Bill Cairns and Into the Hornets' Nest

Right after the tornado hit Joplin, Bill Cairns came to help with clean up. He also submitted his poetry to Storm Country, and he then he called me asking where to take a load of books he wanted to bring to ravaged Joplin. Then his tornado poem was chosen to be put to music and sung in the rotunda of the Missouri Capitol. Now Bill has just published a humdinger of a young adult novel titled Into the Hornets’ Nest.

When I met Bill in Jefferson City, he told me he was a carpenter, but he said nothing about writing a book. Now after reading his YA publication, I see that his carpentry skills served him well because he really did a fine job constructing this book. His metaphors are strong and vivid without being stretched a bit too far. “Red molasses flowed like lava around splinters of blood” describes the fatal wound Jesse’s horse receives near battle. His verb choices are excellent, moving the action and story along at a strong clip just like a sharp saw blade. The tale is told with intense scenes full of developments that keep the reader turning pages.

Into the Hornets’ Nest is set in the Civil War. Jesse, the main character, is a saucy character and very likable. He suffers from a piercing case of sibling rivalry with his older brother. When Wallace goes off to fight, he is killed, and Jesse later begins an odyssey that takes him South out of Yankee territory, shows him the horrors of war, and introduces him to the evils of slavery.  

Although the book displays mannerisms and details of the Civil War era, the story is about human relationships universal themes. For example, the sibling rivalry Jesses feels is an honest and normal reaction of little brothers in any time period. The author is careful not to write “Yankee” or “Rebel” too often, but to expose the universal pain and anguish experienced by both sides in any war. Bill puts leveling words into a doctor’s mouth as he explains to Jesse, “You have winners and losers in every war, son. Some deserve it, some don’t. But sometimes it takes a war to set the world right.” I like this. We don’t live in black and white worlds, but often we have to be big enough to choose the lesser of two difficult positions.

While adults will find it an enjoyable read, Into the Hornets’ Nest is a great book for younger readers. Bill’s book has wonderful potential for thought-provoking class discussions on race, war, family, prejudice, honesty and much more. I hope some discerning teachers will pick up this YA and utilize it in class. Both boys and girls can enjoy this valuable read. 

Teacup Tuesday, Black Cup

It has been quite a while since I participated in Teacup Tuesday. I just had nothing new and I did not want anything new as I have NO place left in this house for “stuff”.  I have been weeding tiny things, one at a time. However, last week when we did the Wichita trip, I did visit one Goodwill, one estate sale, one gift shop, and one flea market. You know I did not come out the doors empty handed! A book here, a dollie there…you know how it goes.

I found a black cup and saucer. I had been wanting one black cup. I wasn’t crazy about the handle on this one, but I did love the black. I thought the white rose would somehow connect with other roses I have. I can’t find anything out about the mark with the knight, but I think this is Chugai China. It is stamped made in Occupied Japan. The cup was marked half price and I got the owner down another five dollars. It was a very decent buy.

At the estate sale, I bought one thing…a piece with lacy edge for $1.75. It is too large for a dollie, too small for a table cloth. It probably would fit nicely as a table topper, but I have no need for that. It would make a nice cover for an outside tea table. I am not sure how I will use it. Any suggestions?

At the flea market I found a brand new electric tea pot. I have been wanting one but not sure why. I do NOT need this, but I thought the pot prettier than some. It has never been used and the cord was still wrapped like it came from the factory. Surely, the need will arise when I will glad I have this, don’t you think?

Now rule here is, One Thing In, Two Go Out. Now I have to part with something. Hum, my math tells me six items should go out before I place these things. Oh, that is ridiculous, don’t you think? I will work on this!

What Was I Thinking?

Those who are longtime readers of this page know my love of Blue Willow dishes. It all began as heartbreak when I was five years old and my own toy set was broken. When I finally had a home of my own as a newlywed, I found a used cup and saucer in the pattern. How I prized that blue and white! Then in the 70’s lots of Willow showed up in the pages of Country Living since Blue Willow was a common dish in Colonial and Primitive periods. My mother-in-law began to decorate and use blue and white which I loved. I started  picking up a plate here, a cup there. It was hard to find and DH got in on the search because he came to love the pattern too.

Suddenly, it feels like the dishes are breeding like rabbits. This table is just ONE plastic storage bin for the least used pieces. Then there are the loaded kitchen cabinets because I believe in using my loved things, not just owning them. The hutch, both above and below, is full. There are odd pieces out and about on tables.

So, I decided this weekend to gather it all up together and weed. But that is hard to do! DH would see a piece and say surely it was worth keeping. Then, what if things got broken? Here were replacements in our hoard. In the end, I did find some lesser pieces and duplicates I could sacrifice but not many.

Oh, downsizing is so painful because I love pieces like they are my children. Each was bought on a trip, on a memorable day, or somehow reminds me of the joy of the hunt. But…I must turn loose of something here in this house with hopes that someone will love my pieces for me. 

Cousin Cel Plant and More

My Cousin Cel Plant is about 17 years old. I keep taking starts from her for others and for myself. I got my own start from my friend Tracy who got her start from her real Cousin Cel years ago. We aren’t sure of the plant’s real name, but it is related to the African violet family. It is sometimes called trumpet vine, Flame violet, or Brown Boy. I am not sure all these are correct, however. The plant vines, but don’t turn it regularly towards the sun because it will twist on itself causing the heavy vines to break.

My own Cousin Cel sits in a west window. The leaves grow as big as saucers and in the height of the red flower phases, the tiny red trumpets can stream down towards the floor like a red waterfall. Eventually, the center of the plant looks sparse and a little ugly. Thus, I keep a start going to replant the pot and start over once a year or so. I give starts to others with the hope that there will always be a Cousin Cel growing somewhere for a needed start should my master plant ever die.

Last week’s dog sitting/fence building went well consider the severe heat. Wichita was one hot place! Fence building started at dawn, but by 11:00 a.m. outside was unbearable. While DH build fence, I wrote like crazy inside. The plan was to stop and do fun things after our work, but by then DH was so tired and rung out, we did little. Even to and from the truck was hot and sweltering. We did visit one estate sale, one Goodwill store, and our very favorite independent bookstore, the Watermark. We ate lunch there where all sandwiches are named after books. My favorite is The Godfather, salami and cheese on  ciabatta bread with a wonderful sauce inside.

Any visit with Storm is wonderful. No matter what is going on in our lives, this dog is joyous to see us, and it warms the heart to be so wanted. She was sad not to get but one ride because it was just too hot for her in the truck. One day I did take her to Sonic down the street for a quickie, and she said it was a good rain check for a longer ride later!

Just before leaving for this Wichita job, DH finished building himself a tool chest. I think it is pretty enough to be a piece of furniture. He 

turned the walnut knobs himself. The line of color in the drawer is cherry mixed with oak. He built his own wooden slides just to see if he could…and then they were money savers too.

The heat and drought continue to ravage the Midwest today.  A friend watered my flowers while I was gone or I would have crispy blooms. She managed to keep them alive. This morning I had my tea on the deck at 6 am. I was so tired still, it was hard to get up, but I knew if I did not feel outside air then, I would be trapped inside today. Even at dawn the air was warm but a delightful breeze made the air move at least. Gradually, I could feel the heat coming like hot fog arriving. It is good to be home though, and already I look forward to tomorrow’s dawn when I can be among my flowers for tea from a teapot for a short spell anyway.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

Yes, I admit to having a little OCD. I am not wildly dysfunctional, but I have little twinges of peculiarities. I think we all do. When I was a kid, I believed that “Don’t Step on a Crack” adage for fear I would hurt my mom. I knew it was superstitious but didn’t want to take a chance! If I inadvertently stepped on a crack, I only went ahead a half a block or so before returning, stepping over said crack, and undoing any bad karma I had set up.

I took the phrase “salt and pepper” seriously. Salt should definitely come first and then pepper. To pepper my summer tomatoes and then salt them just never felt right! Oh, I never ate saltines with the salt side up. Don’t ask me why; I don’t know.

When I was a young mother, I often went back to check and make sure I had locked the front door. Now in my golden years, I return from down the street just to make sure I left no pan on the stove with a pesky fire below it.

When I was first married, DH could not understand some of my habits, but then the feeling was mutual. He could be weird about stuff too! When he found a record (remember those?) he liked, it played it over and over on the stereo.  I don’t mean twice, I mean over and over and over…no other records in the stack. OCD, ya think? He could not eat grapefruit with a grapefruit spoon. Had to dig it out, pour into a bowl, clean up the mess, wash his hands, sweeten it all with sugar (I use salt) and then eat it. A raccoon at the local river bank couldn’t handle his food more!

Then there was making a bed. DH could not see the sense of expending energy fixing something you were going to crawl back into in twelve hours. I on the other hand, could not dress or brush my teeth until the bed was made. Studies now show there is a psychological advantage for people making their beds in the morning. I did not need a federally funded study to know that when you walk out to face the world each day, a well-made bed at your back is the first step to a well-organized day. A made bed says all is right with the world and besides, it will feel better to crawl into smooth bedding at night instead of set of rumpled sheets with more piles than the bargain table at a garage sale.

Related to the made bed is the drawers of a dresser. A sock peeking out near the drawer pull or a tail of a tee shirt waving from a bureau never gave DH pause.  I asked him if he had never listened to Captain Kangaroo. Captain always said to look behind you before you left your bedroom each morning and to fix any raggedy looking drawers. “You made that up!” DH accused. No, I did not but I listened to Captain and took the lesson well.

This week I went out to straighten the deck. I don’t clean it, dust it (or apparently anything else these days!) or mop the boards. But I do like the umbrella down each night and all chairs to be pushed in at the table. Another childhood lesson: who doesn’t remember being taught to push her little oak chair in at the big group tables? My kindergarten teacher friends are still teaching that one.

DH heard me say, “I am fixing the chairs like all good five year olds know to do.” 

He snapped, “I guess I was absent that day!”

I guess he was, indeed!

So, what did Captain Kangaroo teach you or how do you salt?

Writing a Picture

I head for Kansas. I know, most people think of Kansas  as Flyover Country, Drive-by Land, No Where, a Desert of Wheat, or some other such moniker. I will admit the far western reaches can be sparse of interesting things unless you have a good eye for seeing pheasants among the fields. But the eastern third of Kansas has trees, vales, creeks, grasses, and a thinning of people. It is a beautiful place. Nothing nicer than driving over a rise and seeing the Flint Hills spread before you.

I’ll acknowledge that the heat gets pretty oppressive, but then the heat everywhere is a strangling monster these days. With not enough rain added to the high heat, corn burns where it stands. There are very few wildflowers right now. And the blue haze of Kansas heat stretches across the endless view. Still I find the landscape inspiring.

I was constantly digging in my purse for pen and note pad as we bowled down Highway 400. DH asked me what in the world I was doing, constantly moving. Well, I had a thought, or a word, or a phrase that I did not want to lose. How about this alliterative one? The heat caused the Kansas blue haze to hover near the endless horizon.

Painters take their palettes, canvases and easels outside to paint, to create, to replicate. Writers can do the same. For me the rolling earth full of crevices and rises, that were once a floor to a great inland sea, make me want to paint with words. An office is nice, but getting out being part of the landscape is beneficial too.

So where do you create your written masterpieces?

Where is your inspiration?

Rings on My Fingers

I remember seeing people with rings on many fingers, and wondered why they wore so many. Was it a display of wealth, of poor taste, of glamour? I now wear rings on every finger, and an older lady was amazed by the many rings. I told her I had to wear them all at once because I did not have enough years left to wear them all one at a time!

This morning I had a harbinger of fading things. At 5:45 it was still dark out, a dusky dark but I knew it meant the days were becoming shorter. While heat scorches me and wilts my drive, still I find it hard to yearn for autumn yet. But while watering flowers, I saw that a season change was whispering in my ear. Several spider webs, shiny with a dab of dew, are a sure sign that things are beginning to turn that direction. The geranium leaves were no longer a solid a green the shade of an avocado; the tips of some were sun-bleached to a lime hue.

Saturday was my high school class reunion, another sign of days and years passing. We have lost a couple of classmates and know that now the years will begin snatching a toll on our numbers with the passing time. Next reunion in five years will be the 50^th, a half a century for Pete’s Sakes! How did that happen? Only yesterday we were wearing Poor Boy shirts, listening to the Stones, and moving with nimble and limber bodies. Now we bend slower, sit longer, are thicker in the middle, and wear hair either in shades of gray or sliding to the back of our heads. One thing had not changed…the laughter and, of course, the memories. Cars rust, bodies change, money vanishes, and job titles change, but nothing can take away the memories of being sixteen once and laughing riotously with life.

Slender threads of spider lace…memories…hum, maybe I better go buy a new ring for my fingers!