for an evening meal. The traditional Christmas dinner had been reduced in size to a Christmas soup supper and fewer people. Most of us were making the effort to see one younger gal who lives alone, who we wanted to visit with for the evening as our Christmas.

I had a small agenda for before the breakfast and was nearly dressed when I knew DH was in trouble shortly after dawn. He had danced around with kidney stones on one side for the last week, but this morning he was in great pain on the opposite side! No doubt about it, a trip to the hospital was in order. He said he could drive himself; what a joke! I called and gave my regrets at the breakfast, headed us for Urgent Care who sent us on the hospital. Not familiar with the temporary St. John’s, I drove to Freemans. DH was giving instructions on how to drive, where to turn (wrong!) and was delusional with pain. It began to rain complicating vision and nerves. I could have left him on a curbside without too much prompting!

A few hours and a couple of vials of morphine later (how I wished I had a share of that narcotic myself!), we eased out of the ER door into a pouring rain. My toes were like ice (why do they keep hospitals so cold?) and I was hungry. Meanwhile, DH’s pain had been replaced with morphine nausea and disorientation. Then we faced the pharmacy for a fistful of scripts. That stop was a story that I will spare you.

I was home in time to start the soup and to get the call from the young friend who needed the party the most. She was so sick she could not make it. She had missed work that day and was waiting on a doctor’s office to return her call for meds. (She thought she might die before the staff remembered her.) The others came and we had a simple supper of potato cheese soup, fruit cups with lemon yogurt sauce, crackers with a new Irish cheddar cheese (wonderful!), and cheesecake with strawberry sauce. After the meal, pots of Tulsi tea with orange and ginger and a pot of blueberry tea were a relaxing touch. The presentation was pretty though the meal was simple. The camera was loaded but my mind wasn’t functioning. We ate before a picture could be snapped!

One gal had to leave early for the Layman’s Service in town, and the party was over shortly afterwards. I was grateful the evening was fleeting as I was exhausted. Still I was grateful to have some of my friends gathered if only for a short while. Everyone was spent from the bustle of shopping, wrapping, and baking. We have promised ourselves a reprise of the evening in January when things are calmer!

DH is fine today; I could use one of those “dark winter’s naps” myself!

Christmas Thinking

2011-12-18T19:51:00.000-08:00

When I was a child in a small town red brick school house, every Christmas meant that the town folks gathered in the school gym to hear a Christmas program put on by the vocal music department, grades 1-12. The vocal music director was a harsh woman with a permanent frown, never pleased with our performance no matter what we did. We did “heaven and nature sing” until it had just the right sound to her ears; we could tell no difference one time to the next. The evening included violin duets with her husband, both instruments squeaking and squealing like a little shoat removed from its mother. My dad hated those nights, hated the Christmas music, hated the overly warm gym, and hated leaving his easy chair on a week night. For weeks we faced cranky Mrs. S in music and then that one night before the holidays we stepped easily around a disgruntled dad.

The year I was in second grade, a senior named Sonja Swift stole the show with her voice. When it came time for her solo, the lights dimmed, a star shined brilliantly over a cardboard Bethlehem, and the crystal clear notes of O Holy Night filled the gym while tears filled my eyes. Already I knew the joy of a “weary earth rejoicing” and was filled with the true meaning of Christmas.

Tonight when I heard the song at a Christmas program in the MSSU auditorium, again the tears flowed like a lawn sprinkler on an arid summer’s day. The years fell away, and I heard Sonja Swift sing once more. I was attending a Christmas concert where five church choirs of Joplin joined together to present a community program free of charge. One of the ministers said the churches had dug out bodies, cleaned up ruble, and rebuilt homes together these last few months; it seemed fitting they sing of the Christmas story together…and they did it beautifully.

The program was many traditional Christmas carols, some solos, a retelling of the Christmas story in song. There were 140 voices and a 30 piece orchestra. Oh, and there were two beautiful violins, with bows warbling out sweet notes over the strings. The audience was filled with many families bringing small children to hear the music.

In a welcome and a prayer to start the concert, one of the local ministers said he hoped the music would help us with our Christmas Thinking. That is in today’s world we have shopping, cooking and partying until on Christmas Day we are exhausted and no longer have sight of the true meaning of Christmas. He urged us all to start our Christmas Thinking early, that is taking a few minutes to ponder why are we celebrating in the first place? What is the meaning of this season anyway? How do we...you...define it?

Tonight for a little over an hour, I stopped my rushing and worked on my Christmas Thinking. The coming week will spool by faster than a runaway bobbin with each day filled and having no quiet moments. The moments for Christmas Thinking will be few and far between, but I will try to find some here and there. Tonight was a good start on my Christmas Thinking; how about you? Got your Christmas Thinking done for this year?

Saturday Centus/Foodie Lament

2011-12-17T08:38:00.000-08:00

The days are slipping by and this is the last weekend before Christmas. The day dawns bright and crisp. Most things are finished since we don't do much buying and wrapping anymore. My friends and I agreed a couple of years ago that we have all we need and no place left to put the more things we might want. Many gof us give of to a charity instead. It doesn't mean we don't still think of one another or that we have ceased gathering for a cup of tea or a moment of just being together in an extra special way during a busy time. I use these last days to walk among the things I have received in the past and think fondly of those who have given me pretty things on other years. Or I make an unexpected phone call for visiting or write a memory-laden note while a candle flickers nearby.

In the bustle of things, I forgot today is Saturday and Centus Day! But when I saw Jenny's prompt today, I groaned. I want to play, but she keeps tossing me these mind-twisting prompts! I groaned with only 50 words and what I saw as a horrid picture today. But with my waistband pinching, I found what I hope is a humorous response, one other folks will relate to as well. If you want to see more responses and the rules, visit Jenny at

http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2011/12/saturday-centus-oh-christmas-tree.html

Foodie Lament

Little Christmas tree of mine

                                    Made with treasures of the vine,

                                    Candies, salami chunks galore,

                                     I can’t eat much more.

                                     I want a smaller self

                                     To show that Jolly Old Elf,

                                      But your abundant riches

                                     Make zippers tug on my britches!

                                     So I’ll look away

                                    And eat after Christmas Day!

A Few Bargains

2011-12-12T12:28:00.000-08:00

It was holiday luck I guess, but I had a festive day full of good things happening a couple of days ago. A friend had told me of seeing a Blue Willow pot of some kind at our flea market. I thought from his description it would be a coffee pot, but I checked it out anyway. Yes, high on the shelf was a Churchill coffee pot in Blue Willow pattern which was nice but not for me. Then I saw a whole shelf of Blue Willow that had not been there when he was there.

The dandiest tea pot with a terrific price! Oh, I loved the shape and it was old because the color was the rich cobalt shades. The tag said Churchill for $20 which was a good price. I took it up to the register and continued to look around a bit. I found this darling maple table for $3. I figured enough for the day and took a trip by the original booth. A man was there putting new things on the shelves, and I told him I had just bought his Blue Willow tea pot and was so happy to get it!

He had actually mis-marked the pot in that it was not Churchill of England. The mark had a crown and vaguely said House of Blue Willow 1899, Japan.

When I got back up to the register, the man had told the girl to mark it down another $5. What a deal! I never asked for a discount and he already had it sold. I guess he was feeling a little like Santa and I sure was pleased myself.

Then when they rang up the table, the booth was having a sale. I got the table for a mere $1.50! How nice was that!

Then I came home to a mailbox with two copies Voices, Volume IV where I have a story called Sledge Hammer Summer. What fun on any day, but that day the joys seemed so abundant. I could see some tea and reading for the cold afternoon.

At our house we have a rule: One thing in, two things out. I am not sure yet what goes out to make room for these new bargains. Some clothes that are a might tight (aren't they all?) or maybe a shelf of books (what will be sacrificed)? Oh mercy, decisions. But I will do it--after the holidays.

Book Blurb/Life's Stairwell

2011-12-08T19:52:00.000-08:00

It is Book Blurb Friday again over at Lisa's. This week she offers a very intriguing picture, a sure fire story starter. Using the picture below and 150 words, writers can write a book jacket blurb for a potential new book. For more blurbs and complete rules to write, go to http://www.writinginthebuff.net/.

Life's Stairwell

When she was young, each step of Mona’s life was wide open with possibilities. She had a wide avenue of options and opportunity, but she was a bit cowardly about trying new things, of taking a chance. Now at 50, she saw life’s stairwell narrowing, growing steeper and darker. If she was to leave her mark on the world, it had to be soon. Fearful of the next step, Mona girded up her courage making herself ready to pounce forward. Would it land her in a dark dead end or project her into a world of light and freedom? She didn’t know, but she placed each foot carefully before her, ready to face the rest of her life.

The Coziness of Quilts

2011-12-08T04:07:00.000-08:00

My friend is St. Louis is a quilter. She does lovely creative endeavors with fabric, needle and thread. She has a closet full of wonderful quilts ready for grandchildren when they are old enough. Right now she is working on a piece for me.

While cleaning out the family farm, we found a small pieced quilt top in browns. It is less than a twin bed size, maybe slightly more than a lap robe. I love quilts but do not have the patience to sew them. I grew up under a ton of quilts. I remember being so small that when I would wake from a childhood nap and before I got up, tracing the shapes of the piece work. I especially remember a quilt with faceless little girls wearing sun bonnets. I also recall recognizing certain fabrics that I had worn once in handmade dresses or seen in garments my grandmother wore. I felt wrapped in love under those quilts.

Years ago, I acquired a flower garden quilt top pieced by my great-grandmother in Oklahoma. A local woman quilted the work for me, and while it was expensive, I thought the results worth it. The lady said she had always wanted to quilt a flower garden, but she would never do it again due to the work involved. The quilt was not perfect. My great-grandmother left one place irregular because she believed bad spirits would be trapped in a perfect work. So an irregular place was left to let the bad spirits go free.

I read how quilt patterns were used in the Underground Railroad to direct escaping slaves to freedom. Quilts would be hung on porch rails or fences with certain patterns like flying geese pointing in a certain direction for the slaves to traqvel. Other patterns warned of unsafe situations so slaves could tell from a distance whether to hide or advance. What a wonderful piece of folklore.

Many people hang quilts or fold them on shelves while never considering actually using them. What a waste, although using them will eventually wear them out I suppose. But somehow the warmth of those covers, being cradled in hand sewn stitches, is somehow just more soothing than dreaming under microfibers!

Do you sleep under quilts or blankets?

Gathering Is The Gift

2011-12-06T04:53:00.000-08:00

Ever notice how many storage units there are sitting around across the America landscape? What does that say about our excess? When you have so much “stuff” that one house, one garage, and one yard unit won’t hold it all, do you think maybe you have too much?

Over the past couple of years most of us have given up exchanging gifts for birthdays and Christmas. There used to be a time when we “wanted” or even “needed” for Christmas. Now most of us have all we need and then some. Sadly when we needed a huge crock pot, three kinds of ovens, and a 12 place setting of sturdy plates to feed a family, we couldn't afford it. By the time we can get what we need and want, we are home figuring out how to make spaghetti sauce that won’t last for a week after the first serving!

No, we are warm, fed, clothed and have an abundance of pretty things sitting around. To buy more creates a space problem and is just greedy, so now we give to charities and/or make time for each other. The Joplin tornado is still fresh in our minds. Driving through the corner of 15th Street and Main means facing an abrupt halt to the city we once knew. We drive into a curtain of light—bare land where homes and families once were. Even though the debris is gone in many cases, the bareness itself is a real reminder of life altered, piles of possessions blown away.

We are reminded that all that is really ours to own and keep in this life is breath and memories. So instead of gifts, now we make memories. We take the time to share a meal, a pot of tea, a chat around a Christmas tree. Never have I had a calendar so full of serene meals and time shared. Never have I enjoyed such rich gifts!

Friends around Julie's table.

Storm Country Book Launch

2011-12-04T18:21:00.000-08:00

This afternoon I attended the local book launch for the Storm Country Anthology. We were able to present the Joplin School Librarians with a check for the first $3000 today! There is more coming as the books are selling well. The entire proceeds will be donated to the Joplin School Libraries to replace books and furniture blown away by the May tornado. There are many good things being done by good people in the Joplin area. This anthology is just one example of the giving. The entire works of stories, poems, editing, book cover, publishing, web site support, and the work to draw it all together were donated. Thanks to everyone who helped and to each person who buys a book!

Two Librarians from Joplin Elementary Schools

Geoffrey who was missing in the tornado and his friend Lynn who wrote about her joy at finding him again!

Rose reads from her poems in the Storm Country Anthology.

Deborah Marshall, President of Missouri Writers' Guild

Saturday Centus, Sixteen

2011-12-03T04:33:00.000-08:00

It has been a long while since I have been able to attempt Centus, but this Saturday morning, I get up early and without a huge agenda. Jenny helped out by giving us a short assignment for writing: only 16 words. Those words should be about ourselves when we were 16. The first thing that comes to mind is how innocent and fresh I was so long ago! I think I will go with my first impression today, and if you want more shorties to read go to Jenny's blog at http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2011/12/saturday-centus-sixteen.html.

Sixteen

Sixteen: fresh, undaunted, smooth and unwrinkled as new foil, ready to wrap myself around life.

Let December Begin!

2011-12-02T13:32:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was December first and the month started off with a bang. It was a 17 hour day for me and most of it was good things. First of all, a lab report came back as non-cancerous for me! Yeah, that was a blessing for sure. Since the day before I had gotten the news of a cracked tooth needing a $1000 repair, I had enough on my mind. The rest of the day was a list of errands and social visits with people celebrating the holiday season.

My book club always chooses a lighter book for December because everyone is busy. Then we opt to meet for a nice lunch somewhere to hold our discussions. We had agreed years ago not to deal with food, drink and possessing for our book club. The emphasis is on the book discussion, and the group has worked well with this plan. But it is fun a couple of times a year to break out for something different, and a Christmas luncheon is one built into the yearly schedule.

This year’s book choice was so poor I am not even going to give its name. It was chic lit, but that is no excuse for empty writing. I rated it zero which I have never given a book before. In fact, I never finished it! I think the highest rating given was a 6, generous believe me! But with the superb books of autumn (Empire of the Summer Moon, Unbroken, and Sarah’s Key) to be followed by Hemingway’s Farewell to Arms in the new year, I guess one bummer can be tolerated.

A long visit with a worried friend in the afternoon and then a fund-raising auction in the evening brought me home late. I found in the mail a super sweet thought from my sister. She sent me an angel with changing colored lights for my desk. She works by being plugged in a USB port for a way to have a Christmas angel on the desk. What a fun and appropriate way to end the first day of December!

Make Mine Toast!

2011-11-30T18:09:00.000-08:00

Recently the Sunday Morning news magazine had an article on collecting toasters. One of the men they interviewed has a small appliance museum full of some 700 toasters. That museum which opened in October is called The World’s Largest Small Appliance Museum and is located only a few miles from me. So this morning DH and I made a quick run to check it out.

Built off the end of a Western Clothing store, the museum is filled with small appliances including all those toasters. It was amazing to see some “modern” things that we grew up with now labeled as antiques or collectibles such as a metal percolator or a hot dog cooker. While some of the early toasters were rather crude and even dangerous looking, toasters from the 1930s were absolutely gorgeous in many cases. I could picture Marlene Dietrich or James Cagney still in silk robes fetching toast from the beautiful stainless steel. The of course, I enjoyed seeing 1950 toasters that made my morning toast for years.

The second most numerous items in this collection were electric coffee pots and tea pots. Oh, some silver pots were so smartly shaped that I longed to take them home with me! The amazing ones were the porcelain pots with art deco or floral designs. These pots were stunning in their elegance. In many cases there were matching porcelain waffle irons too.

The owner is willing to meet groups or individuals there for demos of the appliances. I might have to make an appointment just to touch these handsome
appliances once used in some contemporary woman’s kitchen.

Christmas Books

2011-11-29T16:46:00.000-08:00

We don’t always start collections; sometimes they start themselves. That is what happened when I first found a Christmas book on sale after the holidays. It then became a practice to add a Christmas book to my “collection” every year. Like collections do, this one got unruly, and I had to weed. But still, I kept some very special Christmas books on hand. I often use a beautiful Christmas book even as décor during the season.

One of my favorites is Truman Capote’s A Christmas Memory. No matter how many times I read it, it brings a lump to my throat at the end. Then there is that wonderful book The Polar Express. Don’t kid yourself, this is not a child’s story but actually an adult book. Only adults can truly grasp the pathos of not hearing the Christmas bell! No disrespect to William Hurt or Tom Hanks, but famous actors reading the book aloud almost spoiled it for me. Hearing the voices in my head was so much better than anyone else’s interpretation!

If you like westerns, the great writer (Shane) Jack Schaffer wrote a Christmas story called Stubby Pringle’s Christmas. When the school librarian was weeding old books from the shelves, I literally begged to have the copy she was tossing. Mari Sandoz wrote The Christmas of the Phonograph Record, and then there is the Louis May Alcott’s Christmas Treasury. Oh, and another goodie is the Walton’s Christmas story of Pa getting home in the snowstorm during the Great Depression.

This year I was the lucky winner of a new Christmas book from Donna’s Book Pub (www.donnasbookpub.blogspot.com).The Christmas Village by Melissa Ann Goodwin is a delightful and imaginative story of a 12 year old boy who does some time travel on Christmas Eve. His own life is saddled with worries, and while looking at his grandma’s Christmas village laid out in the living room, he wishes he could live in the old time village where people seemed happier. Jamie falls into the 1932 village where the people celebrate the Christmas season with a Depression backdrop with problems of their own.

Author Melissa Ann Goodwin tells a good old fashioned story here despite the modern element of time travel. The characters fight good and evil along with love and loss in a story bound to become another Christmas classic for readers of all ages. She ties all the ends up in a charming finale that is magical and charming, the delicious elements of any good Christmas!

So what about you? What are your favorite Christmas stories or books?

A Christmas Contest Entry

2011-11-28T07:43:00.000-08:00

I haven't been able to keep up with things around here lately, and I was about to miss a great little writing op! So this morning I made a effort and entered a Christmas contest over at Things I
Want to Tell My Mother at http://warnerwriting.wordpress.com/christmas-with-mom-contest/.
It is a memory written in hundred words and gives a chance to win a $25 gift card. It closes Dec. 5. For full details go over to the blog.

It was the year of the ballerina on pointe and wearing a pink tutu. I wrote Santa after pouring over Christmas catalogs wondering which doll he would bring me. On Christmas morning, there she was. I lifted her from the box to see one eye pushed back into her head, permanently damaged! Didn’t those elves check toys?

My gasping shock was shadowed by Mom’s own distress at neglecting to inspect the box in a holiday rush. In the end the defect didn’t matter as I cherished my beautiful ballerina. My actual Christmas gift was learning real love isn’t always perfect.

Turkeys Transition To An Angel

2011-11-27T14:28:00.000-08:00

The transition between Thanksgiving and Christmas is one of the fastest seasonal changes there is. It has to be since the days are numbered before December 25th. Today is the first Sunday of Advent so

Christmas is now on the countdown officially. Yesterday while son drove four hours back home to the west, I spent the ame time and more taking down turkeys and putting up Santas.

Last year I weeded the Christmas boxes, but they could still use more cleaning. I did not put out everything this year. Though I love all my special holiday pieces, something about having less "stuff" sitting around is more therapeutic than being crowded. I wanted to use this white angel too this year which changed the table setting. She belongs to my mother-in-law who sat her out for many Christmases that I remember. As the dismantling of her home began, she would not take the angel to assisted living. She told me to bring her home with me. Now I did not need one more thing in this house, but I could not leave the angel there in the farmhouse all alone. Maybe someday I will let this angel go, but this was not the year to say goodbye. I brought her home and she will reign here in my home, watching one branch of the same family, this year.

Thanksgiving, 2011

2011-11-23T09:42:00.000-08:00

Autumn days and Thanksgiving in particular always meant quail hunting at my house. Dad would arise in the dark, load up and head out to a farmer’s hedge row to hunt quail alone. They were numerous in those days and Dad, an excellent shot, always got his limit. He would return and then take grandpa and nephews out again once the sun was up. Again, the bounty was good and the freezer filled quickly with tiny birds for winter eating. Sometimes a few went right to the Thanksgiving table, fried golden and crispy.

Meanwhile, Mom would stuff celery, stir up Chex mix, or pick out a few pecans while we hunkered in from of the Macy’s parade. We kids waited for Santa to appear at the end of the parade because that meant Christmas could now be eagerly anticipated; the Sears Wish Book would be opened in the afternoon for some serious yearning.

Thanksgiving might mean a road trip to Oklahoma for huge dinners, family gossip and ballgames with Mom’s people. But most years it was a block’s walk to Grandma’s house where Dad’s family gathered. Food spread across tables like a scene from a Normal Rockwell painting. In Oklahoma, tiny pearl onions and olives were special, but at Grandma’s it was plump homemade noodles swollen to doughy perfection in turkey broth.

Things change and there are no more festive trips to Oklahoma; Grandma is gone and noodles have never been the same since those days. This year one son will come home, and we will join my friend and her daughters for a holiday meal. I will be free of making a big meal, but this morning I cooked cranberries in wine to take as my contribution. It will noisy and jolly tomorrow, but I will still miss particular faces, remember specific dishes not served, and hunger for days gone by. Amid the activities I will acknowledge that life changes for us all. I will be thankful for all I have now as I nod a bit in my head to what used to be.

May you have a magnificent Thanksgiving Day and weekend ahead.

Duel with Dust

2011-11-21T10:53:00.000-08:00

Thoreau said SIMPLIFY! He thought if anything caused you to spend time cleaning it or caring for it, throw it out. Sounds good to me, but then again I can’t part with a lot of my “stuff”. What I have done is get careless with taking care of it. So many of us around here since that F5 tornado realize that stuff is just stuff, and it can be taken from you in a matter of seconds.

My mother kept a chest in our utility room where she stored drawers full of table linens and hand-crocheted pieces by her grandmother. She never used them, and to be fair she had a small house with rumbustious kids and dogs. (However, that very chest was to burn in a house fire a few years ago…what a waste of pleasures went up in smoke.) When I got old enough to be left at home alone, I would go to that chest and unfold the beauties, feel their richness, admire their color, and appreciate their workmanship. I said if I ever had a home of my own I would use my things. I have kept my word for the most part, which means some stained pieces or some broken porcelain. But things were meant to be used. Nothing more moving than buying a cup and saucer that was loved by some other women in her toasty kitchen before your own hands caressed the same china.

The other day some of us were discussing household dusting or the lack of it. One gal said she no longer lifts a doily but merely dusts around it. Another has removed things that need to be dusted. My own solution is to never move anything because then you can see where the dust starts and stops! Just don’t touch a thing and everyone glances over the dust! One of my grandmothers took that a step further. She never dusted or cleaned much. When things got too bad, she said it was time to paint. We all knew that when a refurbishing of paint or wallpaper started, it meant Grandma thought it was time to “clean”.

My mother-in-law, who was an artist, told me to leave the dishes in the sink, ignore the house chores and go paint, write, or be creative. I never could do that. The work had to be done first before I “played” and the result was not much fun time because the work never ended for a mom. She, however, could walk away from household burdens. Lately, I have been able to at least ignore that dust!

Despite trying to minimize dustable things in my house and trying to avoid flea markets, I still fall prey to collectibles. This last week after my Tai Chi and Tea class, my friends and I drove by an estate sale. The car nosed into a parking place by the curb before we knew what was happening! Items were priced fairly but not cheap inside the little bungalow. The other gals found things, but I ignored items calling my name. Until—I saw this master knife rest. Wow, I didn’t have a master one (like I needed it!). The crystal was so pretty, the light bouncing off the cuts. Well gee, I guess it won’t take TOO much dusting will it?

What about you? How do you fight the Duel with Dust?

This Year's Flock

2011-11-19T17:46:00.000-08:00

When I read about her new turkeys for the season on Susan’s blog (http://writingstraightfromtheheart.blogspot.com/2011/11/thanksgiving-turkeys-to-look-at-not-eat.html), I thought of my own few Thanksgiving birds. I only have a couple, but this year I added two to the flock. One is very old and DH found it while cleaning out his parents’ attic. He tossed it down and asked me if I wanted it. Well, it is rather an ugly thing, paint scuffed off in places, and not something I would long for except that DH said he saw the thing for years on his mom’s Thanksgiving table. Hum, while I wasn’t a witness to those years, I am sucker for tradition and continuity in family holiday rituals. Since our families are fading away through children’s jobs, aging parents, and even death I grabbed on to the turkey even though I know none of the kids coming after me will want to “own” this guy. Something about him called to me, for this year anyway.

The other small turkey is fairly new although I did pick him up in a flea market. I love the totally white ceramic bird and I have so many white pitchers and plates, I thought he would be at home here. After all, he doesn’t take up much room. While he won’t spend much of the year out and about, he can nest with the quail, turkey, and silver birds of winter holidays in the off season! If I can find another inch in the storage closet that is!!!

Friends and Storm Country Reading

2011-11-18T05:45:00.000-08:00

The Storm Country readings and book sales were last Sunday evening in St. Louis. I would have had hard time doing an eight hour drive round trip for two hours of readings, but the night worked perfectly for me because we were in route back home from Kentucky. It was tight since we got in at 4:00, were cleaned up although not refreshed, and were at our friends’ house by 5:30. DH stayed with our friend who is recovering from surgery while his wife came with me to the readings. It was a nice evening for all four of us.

We have been friends with these people for 41 years after living next to them in an apartment in Hazelwood, Missouri as newlyweds. We have worked to stay in touch through tragedies and triumphs. All my friends mean everything to me. Like my grandma always said, “You can’t pick your family, but you can pick your friends.” I am one lucky person to be able to cross paths with so many people worth the “picking” for friends.

While the Storm Country evening was nice, the best part was meeting some of my Blogger Buddies in the flesh. They are just as charming and delightful as the words they write. How odd it felt to walk up to someone you have never laid eyes on before, yet you knew them in your heart. I never meant to blog, didn’t want any part of it. But then it became a little lifesaver to me, opening doors to some fun and meaningful things.

Donna at http://donnasbookpub.blogspot.com was the first blog I ever read. I think because she reminded me of my teaching friend I began to follow her. Her kindness and sharing of writing tips kept me coming back so that I met Linda (http://lindaoconnell.blogspot.com) and Becky (http://beckypovich.blogspot.com) and Lynn (http://lynnobermoeller.blogspot.com). You should check into these blogs if you want some laughter, some talk about writing, or sometimes a life reflection. I check at many blogs but can’t follow them all or I would get nothing else done. So I do limit who I follow, but highly recommend these St. Louis gals who feel like they are right across the fence to me since I live in Missouri with them.

These busy days make friendships harder to hold. Days are hectic and everyone is reduced to twitters, email, and dashed off lines that are incomplete. Gone are the days of long letters and beautiful words penned with care and affection. We have to work so much harder to stay in touch at all. Right now I have a list of letters waiting to be written. When I look at the names each day I hear that song “Tomorrow, Tomorrow…” because I keep moving the letter writing to tomorrow! But at least I do still plan to write, even if it is an email on colored “paper” that sails through the air. I do appreciate people, friends, and want to keep in touch with them. They are valuable to my life!

Donna, Lynn, and Linda as they read their work at the Storm Country event.

Kentucky Days

2011-11-16T11:07:00.000-08:00

I find the landscape of Illinois and Indiana tedious after several hours. The corn becomes monotonous. However, I found Indiana interesting to watch on this last trip. For one thing both states were no longer under that horrid dark water of spring flooding! But this time, the trees had lost their leaves in Indiana and while it looked wintry, it was more open and less claustraphobic feeling. It was fairly cold, wind was a terror, and the sky dark and heavy like snow. We actually saw snowflakes briefly once we hit Kentucky. Fields had been harvested and some fields still had standing corn, the stalks as dry as parchment. It all left me with a feeling that soon after the trip we would be hunkering down in a "long winter's nap" mode.

We took back roads when we could find them, passed through French Lick area, came out in the quaint town of Madison. We stopped there for a delightful lunch in a little gift and coffee shop. I had a turkey pesto grilled panini with apricot tea...so good. We passed on going shopping, heading straight for grandbabies.

While visiting, one of our trips was to the Cincinnati Union Station that now houses three museums and an Omni Max. Duke energy sponsors a seasonal train display which was the draw for all of us that day. It was fantastic but for me, the best thing was this gorgeous structure. Can't you just picture the trains and passengers that arrived in this building in its heyday?

Our trip through displays were fast and furious because we had a not quite three-year-old, a baby of ten months, their parents, and two old people. Everyone tired out pretty fast; Papaw lost baby Simon's coat and Gramme lost her own coat! We were all glad to get back to the house in Kentucky.

Since we believe strongly in Ben Franklin's adage that fish and company both smell in three days, it was time to head back to Missouri.

MEN AT WORK?

Home Again, Jiggety Jig

2011-11-15T19:14:00.000-08:00

After a week driving across middle America getting to Kentucky, we arrived back home this afternoon. Now we face the crush of holidays coming and staying home for a while waiting on winter to come and go. Laundry fills the utility room and my mind is mush but just had to write a few lines here hoping to return to some kind of normal...whatever that is!

We left here last Wednesday in a frigid wind, making it to Lebanon, Illionis about 1:00. We were just in time to catch a late lunch in this quaint town we have visited before. Remembering the wonderful pie in the Tapestry Room, we drove the mile off the highway to sample it again. Pie isn't good for us, but we put sense and caution on the back burner for the trip. We ate lunch and then ordered cream pies. You can see we had to snatch the first bites even before the camera came out!

Lebanon is only about 20 miles east from St. Louis, so if you are ever in the area be sure and check the town out.

Christmas Cactus

2011-11-08T14:17:00.000-08:00

I have been so busy getting ready to travel to see grand babies and the gear is about loaded. It has rained for two days (and earthquaked!) along with feeling chilly. It is seasonal weather but...still my few deck flowers left are holding up to it all. Leaves clutter the boards and flower pots. Autumn is here.

Inside things are in the pink! A friend brought me this Christmas cactus this summer. I know nothing about them , and it seemed to break easily all summer. When the temp started dropping to frost range and there were tiny buds all over the plant, I moved it inside. It has burst into flower! I hope they last a long time, that there are buds on our return.

On such a dark, damp, and dreay day this is the only sunshine I found. I thought it worth sharing with you....before you have to look at all those baby pictures I will posting!!!!

Today (Nov. 5) Roy Rogers Would Have Been 100!

2011-11-04T14:50:00.000-07:00

Today would have been Roy Rogers 100th birthday. He and fellow singing cowboy Gene Autry had a big impact on my life. Both reinforced the values that my parents were teaching me at home. Nothing like coming through the front door after school and settling in for some bang bang gunfire (without much blood or death reality), hearing a good song about tumbleweeds or little doggies, and seeing the good guys win! Gosh, it was so much simpler then.

I will admit that liking Dale Evans took more work for me. Oh, she was a good gal in reel life and real life, but I was always a little jealous of her getting my guy. When I would watch scenes where Dale was snippy to Roy, I wanted to punch her myself. Of course in the end, the guy always got the girl and I never wanted her to be standing in what I considered MY place either.

I was lucky enough to visit the Roy Rogers Museum in Branson shortly before it closed for good. Oh, I had such a good time walking down memory lane. I saw Nellybelle, holstered guns, lunchboxes from my childhood, and Dale’s flouncy gingham skirts loaded with rick rack much like the skirts I wore too in those days. After tootling around the memorabilia, we went in to hear the musical program. When I heard Roy’s son Dusty sing those old favorites full of a cowboy’s longing under a star-filled western sky, tears trickled down my old cheeks remembering the “good ole days”.

There was the Roy Rogers Riders Club in the 1950's with rules that encouraged kids to live a life that exhibited a code of goodness. Being clean, polite, obedient to parents, kind to animals and not wasting anything was high on the list. The guidelines also encouraged attendance of church, respecting our country and flag, and to love God. Who could argue with any of these doctrines for growing up to be a decent adult? Then when you heard Roy and Dale sing "Happy Trails", well life was just plain old good. I wish there were such decent role models for kids today.

So happy birthday, Roy. I miss you but appreciate all you left behind in me. Now, I think I’ll go listen to the Sons of the Pioneers sing "Cool Water".

Table Rock and Miss M

2011-11-01T18:06:00.000-07:00

November 1 and a feel of shorter days makes us push to squeeze in any bit of activity before the winter darkness descends to stay. Due to the wildly strange summer weather, there was next to no fishing and the bass boat never left the yard this year. With rain in the forecast for tomorrow and a sunny 72 on tap for today, we went to Table Rock Lake. Late fall makes for good times because the lake is nearly deserted and the quiet is heavenly. Today the gusting breeze was a factor but we tolerated it, watching the leaves sail down and hit the brilliance of wind-blown water. The trees were hues of sienna, tobacco, and ochre with occasional dashes of tangerine. Shortened sun rays were warm but not piercing. I felt like a bear at a honey tree stoking up for hibernation, only my substance was sun and fresh air.

It was a perfect day to start re-reading Two-Part Intervention (by Madeleine L'Engle) while DH caught and released. It had been years since I had been between the book’s covers, and the story read like it was next to new. The parts I knew were like meeting an old friend for conversation and a picnic lunch at the lake. I saw I had underlined passages, and I found they were ones I would want to mark again. The years might put a different touch on them for me in some cases though.

The first favorite lines were describing reading in her childhood. “…that interior dream world has stood me in good stead many times when the outer world has seemed to be collapsing around me.” Miss M captured my own feeling to a T! I grew up in a village-sized town where sports was the end all, but I had Sydenham’s Chorea as a child and was not allowed to run, jump, and cavort. My recesses were spent with a thermometer in my mouth followed by sitting for a rousing game of jacks. Once I could run…well, I was NO runner. I found a world in books where I could do and be all I wanted.

Childhood followed by adolescence…Miss M’s take: “…no adolescence is lived through without pain.” Again true words. I was thinking about such things this weekend because I was digging deep into the past while cleaning trunks and closets. I have been thinking about such work here, but earlier in the week as we began the horrendous job of tearing down of the in-laws family farm, I knew I had to do this at home for my own children’s sake. One thing that got tossed was school letters; no one wanted them. Yet, years ago for all of us, those letters and the gold bars on them meant achievement, success, recognition. Wow, they were so important then, and sometimes there were both physical and emotional pain in getting or not getting those gold bars. Now they were tossed away, meaningless.

Miss M felt one important thing she learned was “…the artist is not separate from the work and therefore cannot judge it.” This resonated more with me now as I have been writing and publishing more. I see it in the critiquing groups at guild meetings too. All of us, write what we think it good, is working, is our best. We cannot separate ourselves from the work and see it objectively.

I can see that without the wind in my face and sun reflecting off the water, this book will read fast. I got through more than three chapters which included a lot of thinking. Like Miss M, I too was very naïve as a young girl…ah, make that most of my entire life. I, too, put myself in some risky situations out of ignorance. I guess there really must be some Guardian Angels for people like Miss M and me. I think I can hear mine groan!

One new phrase I underlined today was “part of my deepening” when Miss M referred to her piano and visits to a favorite church just to sit as a young woman. I like this phrase and will think about it for a few days. I hate losing the naïve person I was because she was sweet and good after all. I don’t want to let cynical thoughts and actions take over…to be a cranky old lady…in fact, I think I want not to age but to “deepen” in my life!

What about you?

Two Midwestern Authors to Read

2011-10-25T19:19:00.000-07:00

The first two evenings of the Visiting Writers Series at PSU have been fantastic. Last year was first-class, and I think most were poets. So far fiction has been the genre this autumn. First up was Thomas Fox Averill, a Kansas boy. I had read of his short stories over the years, and I had heard respectable comments about his work. I was eager to hear him read and was not disappointed.

Averill was a spell-binding reader and speaker. He was also a humble writer, being frank about the difficulty of getting published these days. (If he has trouble, how can I ever make it?). He was honest to say he had about given up when a university press in New Mexico picked up his novel. This has been new life for his work.

His novel rode is based on the bluegrass song "Tennessee Stud". The song has been recorded by many country artists, and Averill sang it as a lullaby to his kids. While singing it, his mind began to ask questions, create scenarios. So he traveled to all the places the song sings of from Tennessee to Arkansas to Texas to New Mexico. I thought it would be an average western-styled story, but bought it anyway.

It turned out to be a very good story. Averill’s work is strong and fast-moving. The novel has a definite old western type voice. The author creates great descriptive language to hold the reader. For example, early on he describes early day Memphis as a fledging, but one only half feathered. Later he says people swirled on the streets there like water down the end of a funnel. Good images!

In October we went to hear Jo McDougall read from her memoir Daddy’s Money. The author had taught at PSU for about ten years during the 1990’s after growing up on a rice farm in Arkansas. Her work has been largely poetry, some of which I have read. Her poems lines are as sparse as a skeleton, the thoughts rattling like loose bones to haunt you in some cases.

McDougall was an outstanding reader; her pleasant demeanor and frank observations made listeners feel she was talking directly to them and individually. Her memoir recalls days of a WWII era of growing up in rice-growing areas of the Delta land, and it also is candid about the severed relationship that developed with her only sibling after her parents’ death.

I hesitated on buying the book because I still had not read rode from the month before and had many books waiting in my “to read” pile. However, knowing the PSU writers’ programs would benefit, I bought one, and I am mighty glad I did. The read was an exceptionally informative work about rice farming, something I knew nothing about. I enjoyed the era as a time of simpler and slower living. I was also moved by the poignant descriptions of the unraveling relationship she had with her only sister. As so often in families, two people drifted apart to the point of non-resolution over issues that were beyond both of them. While a disturbing part of the memoir, many readers will be able to relate to the angst the author reveals.

Both authors now live in northeastern Kansas, and their books are worth a reader’s time to investigate, despite their titles not being on the NY Times Bestseller List—yet that is!

A New Follower and Flame of Leaves

2011-10-24T17:17:00.000-07:00

A big howdy to new follower Floyd of It Ain't the Gold blog.
Sitting in Ohio, Floyd happens to love old cemetaries and does great pictures there. Check him out at http://itaintthegold.blogspot.com/2011/10/what-are-you-doing-today.html

After a blistering summer without much rain, our trees this autumn have been disappointing. There was just a tad of color here and there for our Maple Leaf Parade. Most of the colors we saw were muted and drab. We went to old favorite spots and the trees just weren't up to par.

But in the last week, we have had a 50 degree temperature swing! After a freeze for a couple of nights, it is now hitting the 80 degree mark again. The skies don't have a single cloud today. Yesterday we noticed that some of the favorite trees had a deepened color. Today these same trees are acdtually flamboyant! I grabbed the camera and snapped a few because I know these days won't last. Why do these days feel shorter than those 110 degree days of this summer?

But a strong wind is forecast for tomorrow so the trees will have another turn again as they will surely lose leaves. Each day and each change brings us closer to another solstice. I can wait! Now to enjoy such flames and light while I can!

Hey, Let's Help A Fellow Writer!

2011-10-22T14:43:00.000-07:00

Do you remember reading Madeleine L’Engle’s Wrinkle in Time as a kid? Somehow I missed it then, probably because I was not info sci-fi or fantasy. I tried reading it as an adult and it took a couple of tries. Somehow I avoided Miss L Engle’s work many times. But she pursued me (another story!) like a persistent house fly! Finally, once I read her Circle of Quiet, I was hooked big time and became a loyal fan.

The Bonastra discussion list of her works was the first online group I participated in, and I made many interesting connections there. I was teaching at junior high at the time, and these people were a nice balance for me after a day with boisterous twelve year olds. However, many admitted they had never lost their love for the fantasy literature of that age group.

It was L Engle’s nonfiction that was my favorite though. No matter what you read by this author, pertinent Biblical references, strong moral values, robust open-mindedness, and solid views of the Divine were scattered among the pages, all without being preachy.

Now her granddaughter Lena Roy has written her own YA novel, titled Edges. This book deals with substance abuse in the lives of teens. Set in Moab, Utah the main character Luke has left his alcoholic father to live in a youth hostel. While the main character is a male, several females take prominent leads as well, like Ava who is an 18 year drunk trying to make AA work. Author Roy is honest that her own early experiences with alcohol influenced her story. Her own enchanting encounters with Utah’s landscapes influence her setting.

Reviews were mixed for Edges, but the story is strong and valuable. Language is strong in spots, but typical for teens. The author echoes much of her grandmother’s teaching about being present in the moment and being aware of Nature’s beauty full of lessons for us. Roy’s writing is a good shot for a first time author, and her stories will surely develop with age and practice.

This brings me to my plea. A few days ago Roy learned her publisher is not picking up the companion book after Edges, not because it was not good but because the sales of Edges were only respectable and not fantastic. Her web pages and blogs were not “hit” enough. This echoes the 26 or so rejections that Madeline L’Engle’s own book garnered in the 1960’s before becoming a well-known, well-loved classic. Look what the world would have missed!

As a writer AND a reader, I think it is a shame. I know publishing is a money-making business, but if the dollar alone is the criteria we use for art and for quality of story…well, think Reality TV for cripes sake!

So I am asking you to buy, read, and promote Edges for a fellow writer who is getting her wings clipped. Or can you just read and comment on her blog at http://www.lenaroy.com/. Lena Roy isn’t letting this setback stop her writing--yet anyway. With a feisty attitude, she wrote this on her blog this week:
Yes, publishing is a harsh mistress, but it is first and foremost a business, therefore, rejection is not about us, or about our books, but about people making wild guesses and backing authors with a built-in audience. (Like Snooki!) I know so many of you are beginning your own journey, querying agents and the like. Keep going! Persevere. The world needs your stories.

What goes around, comes around they say, and I just feel as writers, we need to help one of our own.

Saturday Centus/Social Networking

2011-10-22T09:30:00.000-07:00

Although the day is to be delightfully sunny and warm, the morning dawned crisp and downright cold. I wondered if the gal from Wilson Farms would brave it for one of the last Farmer's Market Saturdays. But she was there and everything looked so wonderful...a rainbow of large mums, pumpkins in many hues of orange, and so many squash. There were still plenty of cukes, tomatoes and peppers along with sweet potatoes and onions too. Hard to think the growing season is almost over.

When I returned, I put short ribs in the oven and then began to brown some beef for the evening meal. I looked around, thought I had a few minutes, and ran into see if I could do a tad of computer work. I wanted to write a book review and wondered if there would be time to participate in Centus since I had missed so many other writing events this week.

The fingers started flying over the keys and next I knew, a fragrance was pounding through to my mind. Ground beef!!! I raced the kitchen and with a quick turn with the spatula and a fast dash of olive oil, I save the ground beef. Thankfully it will go into an Italian casserole with some pepperoni and all will be well.

So Jenny's Centus prompt this week is I planted a little and I thought that a bit hard. But a wee scene came to mind and I hammered it out below. For more stories using this prompt and rules for playing Centus go to http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2011/10/saturday-centus-i-planted-little.html Now I have to go clean a spaghetti squash to go with those short ribs before I go read more Centus stories myself!

Social Networking

At first Nancy was hurt when she overheard the unkind girls chattering at their lockers. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she fought them back until she was alone under the oaks.

Now she leaned back on her bed pillow looking at her laptop screen. A sneering smile spread across her taut face, feeling satisfaction ooze through her veins. Call her Nasty Nancy and think they wouldn’t get caught? Think again.

“I planted a little tale that will make them rue the day they messed with me,” Nancy said aloud. Then she struck the Enter button and watched as chaos seeped out to Facebook.

Thrifted Soup? (Plus Writing Ops)

2011-10-19T17:47:00.000-07:00

I often read or write about thrifted things like tea cups, furniture, clothes, etc. But can food be thrifted? I think today’s soup will be called Thrifted Soup!

I looked in the refrigerator this morning and saw leftover salsa from the weekend. It was not very spicy, and I wondered how I could recycle those tomatoes. Then I saw some mushrooms I forgot to cover, and they were pretty dried out. Hum. Sighting of pieces of lingering turkey sausage...I knew I was going to try to salvage this collection into soup.

I put onions, mushrooms, green pepper and a fistful of garlic to sweat in a wee tad of olive oil. I added a dash of Worcestershire, a can of chicken broth, and the salsa. A little bit of a sip…yep, tasting fine! Now what additions? Two potatoes, a piece of surplus chicken shredded, the turkey, a very wrinkled zucchini, and a dab of frozen corn. While getting the corn, I saw a cup of frozen dried peas from New Mexico that I had cooked in beef broth. Bingo, they would add to the soup.

Oh, with a little grated smoked Provolone tossed on top of each bowl, this soup made an impressive lunch today!
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Do you participae in Goodreads? This is a great place to record your own books read, to learn about new titles you might want to read, to keep up with what your friends are reading. It acts like a reading journal! Try it out at http://www.goodreads.com/ Sign up and make me your reading friend if you'd like!

****************************************
Magnapoets is an 8.5" x 11" biannual print journal, published approximately in

January and July of each year. Submissions are now open til October 31, 2011 for

our January 2012 issue.
http://www.magnapoets.com/magnapoets/submissions-guidelines.html
We are also reading for a special feature called Self Portrait. Full guidelines
found here:
http://www.magnapoets.com/magnapoets/special-features.html

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The second annual print publication of ROAR Magazine, a literary journal

focused on supporting fiction, nonfiction, poetry and visual art by women,

is seeking submissions.

For Issue #2, we’re looking for:
fiction (short stories, flash fiction)
nonfiction (personal essays, memoir excerpts and profiles)
poetry (traditional, experimental)
digital visual art

For information about how to submit your work, please visit us
at www.roarmagazine.org. We accept submissions on a rolling basis, but
priority for the issue will be given to those received by Nov.15, 2011.

A Very Disappointing Cowboy!

2011-10-16T08:36:00.000-07:00

The day dawned with a sharp chill that warmed to a most perfect autumn temperature. It was my birthday, and I was grateful for the gift of one more sun-filled seasonal day. My birthday occurs amid busy harvest celebrations everywhere, people crowding in as many events as they can before winter arrives. My birthday always shares the week with the Maple Leaf Parade, Apple Butter Making Days, PSU Homecoming, often the War Eagle Mill arts and crafts, and many more. No way one can participate in them all.

Yesterday was a divided day. Some family came for the parade, a sandwich lunch afterwards on the deck, and in the afternoon DH and our friend made the PSU game while family and I went to the town square for local craft vendors. The morning’s parade was routine, less interesting than some years. Politicians bustled, more tractors tooted along than normal, and one team of gorgeous Clydesdales pulling a farm wagon paraded down the avenue. They were beauties, those horses!

Among the saddle clubs, mounted sheriff’s posse, and single riders, a middle-aged cowboy stuck out. His coal black horse with a glistening coat stepped high. His rider was outfitted in black Stetson over black leather vest. His narrow black tie was bowed under a crisp white shirt collar. But they were a trio because a blue-eyed cow dog marched at the horse’s hooves too. Intent to stay near horse and rider, the working dog was not distracted by crowds, other animals or any parade commotion.

Later that afternoon after visiting the square, my sister, niece and I walked back to the car a block off the square where we saw the splendid black horse tied to a light pole while the cowboy across the street talked to a man. The horse was distressed, pawing the concrete (Could he have been thirsty tied in sun?); the cowboy snarled at the horse and advanced. We all three slowed our pace while eyeing the scene, but I knew what was going to happen. I saw the mean glint in that booted stride. The dog knew too, as he whimpered, cried, and backed up--his throaty whimpers begging a quiet NO.

The cowboy, no the man doesn’t deserve the honored moniker, the rider took a leather strap and smacked the horse’s foreleg. The slap of leather to skin echoed and my sister said loudly enough, “That is so uncalled for.” We paused, the man turned and starred. It could have been the same tension as air just before the gunfight at the OK corral! He did not hit the horse again in our sight, but yanked on the reins while verbally scorning the horse.

The niece wanted to confront the man more, but I explained a man of that disposition would not listen to any reason. My sister endorsed my stand saying that more confrontation from us would make the man more angry causing the animals more pain and suffering later. In the long run, silent disdain was our best option. So our lovely day was marred by this scene that stuck with us for hours ahead. It is hard to see that a saddle and Stetson don’t make a real cowboy; they don’t even make a real man.

Saturday Centus/Message from the Past

2011-10-15T06:14:00.000-07:00

It is Saturday Centus today, and I have missed so many lately. This morning is the Maple Leaf Parade, our town's salute to autumn. Family is coming and this afternoon is PSU Homecoming game for some of us. Arts and Crafts, outdoor air, and possible adieu to nice days ahead. But it is also my birthday today so I treat myself to a gift of Centus!

This week Jenny shows us a picture and asks us to use on 100 words and all our senses to write about the picture. For complete and more stories about the picture, please visit Jenny's blog at:http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2011/10/saturday-centus-literary-device.html

Message from the Past

Lucy, new to the Ozarks, spied the dwelling. Like a hundred other abandoned places in the Ozark hills, the rickety cabin stood waiting for its family to return. She heard the old screen moan in the slight breeze while mice inside scampered away when she stepped on the rotting porch. She wiped her hand across the siding wishing the splintered wood could talk. Musty air floated from the inside, reminiscent of old bacon grease and the smoky residue from the rock fireplace where many a meal had simmered in a cast iron pot. The walls sighed; were they speaking to her?

Book Blurb/One Son's Journey

2011-10-14T13:25:00.000-07:00

I have fallen away from all writing it seems, and I feared it would be winter before I got my muse back. But checking in with Lisa's Book Blurb Friday, I saw a picture that spurred my imagination. Thanks, Lisa!!

Below see the picture by Lynn that Lisa posted and visit Lisa's blog for the rules for playing along in Book Blurb Friday. My blurb comes in at right on 150 words!

http://www.writinginthebuff.net/2011/10/book-blurb-33-dorian.html?showComment=1318624245540#c6439332650167359172

One Son's Journey

One Son watched the moon float over the kiva as he tried to read the future. His people had spent eons safely woven in the rocks like pieces of straw in a food mat. Now the rains were no longer appearing, and the gardens on the valley floor lay dead and brown, crisp as corn meal.

How should he guide his people? Where would they go? Could they find a land a beyond the enemy ranges, and before the enemy knew they walked on the crumbled earth below? Were there streams with life-giving water anywhere for his people? Or would they too die like the squash and corn, their bones disintegrating among the rose-colored rocks beneath his feet?

Soon when the moon hid his face so sun could guide their way, One Son would lead his people out of the canyon, but to what? Only Mother Sky knew for sure.

Yielding to Autumn

2011-10-12T10:38:00.000-07:00

I had to yield to the season this morning in more ways than one. It was so dark at 6 am making it hard to stay on my routine. When I heard the tires of passing cars slap the pavement in front of the house, I knew the street must be wet; I moaned. Not to rush autumn way, I knew all of this was harbingers of coming winter. I rolled out, moaned some more, exercised and tried to be grateful for moisture, for autumn. I sat with a book and turned on my S.A.D. light for the first time since last spring.

Then I figured I might as well cook on a morning I was confined anyway. I needed to make a batch of breakfast muffins that only I eat. Full of wheat bran, oat bran, and flax, they seem healthy to me. I like mine cold, the muffin top-sized ones, held in one hand and a warm tea cup in the other for dark winter mornings.

While we should give up sugar, salt, eggs, oil, and everything else that makes life tasty, we have only cut down. Autumn made me think of old fashioned pumpkin bread from days gone by and decided to splurge on the sugar. Everyone has a pumpkin bread recipe, but mine is nearly forty years old and came from some Headstart cooks. They made it in bulk and baked it in soup cans, passing it out to the classrooms for snacks. It was the best ever, and I think of them when I use their recipe.

I was a young college student and thrilled to be working at Headstart that summer. I loved the children and was still trying to decide what subject and grade level I wanted to teach someday. I was an aid to an experienced teacher and every day was interesting. I had two special boys I remember from those days.

Patrick was Afro American and Eric was Hispanic. They were getting to know each other one day by feeling each other’s hair! The different hair consistency amazed them both. My own hair fell down to the middle of my back and Patrick, who was terribly shy, often stroked my hair for comfort. In the beginning he was stuck to me and my hair since he cried every morning when his mother left. One day his mother told me to never cut my hair, as it was all Patrick talked about and was his whole reason for coming—to touch my long hair.

Another day Eric’s mother came to school furious. She talked to the teacher about my inappropriate language with the boys. This was long before I learned colorful language from all my student experiences! We all finally figured out that one day when the boys wouldn’t stop giggling, I had asked if they were sitting on tickling feathers. Eric had translated that at home as my asking, “Do you have a feather up your *&%#?”

This morning I baked the bread in pans, and though I never alter the recipe, today I threw in some milk chocolate chips I found in the cupboard. Although the recipe can’t be improved on, I wanted to use them. Later, after they cool completely and sit wrapped a spell, I will check out the taste. But what I really will taste is autumn and memories made long ago, revisited through pumpkin bread!

Storm Country Update

2011-10-10T11:08:00.000-07:00

I just got word from Missouri Writing Guild president Deborah Marshall that she has posted pre-ordering info on the Storm Country site. She is trying to figure numbers for a run, so if you are interested please consult the site. Thank you! http://stormcountry.wordpress.com/

Addictions!

2011-10-07T16:06:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it’s only books, but an addiction is controlling no matter what!

In mid-summer I vowed (again) I would get my books under control. I weeded the office shelf and closet. I lined up ones I had saved for re-reads and started actually doing it. I did not allow myself buy books. Things were going well until I had an email from a woman I used to work with at the junior high.

The local schools had a program working with a book titled 13 Reasons Why by Jay Asher; librarians and teachers had written a grant for funding to bring the author to town next month. The former teacher, now administrator, wanted to know what I thought of the book, as she found it a little intense for junior high. The subject is teen suicide.

I had faded away from reading YA novels, but the asking for my opinion was too much to ignore. I told her I would get the book and read it. So when DH made his lab work trip to Springfield, I urged us by Barnes and Noble for the book. Unfortunately two other bargain books jumped into my arms: The Wildwater Walking Club by Claire Cook who wrote Must Love Dogs and Claiming Ground, a wonderful memoir about woman’s experiences sheep herding in Wyoming.

The next day we pulled out for our trip West, and son only lives a few blocks from the famous Watermark bookstore, an independent that I love. I managed to walk out without a book since I had a whole bag in the car including the new YA. Things seemed to be under control.

Then on the trip we meet Napoleon Garcia in Abiqui who was selling his own little memoir. Brought his book home with us. Then when in Pagosa Springs, Colorado there is another very nice independent book store where the owner has lovely regional shelf. Home came Cowboys, Barbed Wire: the fence that changed the West, and House of Rain, a book that traces indigenous people of the pueblos.

Then when we rode the train to LaVeta and had that layover….I could not resist spending time in that lovely used book shop provided by the Friends of the LaVeta Library. Brought home a large WWII book called Liberators about the Black soldiers of that era, a book titled How to Read a Poem, and a Muffin cookbook. Oh, these were so cheap! But they still took up room in our expanding bookmobile!

Back in Wichita we made another stop at Watermark because they have a wonderful sandwich shop we like. One of their new sandwiches is called The Godfather and yum, it is on their homemade focaccia bread! DH had a meatloaf sandwich called The Great Gatsby on homemade sourdough. We both drank gallons of ice tea, as we were dried out from the West. Then can you believe it, but in ten days’ time there were more NEW books strewn about that store. DH went on to the parking lot and I quickly grabbed a small paperback titled Thunder on the Prairie about a murder and grandest posse of all time. I stuck it in my purse so I did not have to own up to my book sickness!

Last night we went to PSU to hear Jo McDougall read at the Visiting Writers Series. A five book poet, McDougall now has a memoir out about growing up in Arkansas on a rice farm. She was an entertaining speaker, but I should have left her book there. However—all proceeds went to support the writing program of PSU. Hum, I wanted to support that and of course, I should be willing to support a fellow writer. The book came home with us and rests on top of RODE from last month’s author (I haven’t gotten to reading it yet), and sits beside five books home from the library.

Meanwhile Thursday afternoon was my book club day where we discussed Unbroken, a wonderful read garnering ratings from 9.5 to 11 on a scale of 10. Highest rated book we have ever read, slightly ahead of last month’s Empire of the Summer Moon! We also exchanged with each other some good books, and I toted home a friend’s copy of Women’s Diaries of the Westward Journey. My office is FULL!

Remember that Shel Silverstein poem, "Sarah Cynthia Silvia Stout Wouldn’t Take the Garbage Out" and how the poor girl got buried in her own garbage as it piled up around her? Well, all I am saying is that if you miss me, please send a librarian to dig me out before it is too late!!!!

Abiqui, New Mexico

2011-10-06T04:37:00.000-07:00

Georgia O’Keefe moved to New Mexico the year I was born. She is an interesting and controversial person. Known for her vivid paintings of flowers and of New Mexico landscapes, she lived at Abiqui, a tiny pueblo-like village.

A man living there now says it would have been a pueblo, but the US government would not label it so. The hamlet was populated by mixed Indians and the Spanish. It was a stop on the Santa Fe Tail. O’Keeffe painted here and in nearby Ghost Ranch area before losing her eyesight in old age. Her home can be toured, but reservations must be made a year in advance. Only a limited number of people are allowed to go through the adobe structure each year.

We had driven up the dirt lane leading into Abiqui once before where the lovely adobe church stands. Very threatening signs warned against any picture taking. There was no one in sight, but I felt like we were being watched and a gun barrel might appear from the crude structures if I lifted my camera. Down the road, in a tiny gift shop, the clerk said one of the locals had put up the signs and to ignore them. But I was a believer.

On this last trip, we again drove up into Abiqui and the signs were gone. I snapped pictures of the church, the only pristine building around. A couple of cars came and went, tourists mostly. We lingered and saw across the way a crude home with lean to additions and a hand lettered sign saying “Author Signing Today”. Another car pulled in, and so I was game to check it out too.

Inside was an elderly man with a Spanish accent, a storyteller for sure. He was a rascal you could tell right away. He had written the book and had them for sale. He had worked with Miss O’Keeffe, said he and she had planted the trees he pointed to. He pointed out a mile long circular road that she walked every day. He said we could drive it and see the scenes she saw. He said we could look over the adobe wall surrounding her house but to NOT take any pictures there!

I bought one of his books that he said had details other authors ignore about Abiqui. I let him show us on a map the history of the natives, of his Spanish forefathers. I listened to an explanations of the Catholic Los Penitentes, a lay confraternity of Roman Catholic men active in Northern New Mexico and southern Colorado.

Mr. Garcia explained that during the Pueblo Revolt in the late 1600s, all the priests had been killed. So the men formed a lay group to pray, bury the dead, etc. The group still holds prayer services, prays the rosary together, prays over the dead, and does Easter services in the adobe morada which overlooks the Chama River.

The Morada

New Mexico Silver

2011-10-04T15:36:00.000-07:00

Going to the Southwest means jewelry to me! But alas, it has a new meaning to me these days, more contemporary designs than in the old days when First People were known for their silversmithing.

I grew up with silver crawling up my arm provided by my Cherokee grandmother. We were new babies when she brought tiny bracelets studded with a turquoise stone, and our wrists were never bare from then on. The two matching twists in this picture were ones she gave me in grade school that I wore framed around turquoise stones. The double silver band in the center is one of her own bracelets I have worn since I was about ten. It is stamped “sterling” but is not signed as most pieces are now days. So I can date it as made in early 1920s or before. Natives did not sign their work as the metals and stones belonged not to them, but to The People. That changed when trains began carrying tourists to the Southwest and Fred Harvey opened up his gift shops in his Harvey Houses. Now artists sign their silver work!

I have always wanted a large squash blossom, but the prices were out of reach. That will never get better now. The price of gold and silver has not only driven the price of native silver work to astronomical figures, it has hampered the designs natives could afford to produce.

Four years ago, I could buy a little here and there, but last year I could afford almost nothing. The designs were plain too. Gone were my thunderbolts and arrows, and deep colored turquoise stones. So many stones were imported from Iran or Thailand. This year it was worse. I did not trust buying anything from an unknown store because sales were made by native people but for someone else, some from out of this country.

You can be safe buying under the portal at the Palace of Governors though. Those are juried vendors and each morning there is a drawing for who can sit there to sell. However, the first day I looked, again I saw plain and boring pieces. I could not see paying prime price for things that looked like they came from Macy’s or even Wal-Mart. I was told so many vendors bought the beads and then just strung them. I wanted a real silversmith to have crafted a piece I bought.

The second day on the Plaza, I took a half-hearted pass down the portal, and it was my lucky day! The pieces were a tad more interesting, but I found Wil and Vira Yazzie who had sold me their work before. They are a sweet young couple, have a telephone but no internet. Four years ago, they were trying a new design with both gold and silver encasing glass beadwork. Wil was selling along that day and Vira was home trying to design some matching ear rings. I thought the bracelets were lovely, but it was not what I wanted. I love the traditional, but was drawn back to Wil’s blanket. Finally, I brought home the glass beadwork done in arrows, rainbows, and feathers. I have worn it a good deal of the time.

When I saw them again, I showed them my arm with their work. Wil was so excited, asked if he could feel my braclet. He moanead with pleasure and said I had one of the “good ones”. Right after I bought the metals went up so much in price he had to make the bracelets in lighter weights to break even; it broke his heart to lessen his work. He shined my braclet and stroked it like it was an old friend. Vira had her ear rings this time and was working on a stud version, which is presenting her problems in weight and size. She said the price of glass beads any smaller than these really went up in price, again limiting what they could make and sell.

We had a good visit and I brought home a pair of ear rings while I could still afford them!

I also brought home a pair of glass ear rings made by a potter whose aging hands can no longer handle the heavy clay. She has carpel tunnel too so has gone to this lovely glass work. George has her work in the Santa Fe Art Museum’s gift shop as well as a friend’s pottery studio.

In my childhood, the bracelets never came off, but these days I change them often to enjoy the many different designs and choices. Some people never leave home without a watch on; I always have a bracelet—or two or three!

Teacup Tuesday One More Time

2011-10-03T16:50:00.000-07:00

I have not posted on Teacup Tuesday because I had my cup/pot addiction under control. I did not NEED anymore; I had no room for more. But on our Western excursion, I slipped back into obsession mode with the urging of DH.

I think it was Walsenburg, Colorado where this tea set jumped into the truck. We had toured, ridden the train at Alamosa, and were starting the trek home. We came on a charming downtown district with a whole string of inviting antique stores. Before I could get beyond the front door of the first shop, DH called me saying I had to see what he had just found. It was a charming little set of pieces in a dogwood pattern. I didn’t need them, but I looked. It was nice I said, but…

DH said they were worth the money as they were so cheap. Cheap or not, I had no place for them. But they were from England he said. I did not succumb. Then he read on the mark that they were bone china and I was a goner. I had to bring them home; I would share the pieces with others I rationalized.

DH was excited over this incomplete set for some reason. There were no cups, but the egg cup was a sweet addition. When we got home, I washed them up and set them out to dry. DH came into the kitchen and asked me where I was going to set them. I waved my arm across the house and said, “You tell me.” Ah, there was NO place.

So I worked an egg cup in here, a pitcher in there and yes, it is too crowed in the hutch. The little tea pot sits next to some pink floral cups right now, and the pink dogwood compliments them nicely. So for now, we enjoy the dogwood until I can get around to dividing them and sharing with others the joy of bone china!

Sisters of Loretto Chapel

2011-10-02T07:06:00.000-07:00

Years ago on our first visit to Santa Fe and with two boys in tow, we visited the Loretto Chapel. This chapel was ordered built in 1872 by Bishop Lamy for a convent. The architect was French and the chapel shows French designs. But he died before finishing the chapel and there was no staircase built to the choir loft.

So the nuns prayed to St. Joseph for help. A ragged stranger appeared, said he had to be left entirely alone, and three months later a spiral staircase of unknown wood with no supports was finished without nails. The stranger suddenly disappeared. The Sisters of Loretto felt it was a miracle stair built by St. Joseph himself in answer to their prayers.

DH never believed this miracle as some others didn’t either. But on this last trip he was willing, in fact asked, to go back and see this helix of wood. He still has no answer for how it is made, but he is sure it is something of this world!

This chapel is beautiful without a doubt. The pictures do not do the insides justice. Note the tree of rosaries outside the chapel. New Mexico has had some rough religious times, some ugly happenings in the name of faith. No matter what your belief though, this northern corner of New Mexico is a spiritual place, full of devout people living an old dedicated path to God.

Home Again

2011-09-30T06:45:00.000-07:00

Home again and a mammoth laundry had to be done first so we would have clothes to wear. The grass was not so tall that mowing couldn’t wait. The refrigerator was empty but a little milk and relying on the freezer would keep me out of the grocery store for a few days.

Coming into town, a town known for the vibrant hues of maples trees in the autumn, we could not help but notice the absence of color. The summer had been so hot and dry that the few trees that were beginning to change showed on russet where scarlet usually waved. Some leaves are crispy dry and will have no color this year. A few yellows tinge the edges of trees, but we were ever more thankful of seeing the pulsating and flamboyant shades of the West’s autumn.

The air here is like the mountains now. The mornings are a tad chilly and the sun warms up the afternoons. It is gorgeous weather really and so like the perfect days on our trip. The mornings are darker now though. The dawn is dark enough I can’t go out to read on the deck until later in the day. I hate that. But the pictures and memories of the West will wrap around me for a while, extending the pleasures and taking me into the coming winter days.

Way West, Day Seven

2011-09-28T17:52:00.000-07:00

We are wearing down earlier now. In the mornings we start the day a little later, go a few less miles. It is okay. This trip was intended to be slow and full of leisure. So far, our travel has been true to plan.

This morning we got up and hung around Chama. We have ridden the steam train here a few years ago. It was a wonderful ride, my favorite steam ride yet. The main part of town is maybe three blocks. We found a sweet train shirt for Baby Simon, had a glass of iced tea, and headed up the road.

I had marked Dulce as a next stop. Dulce is the headquarters of the Jicarilla Apache nation. Their reservation is somewhat different than the pueblos south of them. A Plains Indian, they did not use the high rise rock and adobe homes. Those on this reservation live in traditional homes now; their schools are beautiful. A sharp young Apache mother invited me to apply for a teaching position with the tribal schools. She had reared three children as a single mom and had two in college and one in sixth grade. She was proud of her mothering and rightly so!

This woman guided us to a 17 mile gravel road to Pagosa Springs. We took it and the land held its own beauty but was rough. The Apache reservation is one more example of how an indigenous people was pushed on to worthless land to live. About halfway through the back road, we pulled over and ate a picnic lunch. There was not one sound…silence was beautiful.

Then we pulled in to Pagosa where we were so tired we registered at something akin to the infamous Bates Motel! Knowing the room was not going to be very comfortable, we took a dash into town. We visited a couple of antique stores, a wonderful independent book store (and no, I could not leave without a book in hand!), visited a park with a stream running through it, and then stopped at a local joint for an icy Coors and onion rings. Neither of us wanted a meal. Then back to the rough but cheap room for sleep as both were tired.

Day Eight

This morning I made tea in the room, but I longed for my own deck. Like old people, we were thinking of home and its familiar comforts! But we are packed up and headed East now. Oh, what beautiful day! The aspens were beginning to turn and the cottonwoods were bright saffron! We climbed to the top of the Continental Divide where we found the Lobo Trail. It went up three miles to a meadowy mountain top where we once took our children. The drive is narrow and rough. We found a spotted Paint with a halter on...strange. We tried to feed her an apple, but she wouldn’t have it. Finally, she let us pass. Once at the mountain top, we ate an early lunch and just soaked up the sun. Coming down, we talked to a hunter who was saddling the Paint that had wandered away from his hunting camp. The hunter had taken a five point elk and had seen a bear with her cub in doing so.

A leisurely drive on into Alamosa, Colorado where we rest for the night…and finally have some internet connection!

Day Nine

It was up and to the train station early this morning. We rode the Rio Grande Scenic Railroad out of Alamosa to LaVeta.

It was chilly at first, but warmed up some on the 3 ½ hour ride. At two hours the train stopped and unloaded part of the passengers at an outdoor theater for a concert of local musicians. The rest of us rode on to La Veta, a tiny berg about two blocks long. There were a few gift shops, a potter, and a local library that has earned a five star rating for what such a tiny library can do. Also on Main Street was the Friends of the Library book store where everything was volunteered and all proceeds went to this nice library. DH and I bought a few! The only other thing I bought in the town was 3 lbs. of Anasazi beans.

Then it was another 3 ½ hour ride back to Alamosa. But we had singing cowboys this time. What fun! They played guitars and fiddles all the way back down the mountains.

Day Ten

We slept really well last night due to the wind and sun on the train ride. We took a slow start to the day knowing that we were heading home. Now the road meandered past Colorado ranches, pastures filled with well-fed horses. The colors took another slight change, adding more russet and sienna foliage to the yellows and oranges. How I wish I could gather up the color and hand it to my friends. Gorgeous stuff!

We rolled through towns that were mere crossroads. Some were pristine and neat, others rugged and almost ghost town in nature. We stopped at a few antique stores where there were more branding irons, calf weaners and spurs among the dishes and collectibles than at home. DH found a small tea set for a cheap price. I did not need it, although it was pretty. DH thought it a too much a bargain to walk away from, and read to me is was English. When he read bone china too, I was sold. We brought it home.

By early afternoon, we turned and faced the broad expanse of plains vistas again. Nothing sadder than seeing the jagged beauty of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in your rearview mirror! Reluctantly I blew a kiss to the Spanish Peaks, and I took a turn at driving. I was like a saddle horse who knows he is heading for a bag of oats in the barn. The ride was over and I could only focus on home. I drove seven more hours. Adding that to DH’s own six, the thirteen hours put us way past the smelly feed lots of Dodge City. Tomorrow we will see Wichita again.

This has been a lovely trip, a reward for the ugly summer we put in here in Missouri. Driving on the highway today we counted up what we had done this summer for fun. Our list held next to nothing…no fishing, swimming, picnicking, biking, travel, and only ONE tea on the deck. So despite the horrors of Summer 2011, we have had some nice experiences in the West before heading into winter!

Way West, Day Six

2011-09-27T18:48:00.000-07:00

A slow rising this morning, but DH wanted to see the Chapel of Loretto again. We had seen it years ago, and he never believed the staircase in the chapel was a miracle. But he wanted to check it out again as he is amazed by the carpenter’s craftsmanship. Oh, it is a beautiful place!

Since we had another good parking place, I took another turn at the vendors under the portal. I was glad I looked again because I found several nice things with vendors different from the day before.

About noon, we got some crackers and a drink to eat on the road north. We took our time, took some side roads again, and visited Abiqui where Georgia O’Keefe painted. We got tied up with a local storyteller who was a dandy. His stories will be shared another day. He told us how to drive the mile path that O’Keefe walked while she lived in the village. It was interesting to see.

The rest of the afternoon was moseying through O’Keefe country. We did not make it very far, coming into Chama about 4:30. But we had had nothing to eat other than crackers so we were quite hungry! We stopped at a small grocery where we found cooked chops, potato salad, bread, and paper plates we took to a motel room for our lunch/supper.

Day Seven
We are wearing down earlier now. In the mornings we start the day a little later, go a few less miles. It is okay. This trip was intended to be slow and full of leisure. So far, our travel has been true to plan.

This morning we got up and hung around Chama. We have ridden the steam train here a few years ago. It was a wonderful ride, my favorite steam ride yet. The main part of town is maybe three blocks. We found a sweet train shirt for Baby Simon, had a glass of iced tea, and headed up the road.

I had marked Dulce as a next stop. Dulce is the headquarters of the Jicarilla Apache nation. Their reservation is somewhat different than the pueblos south of them. A Plains Indian, they did not use the high rise rock and adobe homes. Those on this reservation live in traditional homes now; their schools are beautiful. A sharp young Apache mother invited me to apply for a teaching position with the tribal schools. She had reared three children as a single mom and had two in college and one in sixth grade. She was proud of her mothering and rightly so!

This woman guided us to a 17 mile gravel road to Pagosa Springs. We took it and the land held its own beauty but was rough. The Apache reservation is one more example of how an indigenous people was pushed on to worthless land to live. About halfway through the back road, we pulled over and ate a picnic lunch. There was not one sound…silence was beautiful.

Then we pulled in to Pagosa where we were so tired we registered at something akin to the infamous Bates Motel! Knowing the room was not going to be very comfortable, we took a dash into town. We visited a couple of antique stores, a wonderful independent book store (and no, I could not leave without a book in hand!), visited a park with a stream running through it, and then stopped at a local joint for an icy Coors and onion rings. Neither of us wanted a meal. Then back to the rough but cheap room for sleep as both were tired.

Way West, Day Five

2011-09-27T05:37:00.000-07:00

We got up early so we could find decent parking near the Plaza. Stopped in some early shops and then checked out the Indian jewelry spread on blankets under the portal at the Palace of Governors. The local First People compete in a lottery for the right to sell here, and they must be juried worthy of participating first.

Then DH sat in the Plaza square while I burned my feet running store to store, mostly just to see. Everything was too expensive for my blood. I found the proverbial tourist tee shirt; in the dress shops I saw a tee top for $465!!! It stayed right there too. A knitted stocking cap was $150.

For lunch our favorite local place on the square was closed for remodeling. So someone on a park bench directed us to The Shed, local food for nearly 50 years. It was good. DH had his with no chile of course. I had mine served Christmas, that is a little red and a little green. Both chile sauces had a nice bite.

After lunch we were getting tired but drove down Canyon Road. We passed on going into the galleries and wound our way through Santa Fe’s crooked streets to our motel for some reading and resting. Later after a sandwich in our room, we went out to check out the Cowgirl Bar and Grill. The guide book said it was a good place to people watch in Santa Fe.

This was true. Since we had no desire for a full meal, we sat at the community tables with a nightcap. There we were entertained beyond belief by all local fellows. One fellow was a wee bit in his cups already, but he was interesting. He was a great great- descendent of a man who traveled with Coronado and who later received Spanish land grants. The family had raised sheep until the sheep/cattle wars when they changed to cattle. Daniel said it was safer for them! There were other great stories from the others as well, but when Daniel decided he wanted to take us home with him, we decided we better return to the motel for the rest of the night.

Way West, Day Three

2011-09-25T20:13:00.000-07:00

We left Guymon, Oklahoma and headed west. The expanse of the land was amazing, sky blue beyond belief. We could drive the highway for a hundred miles and only meet maybe seven cars. The sage gave way to spiny cactus and pointy yuccas. The earth showed shades of cinnamon, sand, and rose. Gradually pronghorns appeared. They are shy creatures and skittish. I was lucky to get some good snaps today.

One stretch of road turned to gravel for seventeen miles, but it was some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable. The grass was irrigated and green as a cucumber. It was open range and we spotted a small group of gorgeous buffalo.

At Folsom, a village with a population of 85, we stopped at the local museum. It was a rugged little place, but trying to preserve and present the local history. Their claim to fame is the Folsom Man and Folsom arrow point are named after this village.

Ten miles down the road the National Park service hosts visits to the Capulin Volcano, a now dead volcano. A two mile drive to the top of the cone is beautiful and amazing. One can see other cone shaped volcanoes active during the same period as Capulin. It is highly possible that Folsom Man walked and hunted the area and heard the eruptions of Capulin.

On down the road, through the Cimarron canyon where we found a mule deer in the road, and a night’s stop at Eagle’s Nest, New Mexico for some sleep.

Day Four

It was 33 degrees when we got up in Eagle’s Nest. Burr! We headed out early looking for wildlife. Gradually the temp rose to the 60s and hit 81 before the day was done. We traveled in an area we had been in before, but we took all new roads, back roads. They were beautiful and sometimes challenging. One narrow back road brought us right to an alpaca farm outside Mora. Those animals were darling romping across the fields. Mora has a weaving studio, and the alpaca hair must be handy!

We then took a twisty road through a forested mountainous region that feed into the High Road to Taos. Part of that High Road we had been on before and recognized the turn into Chimayo. We went to see the Chimayo church which we had seen before. Nearby we bought some fresh dried chilies from Hatch, New Mexico. Chimayo had been so dry all summer with water shortage, the farmers were denied the right to plant chile fields. Then we had a lovely lunch at El Rancho de Chimayo. The day was perfect for dining on the patio where we ate regional foods.

Then we continued working towards Santa Fe. This trip we took the time to visit several pueblos, Santa Clara being the first. We passed on San Indelfonso due to a fee just to drive in and more fees for camera, etc. It looked like the rest so we passed. We drove through Tesuque pueblo and on into Santa Fe for the night.

Way West, Day Two

2011-09-25T20:03:00.000-07:00

Day Two ...Driving was lovely today as we moved across Kansas. The fields of row crops and corn stalks the color of tea stain waiting for harvesting gave way to sage and desert looking soil. I caught a glimpse of a pheasant which is hard to do these days. I wished we could have gone back to watch him a while.

In Mead we drove by a one-time hide out of the Dalton Gang. We were too early for a tour. Supposedly the outlaws used an underground path from the house to the barn to escape the law.

In Liberal we looked up the air museum again. Enjoyed it all over one more time and missed seeing a B17 by three weeks. The big item of interest here is a B 25 Mitchell,,,also a plane like the one President Geo. H. Bush flew and crashed into the WWII Pacific.

Way West, Day One

2011-09-24T14:22:00.000-07:00

Day 1---It seemed a bit unfair to have survived the horrid heat and draining drought only to face sheets of rain water once we finally decided to go somewhere, but that was the scenario when we drove out, when we headed West. The temp dropped as well down into the chilly 50s, and buckets of rain dimmed our view. We pushed on, held on to optimism but three hours later near Beaumont we decided to cancel the Cow Town visit. Then only fifteen minutes later we watched temps rise ten degrees as we drove under diminishing clouds. We went back to plan A.

We drove straight to Cow Town noticing how dead downtown Wichita was on a Saturday. It was sad because any city should have some bustle on the weekends. The museum areas did have some business though, and we had company at Cow Town. This reconstructed western town of the late 1800s has been open for over 40 years, but we had avoided it, thinking might be a commercial touristy place. But being in an Old West mood, it was my pick to visit. It was not disappointing.

A small entrance fee let you into the grounds where you could walk not only among but into the buildings, some brought in from other Kansas areas. The streets and board sidewalks looked authentic. It was wonderful to walk about and even go down to a typical farm of the era at the edge of town. While visitors could buy a soda or bags of snacks in the saloon, nothing else was for sale there. Even the horse and wagon rides were free. I could have ridden a lot longer. The horses were Percherons, bred for the Kansas plains and draft work. Their feet were huge and their shoulders thick, but they stood shorter than regular Percherons. The driver said these horses were used for pulling in the area up until the 1950’s.

Then it was time to go to our son’s and see the grand dog. It has been nearly five months since we had seen either. Storm is a lover and welcomed us royally!