Primrose Hill, London - Paradise Hill Adams County, Iowa

One of the books I read last week and a book I am currently reading both had mentions of Primrose Hill in London, England in them (pictured above). I could not read "Primrose Hill" without thinking about "Paradise Hill".
Primrose Hill is a hill of about 260 feet located on the north side of Regent's Park. The name also includes the surrounding area which has always been one of the more fashionable districts in the urban belt of London. Current and past residents are a who's who of notable names.
A one-bedroom flat can be had for a mere 300,000 pounds - about $486,000 at today's exchange rate. Paradise Hill in Adams County, which was comprised of a house and garage, an old barn and forty-six acres could have been purchased for one-fourth that amount three years ago.

Crystal and Dean Firkins with grandsons, Bruce and Steven taken in 1954.

The Firkins were our neighbors about 3/4's of a mile north of us in Jasper Township. They moved to their farm in 1936. Dad & Mom moved to ours in 1938. The friendships formed were close and long lasting. As kids, we called them 'aunt' and 'uncle'. I still have a double heart pin that he gave me when I was eight or nine which has my name on one heart and 'Uncle Dean' on the other. Their younger son, Norman, and my brother, Ronald, were best friends all the way through country school.

Crystal, daughter-in-law, Mona, son, Jim Firkins, and Jim and Mona's son, Bruce. Jim's lived in Minnesota so when they were home for a visit, we usually went up to see them. And years later Jim would always come down to see Mom when he was back.

Crystal could be a bit of a character. She wasn't the typical farm wife like my mom, but she had a heart of gold. (She moved her invalid sister in with her and took care of her many years.)

One of the things I remember most about her was learning to play Canasta. Before the advent of television, more time was spent socializing. Getting together with neighbors and playing cards was a common pastime. Crystal took her card playing seriously. She was out to win every time. What I remember is the way she would scream if someone else went out (won the game) before she did. (The screaming was even more prolonged when she won.) In later years, Crystal, her sister, Ruby, Mom and another neighbor got together regularly to play Pitch.)

Norman Firkins, Ronald Lynam, Sammy Jenkins taken during the 1946-47 school year. Ruth Perrin was the teacher at the time. The Jenkins family lived on the corner a mile west of us. They moved to California around 1950. The Firkins also moved to California when Norman was in 8th grade, but moved back to Iowa within a year.

Dad, our dog, Laddie and Bruce taken in front of the Firkins home. At some point in my Grandpa and Grandma Lynam's marriage, they lived in this house. I think it was in the late teens or early 20's. Grandpa George was listed as one of the director's of Jasper # 2 in some of the old secretary's books Dad had. (Dad was secretary for many years including when the school was closed.)

The house was the typical two-up, two-down (rooms) with a one story kitchen added on to the side. If you went in this front door, there was a room to the left, a room to the right and the stairs right in front of you.

I don't think Crystal named her place "Paradise Hill" until after Dean died in 1981. She was a big fan of Helen Steiner Rice's poems which were used in an inspirational card line from Gibson Greetings. Those were Crystal's favourite cards to send to others. She always underlined significant words (like 'friend') in the cards she sent on Mom's birthday. (Sometimes double and triple underlining.)

In her last few years, Crystal paid for space in the local newspaper to print "On Paradise Hill". Sometimes her writings would be thoughts about her family; often they would be one of the Helen Steiner Rice poems. Sometimes they would be both, but always they ended with a personal thought from Crystal, On Paradise Hill.

(Crystal Firkins died in July, 2003; five months before her longtime friend, Ruth Lynam.)

"Eirinn go Brach" (Ireland Forever)

How old was I when I first realized our family name was Irish and then was told my Lynam great-great grandparents came from Ireland? Late teens? Twenties? By the time I was in my thirties, I was reading all I could about Irish history and subscribing to Ireland of the Welcomes magazine - using its issues to plot my someday dream trip to Ireland. It was just a dream. Then in my forties, it seemed a little more doable. I set my goal to go there for my fiftieth birthday. I didn't quite make it, but in September of 1994, two months before I turned 51, I went to Ireland! As the Aer Lingus jet lowered altitude and broke through the clouds preparing to land at Shannon Airport, I saw the "forty shades of green" patchwork fields spread below me - just like in the pictures. I cried.

The above picture was taken on my third day of driving and trying to see as much of Ireland as I could in two weeks. I was on the "Ring of Kerry". There was a lay-by (scenic view turn out) at the top of the Kerry Mountains, before the town of Waterville. This man, who I believed to be an Irish Traveller*, was playing his concertina for tips. (*Travellers are also known as 'tinkers' or 'gypsies'. I was told, or read, they prefer to be referred to as 'travellers'. There are around 23,000 in Ireland.)

As I was touring my adopted native country on my own, there are not many pictures of me. This one was taken overlooking Liscannor bay on my way to Lahinch. I bought the Aran sweater at Blarney Woolen Mills in County Cork on my second day. Even though I was there in September, it was rainy and cold - the damp cold that seeps right into your bones. I think I wore the sweater almost every day over top of at least two other layers.
Lahinch is home to world renowned links golf course, Lahinch Golf Club, founded in 1892, as well as being a destination for wind surfing.

I remember my older brother, Ronald, telling me he had heard from someone that our family came from County Cork. Cobh in County Cork was a major embarkation harbor for Irish immigrants, so it is possible they "came" from County Cork. I first learned they actually came from County "West Mead" from some distant Lynam cousins. Then, by looking at maps of Ireland, I learned it was really County Westmeath, not West Mead. And even though I made it to the County of my Great-great grandfather William's birth, I was not able to locate where in Westmeath he was born. The only information I had at the time was "near Mullingar" - not much to go on then. Now with so much information computerized, I might be able to find the exact place. (Younger brother, Les, has been in contact with a distant cousin in Canada who told him the cottage still stands, still inhabited by relatives.)

Clonmacnoise in County Offaly, was one of my 'must sees'. This sixth century monastery was the seat of learning in Ireland. It was visited by scholars from all over Europe. I spent many hours here and could have spent as many more. It is a beautiful and fascinating place located strategically on the River Shannon (behind me). The ruins of churches including "The Nun's Church" and "St. Kiernan's Church", round towers, and a cemetery are extensive. (St. Kiernan is the patron saint of Clonmacnoise.) Pope John Paul II visited here in 1979. The bullet proof shelter built for him to speak from seemed very out of place in this ancient site.

The Hill of Tara in County Meath - the mythical seat of the high kings of Ireland - lies in Eastern Ireland between Navan and Trim. It was so cold and rainy the day I arrived. I sat in the car, hoping the rain would stop, wondering if I should just visit the information center and church and forget tramping through the wet grass to reach the top of the hill and the various sites. Finally I decided rain or no, I hadn't come all this way to let a little rain stop me.

This is the picture I took of Lia Fail - "The Stone of Destiny" setting on top of the King's Seat. Legend was that the stone would roar when touched by the rightful king of Tara. There is also some controversy over whether of not this is the true "Stone of Destiny".

Irish Mythology excites me as much today as it ever did. There are so many places in Ireland I would still like to see for myself. Having a digital camera would make taking many more pictures so very doable. I note that the pictures from the nine rolls of film I took on my '94 trip
are beginning to fade. Scanning them all into my computer would probably be a worthwhile endeavor.

I remember stopping at a pottery shop shortly after leaving the Hill of Tara. The kiln had been fired. It was so warm there and I was so grateful to get the chill out of my bones.

There are many places in the world I would love to visit, but if I could only go one place, I would probably choose to go back to Ireland. It was a dream come true, one I hope I never forget. Erin go bragh!

Reading and Recuperating

Not that I've ever needed an excuse to read, but if I did, recuperating from surgery is a good one. The first several days home from the hospital saw me napping as much as anything else. (The pain meds may have had something to do with that.) But in between the naps in my recliner, there was always a book at hand - nap, read, nap, read....
I did not want the onus of library books at this time so I turned to the unread stash on my bookshelves. If anyone had asked me if I ever read any of David Liss's novels before, I would have said yes. I thought I had. I thought liking him as an author was the reason I bought The Whiskey Rebels at a garage sale a couple years ago.
After reading this intriguing historical novel, I discovered I do like Liss as an author and I haven't read any of his other works. Our library only has one of his books - The Coffee Trader - which is now on my list of 'to read'.

I have often remarked that my favourite way of learning history is to read a well-researched and well-written historical novel. Such is the case of The Whiskey Rebels. If I ever studied or read about The Whiskey Rebellion in the past, I had forgotten it. And while I was always more interested in reading about the Civil War era than the Revolutionary War era, I have read and enjoyed the history of the Revolutionary War.
This book is set in post war Philadelphia in 1792. Alexander Hamilton is Secretary of the Treasury. He is engaged in a bitter power struggle with political rival, Thomas Jefferson, over the creation of the fragile young nation's first real financial institution: The Bank of the United States.
While real historical figures play a role in the novel's plot, they are not the central characters. Two protagonists, Ethan Saunders, a former spy for General Washington during the war and Joan Maycott, the widow of a war veteran who trades his promissory notes for payment of service during the war for land in the wilds of western Pennsylvania, alternate relating this well plotted mystery.
I am guilty of naively assuming the great political divide in our nation was born in the 20th century. I assumed everyone was on the same side and had the same agenda of getting our young country on its feet in the late 1700's and early 1800's. Reading The Whiskey Rebels points out how untrue that was. It also reminded me of how much I love historical fiction. I must read more of it in the future.

My other four reads during the mending period were two Minette Walters - The Chameleon's Shadow and Disordered Minds - and the next two in Anne Perry's William Monk series - Weighed in the Balance and The Silent Cry. Both these women remain at the top of my most favourite authors. The two Walters books are as dissimilar as possible - one featuring a crippled Iraqi war veteran set in 2006; the other about a wrongfully convicted twenty-year-old mentally retarded man set in 1970. What is the same is Walters's amazing ability to write such psychologically compelling novels.

Anne Perry's books are more adventures of the Victorian private sleuth, William Monk and his two companions in detecting, Nurse Hester Latterly and Barrister Sir Oliver Rathbone (whose name had to have been chosen because of Basil Rathbone).
In The Silent Cry Monk must spend a good deal of time deep in London's dangerous slums. He experiences feelings of having been there before and flashbacks that lead him to recovering some memories of his past life.
Hester's knowledge of plants and their medicinal properties help Rathbone win his case in Weighed in the Balance. I was so proud of myself for spotting the bouquet of Lilies of the Valley in an early description of the room where the death occurred and holding on to them as the cause of death all the way through the book even though it was made to appear poison from the bark of yew trees was used. My own detecting abilities remain sharp.

"Mamas Don't Let Your Babies....."

Ruth, Betty, Ramona and Ronald Lynam, July, 1953. Taken at a Quad Cities area park during our visit to Aunt Leona & Uncle Al's in Davenport. (Mom always said Les was in this picture, too - you just couldn't see him. He was born in February, 1954.)


Our Momma had to rank in the 90th percentiles for mothers when it came to keeping us kids safe. There could not have been a single warning we didn't hear growing up. If we were out of her sight for more than twenty minutes, she came looking for us. The only way we could get away with anything 'dangerous' was to sneak away from the house. The stock tank south of the barn was one of those forbidden destinations. It was like a magnet for Betty and me - especially on hot summer days. I cannot tell you how many times we sneaked around the coal house, the chicken house, the corn crib and the barn to get into the water tank; only to have our Mom show up with a willow switch in hand. As she marched us back to the house, we felt the sting of the switch on the backs of our bare legs. "How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of the tank?"

I was nine and a half in the picture above. I think it was the following summer my wayward ways led to one of my most painful experiences. I wasn't trying to be a cowboy, I was just trying to emulate my big brother. Ron was was fourteen and already tall that summer. When he went down to the east pasture to bring the cows up for evening milking, he would vault onto the back of one and ride up the lane.

One afternoon when Betty and I had "piked off" (as Mom put it) we were out in the cow lot - possibly on our way to the tank. Some of the cows were lying down. I got the brilliant idea of riding one as I'd seen Ron do. So I got on the back of one (Dinah, I think) and she stood up. But she just stood there. I told Betty, "Make her go!" She made her move, alright. She twisted the cow's tail and the cow took off like a shot. Everything was going okay until the cow took a sharp right and I kept going straight. I landed on my left shoulder. The pain was excruciating. I was screaming, "I'm killed, I'm killed!" Betty took off to get Mom, but she was already halfway to the cow lot. She had either heard my screams or was coming to check on us to make sure we weren't in the tank again.

Mom picked me up and took me to Dr. Fry. The diagnosis was a nearly dislocated shoulder. Three weeks ago today, I had surgery to replace that shoulder. I firmly believe the reason the shoulder deteriorated can be traced back to the injury I suffered fifty-seven years ago. And even though I kid Ron about it being his fault (I hope he knows I'm kidding), I know it was my own unwise choice to try and ride a cow.

So far, everything about my shoulder replacement surgery has been positive. It was a lot less painful and the healing has been faster than I had anticipated. I started physical therapy yesterday and am looking forward to having full use of my shoulder/arm in time for spring cleaning and flower planting.

Two things did happen before and after surgery that seemed significant to me: the morning of surgery I was completely calm. I've always had good health; no surgeries, etc., so I thought I would be a nervous wreck. Instead, no qualms whatsoever.

After surgery, when I was coming out of recovery and they said they were taking me to my room where Bud was waiting for me, I was still a little groggy - conscious enough to know it wasn't going to happen - but I had the overwhelming thought/desire that my Mom was going to be there waiting for me in the room, too. She was there to pick me up when I originally got hurt. I guess I felt she would/should be there for me when I got the owie fixed.

You never get over wanting or needing your Mommie.

Miss You Most of All

"I think I'm going to miss you most of all" was what Dorothy told the Scarecrow at the end of The Wizard of Oz. It is this quote that the title of Elizabeth Bass's first novel comes from.
The quote also figures in the story line of a book about two sisters trying to make a go of Sassy Spinster Farm near a small town in Texas.
Laura is barely holding on to their father's farm when Rue and her 11-year old daughter, Erica, come to live with her after Rue's divorce. With Rue's encouragement, the sisters turn their homestead into a tourist destination where guests can learn how to raise their own fresh food. In addition to the income from the paying guests, they also market produce through CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) boxes and the local farmers market.
Things become interesting when their onetime stepsister, Heidi, shows up looking for a place to hide out from her mobster boyfriend. The sisters didn't get along with their younger stepsister when they were teens and Laura and Heidi still hate one another. But Rue is more mellow. She and Heidi become friends.
There is much to laugh about in this book. It seems a realistic depiction of life, love and family - including the squabbles and sibling jealousies. Bass does a credible job of exploring the meaning of family, especially when Rue's cancer returns. I so wanted this elder sister to beat back the disease one more time. Not only did the author not write that happy ending, she wrote the most beautiful, poignant, believable ending possible. I really enjoyed this first time novelist.

Sharyn McCrumb has been a favourite author of mine for many years. Her "ballad" novels are my favourites, though I've liked everything she has written including her "Nascar" novels. The Devil Amongst The Lawyers is her latest novel. It falls in her ballad series and while she doesn't have a large part, we meet Nora Bonesteel when she was still a young girl. (Nora has the Sight. She and her ability to see things figure in many of McCrumb's Ballad books.)
"In 1935, when Erma Morton, a beautiful young woman with a teaching degree, is charged with the murder of her father in a remote Virginia mountain community, the case becomes a cause celebre for the national press." The book is a fictionalized version the real 1935 murder trial of Edith Maxwell, which took place in Wise County, Virginia.
I always like novels based upon true events, especially when they are handled as well as Sharyn McCrumb crafts hers.

Love, Lies and Liquor is the 2006 M.C. Beaton Agatha Raisin mystery. I have not been able to read these books in order, but that does not diminish their appeal.

Beaton writes another mystery series in which her character, Hamish Macbeth, is a Scottish village constable. Death of a Witch is the first book I've read in this series. These mysteries are also quick reads, like the Agatha Raisin mysteries. I'm still partial to Agatha, but I'm sure Hamish will grow on me as I read more of these entertaining little mysteries.


(Blogger's Note: This will be my last post for a few weeks as I recuperate from shoulder replacement surgery. I'm not very good at one-handed keying.)

Newton's First Law of Motion

"Every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it." (Sir Isaac Newton 1642-1727)


Inertia: The resistance of any physical object to a change in its state of motion or rest.

Laziness: A disinclination to an activity or exertion despite having the ability to do so.

Procrastination: Replacing actions of higher priority with tasks of lower priority in order to put off doing the higher priority items. (Finishing a book instead of doing the dishes?)

Guilty, guilty, guilty. I have always been one to put off doing anything I didn't like to do until someone/something made me do it.

Pain and lack of use of my left arm have compelled me to have shoulder replacement surgery. I thought scheduling the surgery and the knowledge that "things could go wrong" were enough to make me "get my affairs in order" just in case.

Old habits die hard. Instead of sorting, donating and throwing out, I have opted to believe all will go well and I will still have plenty of time to figure out what to do with my 'stuff' later. Besides, trying to decide who gets what was keeping me awake at night. I did get rid of so much before we moved, but I still have way too many things.

And too many of the things that I feel are most important to impart are the ones that no one in the family knows the history of or the value I place upon them. (A ring that was given to me by my Grandmother Lynam that was given to her by her Grandmother Richardson. The blanket box that belonged to my Great Grandmother Means. The 'Water Lily' quilt my Mom made before her marriage and her diary and pen. Dad's 'shoe' knife. My baby bank. How do I decide which of my children or grandchildren or nieces or nephews will be the right one to entrust with which heirloom? It is so much easier to decide the giving of jewelry, china and collectibles I have acquired than it is the items that belonged to my parents and grandparents.

I may still write down some bequests before my surgery - "just in case". But what I really need to do is find the will or external force which will make me do all the sorting, donating, throwing (and story telling) after I recover from my surgery and my arm is working again. It may be the denial that life is finite that keeps me from doing what I need to. i.e.: As long as I don't do anything, I will still have the time to do it.

The biggest fear is not dying. It is the "not knowing" what happens in the lives of my loved ones after I am gone. Live long. Love well.

No Night Is Too Long

I began reading Ruth Rendell's novels when I became a huge fan of Minette Walters and her writing was compared to that of Rendell.
The first couple of books I read of hers were okay - just not as good, in my opinion, as Walters. But I read a couple more and then a couple more after that until I decided I do like Rendell almost as much as Walters. (It is going to be interesting to see if my opinion of Walters has changed any when I go back to read the last two unread books I have of hers.)
In the meantime, I decided to try a couple of Rendell's books written as Barbara Vine. Somewhere I read that Rendell began writing as Vine in order to "take a more human, personal viewpoint". I also read one review which says No Night Is Too Long is Rendell/Vine's only true love story.

This book is a bit slow getting into and if you are the least bit homophobic, and began reading the book unknowingly, you will most likely stop reading around page 37. I am always in awe of male authors who can write convincingly of female emotions and vice-versa. I found myself wondering how a straight, female author could write such an erotic, emotionally charged scene between two males.

Way back in my early "I want to be a writer" days, I learned that you have to grab your reader on the first page; write something so attention getting that the reader can't put your book down.
Vine doesn't do that. She makes you read awhile before you realize she has sinuously pulled you into a plot with enough twists and turns to keep you reading and surprised.

I once had an in-law who was rather disdainful of some of the authors I liked because their books were "telescoping" - meaning you knew what the ending was going to be long before you got there. I suppose one of the reasons I like mysteries so much is because I do enjoy trying to figure them out before the ending. No Night Is Too Long contains several surprises - one of which had me gasping - "I didn't see that one coming!"

I read two Vine novels this month. The first was Grasshopper, which was very good; very entertaining and well written. But if you only have time to read one of these two, I recommend the former. Our library has four more Vine novels which I will definitely be checking out.

Another Agatha Raisin Mystery, The Vicious Vet, by M.C. Beaton and an Aurora Teagarden Mystery, Last Scene Alive, by Charlaine Harris were my two "read at the Y while on the stationary bike" books this month. I love both these women characters as well as the authors who created them. I believe it is my daughter who refers to these little treats as "popcorn books" because they are entertaining little reads you can enjoy just like a bag of popcorn.

Lastly, another one of those books I chose for its cover: The Unplowed Sky by Jeanne Williams. (The cover depicts a tractor moving through a wheat field with a farmstead and large silo on the horizon.) The cover made me pick up the book, yet another Kansas setting and a storyline of a threshing crew in the 1920's, made me check the book out. Williams is a Golden Spur and Levi Strauss award winning author. I would probably read more of her books. They would be calming between two Rendell/Vine books.