September 2024 Reading List

 How quickly the months pass, taking with them the seasons. Autumn is upon us now, my favorite time of the year; only six books read this month.

What Time the Sexton's Spade Doth Rust is Alan Bradley's tenth Flavia de Luce book and the first in five years. I was happy to see that he is still writing. Flavia is growing up, still persuing her murder solving expertise, now along with the aid of her pest of young cousin, Undine. There is a very big surprise in this book - one that I never would have guessed - and won't spoil by divulging.

The Invisible Hour is one of Alice Hoffman's latest books. I really like her books of magic realism. This one is about a young girl born and raised in a strict commune located in Western Massachusetts. Reading books is not allowed but she discovers the library in the nearby town and its nurturing librarian. She finds a very old copy of Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter and travels back in time to meet the author.

Something Worth Doing is by Jane Kirkpatrick, a new author for me. I have to admit, I was mixing her up with a different author, but I did like reading about Abigail Scott Duniway (1834-1915) "the pioneer Woman Suffragist of the great Northwest". 

The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd is a book now more than twenty years old. I know I read and liked it when it first came out but I had forgotten the storyline. I decided to read it again and liked it just as much as the first time.

Death At The Sign Of The Rook is Kate Atkinson's sixth novel in her Jackson Brodie series and the first one since 2019. I was so glad to see this one. He is one of my favorite characters. 

The Women by Kristin Hannah is a novel about the women nurses who served in the Vietnam war. It covers a side of the war which wasn't well known and shows how the men weren't the only ones to suffer PTSD. I was especially moved by the closing of the book when the main character and two of her fellow nurses finally feel recognized when they attend the dedication of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington D.C. in 1982. 

The Vietnam Women's Memorial was not installed until 1993. It is a short distance from the Wall.

I took this photo of it when we were there in 2008.

Alan Bradley and Kate Atkinson are two of my 'adopted authors' at Gibson Memorial Library in Creston. Not only do I pay for the books, I get to read them first. I hope it isn't another five years before they have new books to enjoy. 😊

Words Can Hurt Or Heal

This poem really speaks to me because, like the author, I am in love with words.

Words By Anne Sexton

Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
and leave not a sting but a kiss.
They can be as good as fingers.
They can be as trusty as the rock
you stick your bottom on.
But they can be both daisies and bruises.
Yet I am in love with words.
They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
They are the trees, the legs of summer,
and the sun, its passionate face.
Yet often they fail me.
I have so much I want to say,
so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
But the words aren’t good enough,
the wrong ones kiss me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
but with the wings of a wren.
But I try to take care
and be gentle to them.
Words and eggs must be handled with care.
Once broken they are impossible
things to repair.

American poet Anne Sexton (1928-1974) was known for her personal, confessional poems. She won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1967 for her book Live or Die. 

My friend Kristina introduced me to her poetry. I remember looking for her book in the Barnes & Noble in West Des Moines when it was still at 22nd St. and University Avenue.

Patterning Our Place

 

I've always admired and treasured the pillow cases, dish towels, quilts, doilies and all the other handwork pieces made by my grandmothers and other family members.

This little doily is doubly meaningful - not only did my Grandmother Ridnour make it (R for Ridnour) - but it is now R for Ramona. Even the bit of color on the outer edge is one of "my" colors.

This morning I saw this quote from Clare Hunter's book Threads of Life - A History of the World Through the Eye of  a Needle.

"Sewing is a way to mark our existence on cloth: patterning our place in the world, voicing our identity, sharing something of ourselves with others and leaving the indelible evidence of our presence in stitches held fast by our touch."  

It caused me to think anew about the time and talents expended by the women whose craftworks have passed on to me and that I'm now passing on to my daughter and granddaughters.

Like these candlewick pillows Grandma Delphia embroidered for me.

And the crocheted piece hanging on the wall which was made by her mother, Great-grandma Matilda Means.

I never had enough patience to learn how to knit even though people tried to teach me how because "it is so relaxing". It only made me tense because I just could not understand their instructions.

But my daughter is a very talented knitter and has made me lovely knitted pieces including these two scarves.

The only craftwork that I did achieve was some simple embroidery that I recall Grandma Lynam teaching me.

I 'wanted' to learn to crochet and tat which Grandma Ridnour was willing to show me how to do but I just could not get it. That is one of her tatted pieces on the left. The embroderied pad on the right was made by my Mom, Ruth, for her hope chest. I think it was her trial piece before she embroidered many more blocks for her Water Lilies quilt.

I had so many sets of pillow cases and dish towels given to me as shower/wedding gifts. They came from my grandmothers, aunts, great aunts, neighbors. Some of them were used so much they wore out. Others were "good as new" which I have now passed on to family members.

They may not 'speak' like diaries and autograph books, but thanks to Ms. Hunter's quote, I now realize they do have a lasting voice.

A Sentient Being

It is SW Iowa Hot Air Balloon Days in Creston this weekend and the weather is not cooperating. 
I probably won't see/photograph any going over our house and pond this year as I have been able to in the past, so I'm grateful to see pictures of ones that were flying last night. 

This photo is from our local newspaper's FB page.

Oliver Sacks (1933-2015) was a neurologist, naturalist, historian and writer. I recently read these quotes of his on gratitude:

"I cannot pretend that I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers.

Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormouse privilege and adventure."

And this one: "I find my thoughts, increasingly, not on the supernatural or spiritual, but on what is meant by living a good and worthwhile life -- achieving a sense of peace within oneself."

Someone shared this gorgeous photo on FB. The clouds I'm seeing out my window this morning look very much like those.

Family members can most likely identify the first thing I noticed in the photo - the rocks. I wish I could just reach in and pick them up and examine them - picking out a few special ones to cart home. 

I'm ready - wearing my "Wait, I see a rock" tee shirt.

I'm grateful for all the years and all the adventures I had hunting rocks. 

Safe!

 

Acceptance

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.'

This poem, by Robert Frost, is one I don't believe I've ever read before. 

Let what will be, be. 💛

Perfect September

"All the months are crude experiments, out of which the perfect September is made."  (Virginia Wolff)

This beautiful Monday morning I did what I mentioned five days ago - took myself for a drive out into the countryside.

A half mile after stopping for this picture, I paused on a bridge to see how much water was in the little stream -- and scared up a big blue heron.

Of course I missed a perfect photo op! 

The countryside around here is a sea of yellow in every direction.

I think these are Prairie Sunflowers.

Goldenrod is also plentiful along the roadsides.

As is Chicory - one of the few colors of blue that I like.

These were along the road between Green Valley Lake and Summit Lake.

A broader view of the wetlands between the aforementioned lakes.

Before driving across the dam at Green Valley Lake, I stopped to take this photo of the sun sparkling on the water.

It was even brighter than it photographs.

Grasses are among my favorite sights during the fall months.

I love their subdued colors.

Combo pic of Prairie Sunflowers, Goldenrod and grasses.

Home after my brief expedition to be greeted by these clouds and some changing colors across the pond.

"I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order." (John Burroughs)

Froggie Went A-Courtin''

Frogs and toads are both amphibians and closely related.  When I think of one, I often think of the other.

The nursery rhyme song, which dates back to 16th century Scotland, is about a frog.

This post is about a toad and my thoughtful HD. (Hubby Dearest)

The photo of a toad in my flower bed is one I took  four years ago.

Froggie Went A-Courtin' 

Froggie went a-courtin, he did ride, sword and pistol by his side.

Rode right up to Miss Mousie's door, gave three raps and a very loud roar.

Said he, "Miss Mousie, are you within?"  "Yes, kind sir, I sit and spin."

He took Miss Mousie on his knee, said "Miss Mousie, will you marry me?"

"Without my Uncle Rat's consent, I would not marry the President."

Uncle Rat he laughed and shook his sides, to think his niece would be a bride.

Uncle Rat went a-running down to town, to buy his niece a wedding gown.

Where shall the wedding supper be? Way down yonder in hollow tree.

What shall the wedding supper be? A fried mosquito and a black-eyed pea.

First to come was a flying moth, she laid out the table cloth.

Next to come a Juney bug, carrying a water jug.

Next to come was bumblebee, set his fiddle on his knee.

Next to come was chickadee, danced a jig with bumblebee.

Next to come was Missus Cow, tried to dance but didn't know how.

Next to come was a big black snake, ate up all the wedding cake.

Little piece of biscuit lying on the shelf, if you want more you can sing it yourself!

Bud often brings me something he has picked up on his daily walk - a coin, a trinket, something shiny. Recently he opened the outside door and called to me to come see what he had brought. I wondered why he didn't just bring it in as he usually does but I went out to the patio where he proudly proferred a toad.

When he went past the club house some people were doing some raking and trimming and found the toad. They didn't know what to do with it, but HD knew - bring it home to me.

He knows how much I value the toads in my flower beds and under the deck. I wonder how many other women have a mate who brings them toads? I am one lucky spouse.

(Little brown toad I found under the deck also four years ago.)

Finding Joy

So many times I have lain awake dwelling on matters that I can't take care of or control anymore. It makes the future seem bleak when you can no longer enjoy the activities you once did. I know things seem worse during the wee hours of morning and most of the time I can convince myself to go back to sleep. But once in awhile.....

There are reasons things always seem worse at night. One is that the brain isn't fully functioning which makes emotions feel more raw and harder to control. Another is, when you're alone and awake in the night, you are more likely to contemplate all the what ifs. 

A few nights ago I was not able to shut off the negative feelings which is why the next morning I realized I need to actively seek new ways of finding joy. My main gateway to happiness has always been being in nature. I can no longer go for walks alone and I'm even uneasy about driving into the countryside, though I can imagine that as a possibility. 

Fortunately I have my magic window overlooking the pond, trees and a meadow - though I have been disappointed in a lack of wildlife this summer. Usually I see many deer with their fawns. This year, nary a one. There has even been a lack of birds, although the heron shows up from time to time and the hummingbirds come to the flowers everyday.

But the sun is moving back to the south which means we are getting more beautiful sunsets like this one. 

I enjoy photographing these and sharing them online.

Eventually I went back to sleep that fitful night. With the coming of morning my apprehensions left.  There was a line going through my mind something like "chasing the joy as it flies" but I couldn't remember what it was from. I nearly had it right a search led me to.....

Eternity By William Blake

He who binds to himself a joy

Does the winged life destroy

He who kisses the joy as it flies

Lives in eternity's sunrise

I believe this line from Amor Towles book Table for Two is relevant to this period of my life:

"Maybe when one shifted from the life of doing to the life of remembering, one became more sentimental, more susceptible to the influence of one's emotions."

 

Meeting Everly Jane

 

 

Is there anything sweeter than meeting a new great-grandchild?

Everly Jane will be one month old tomorrow. She is only the third great-granddaughter among ten great-grandsons.

Could she be any cuter? Sweeter? Not in this great-grandma's book. 

She was awake when we got there and I scooped her right up.

A little better photo of me and a good example of how well she holds her head up - which isn't surprising because she was doing that at birth.

Grandpa Bud even held her though she was wanting her bottle at this point.

From right to left - my grandson Devin, his wife Jessica holding her son Oakley and me holding Everly.

It was a short visit but long on delight. 

Addendum - An additional picture of great-grandpa Bud and Everly.

Looks like they are having a meeting of the minds.