Frijoles Canyon, Si; Taos, New Mexico, Nada

 Fourteen years ago right about now, we had just returned from a wonderful week in Arizona. Friends of ours had given us the use of their condo in Tucson which was our base for many day trips in the area. On the way back to Iowa I wanted to spend some time in Taos, New Mexico - another one of those places I had heard/read so much about - just had to experience it for myself. After over-nighting in Santa Fe, we headed north on 285. At this point in my story, I have to share a difference of opinion my travel companion and I have - I always want to prolong a vacation as long as possible, whereas once the car is headed toward home, he wants to go.
About twenty miles up the road to Taos, Bud saw a sign for Bandelier National Monument. Neither of us new what that was, but there was an outline of a pueblo on the sign, so we decided to check it out. Bandelier lies in Frijoles Canyon where evidence of human habitation goes back hundreds of years. By 1550 the Pueblo builders had moved on. In the 1700's the canyon was home to Spanish settlers. In 1880, archaeologist Adolph Bandelier first visited the canyon. In 1916 legislation to make Bandelier a National Monument was signed by President Woodrow Wilson. At that time there was a ranch at the bottom of the canyon called The Ranch of the Ten Elders. There was no road. Supplies had to be packed in on mules and horses or lowered down from the canyon rim by rope. Between 1934 and 1941, workers from the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) built the road into Frijoles Canyon, the current visitor center, a new lodge and miles of trails.

 The pink rock that forms the canyon walls is volcano ash that was compacted over time to a crumbly rock called "tuff". Weathering gave the cliff wall a "Swiss cheese" appearance. The Puebloan people were able to enlarge these natural caves for use as homes and for storage. They also built a circular community house which stood two to three stories high and contained over 400 rooms. The outline of that structure is still visible.
What was so amazing to me was that we were allowed - encouraged - to climb up the ladders into the ruins and see them first hand. I wasn't too sure about my climbing abilities - there were four or five of these really long ladders to navigate - but I really wanted to experience the inside of those caves.

 Even after making it to the main cave, there were still more ladders up to the individual rooms. Bandelier is one place I would love to go back to explore more thoroughly.

 Only one of the kivas had had its roof rebuilt to show what the ceremonial structures were originally like.  The others were left as they were found with the roofs collapsed. Here Bud is standing in the large cave and looking down into one of the kivas just before climbing the ladder down into it.
Frijoles Canyon extends for miles and contains many more scenic and historic areas, some of which are just now reopening after the devastating Las Conchas fire in June and July this year followed by flooding of Frijoles Creek. Other areas won't reopen for months or years. Luckily the new visitors' center and other structures were spared. Pots, paintings and historical furniture were moved to safety ahead of the fire.

This terra cotta t-shirt with the ruins pictured on it was my souvenir from Bandelier. Every time I wear it I remember this serendipitous find. I still belabor the fact that I only got to spend a couple hours in Taos due to taking up the morning at Bandelier - but it was worth it.

(Can you see the sun and crescent moon petroglyphs in the top picture?)

A Different Sort of Moonstone

 

Sodium potassium aluminium silicate, better known as Moonstone has been a favourite gemstone of mine for, well, many moons. (Insert groan here.) Moonstones have been used in jewelry for centuries. The Romans and Greeks were just two ancient civilizations which revered the stone they associated with their lunar gods and goddesses. A few pieces of my collection are shown above. Of these, my favourite is the ring on the right. I bought it when I was in Ireland. I like the shape, the size of the stone and especially the three small silver balls on each side of the setting.

 If you are familiar with moonstones, you are aware of the mysterious shimmer which changes as the stone is moved. This is known as adularescence. Wearing a moonstone is supposed to enhance your intuition. The ring on the left is set with three small moonstones. It is from one of our Arizona trips. The Celtic Tree of Life pendant has a small stone on the bottom right. It is from an Irish shoppe in the Hollywood District of Portland, Oregon. The Celtic design pendant on the right is one from one of the many Renaissance Faires I've attended.

 When I first heard of Wilkie Collins' book, The Moonstone, I expected it to be about the gemstones I was familiar with. Instead it is about a large yellow diamond. (I've never cared much for diamonds except yellow ones - those I like.) Many years ago a friend loaned me her copy of this book, but I just couldn't get into it. When Kari said she was reading it for this year's RIP Challenge, I decided it was time for me to try reading it again.
The book, published in 1868, is generally considered the first detective novel in the English language. The diamond is given to a young Englishwoman on her 18th birthday. She wears it to her party that night and awakens the next morning to find it has been stolen from her bedroom. The story is told in several sections, each one being related by a different character which sometimes made the reading of it confusing - and a bit tedious. (For a good review of this novel, watch for Kari's write-up of it on Bookishdark.)

 Anne Perry's Acceptable Loss, the 17th in her Inspector William Monk series, is more my idea of an English mystery novel. Monk is still the Commander of the River Police and still trying to discover identities of the rich men behind the floating palaces of corruption on the Thames and bring them to justice. I still really like Anne Perry's writing though after seventeen in this series, I do note a certain formulaic repetition. It is the quality of her writing and my interest in her characters that will keep me reading all her future Monk tomes.

 In the meantime, I have two more Louise Penny Inspector Gamache books to look forward to. A Fatal Grace is her second book of seven so far. I haven't been able to read them in order, but I'll take them any way I can get them. I adore Chief Inspector Armand Gamache. I love Penny's intelligent writing. I can't wait to read the last two of the ones she's written so far - and then I'll be waiting for her to write more. I hope these books get made into Masterpiece Mysteries for television.

Burnt Mountain is the newest Anne Rivers Siddons book, this one set in the North Carolina mountains. Siddons is another author I have followed for many years. "Growing up, the only place tomboy Thayer Wentworth felt at home was at her summer camp in the North Carolina Mountains. It was there that she met Nick Abrams, her first love...and first heartbreak. Years later, Thayer marries Aengus, an Irish professor..." Siddons characters usually are from rich, old family, southerners - not people I identify with. Having a poor Irish man enthused about telling Celtic myths made this book more interesting for me even though I thought the ending was sort of "out there".

Several years ago Mark gave me the audio version of Caleb Carr's The Angel of Darkness as a Christmas gift. Now that I have finally gotten into listening to books, I have finally enjoyed this one. Boyd Gaines does a nice job voicing all the different characters. Carr brings back the team who tracked down a serial killer in his previous novel, The Alienist, to help find the kidnapped daughter of a Spanish diplomat at the time when Spain and the United States are on the verge of war. I like period pieces. I enjoyed this one set in 1897 New York.

When Something You Once Said Comes Back To Lift Your Spirits

 I was a substitute school bus driver for a couple years and then I got on full time and had my own route. Bus #49 - south and west of Corning. I really enjoyed driving the bus and loved most of my kids. I believe I was a good driver - very conscientious for the safety of my charges. I did my best to maintain order on the bus, but you can only regulate so much.....
The last person on the end of my route was a little second grade girl. She had blond hair, often worn in pig tails. She had the sweetest disposition. I liked her a lot. She was a little on the chubby side - which only made her cuter - but it gave the other kids something to tease her about. If teasing got loud and out of control, I could tell the kids to pipe down, but if it was done quietly, it was hard to do anything about.
One afternoon when I looked up into the rear view mirror I could see that Anna was almost ready to cry. After all the other students had been dropped off and we got to her home and stopped, Anna came forward to get off the bus. I asked her to wait a moment. I put my arm around her and told her I was sorry about the other kids calling her "Anna Banana" and teasing her about her weight. I told her she was not always going to be chubby, that someday she would start growing and lose her "baby fat" - that she would be thin and pretty. I told her I thought she was beautiful inside and out and she only had to wait a few years for everyone else to see that. 
I could only hope that my words helped her that day. I didn't know they did until several years later when I was visiting with her grandmother one day and she thanked me for what I had said to her granddaughter. She told me Anna related my words to her and that she said they made her feel better about herself. Knowing that I had helped a sweet little girl made my day better - years later.

My granddaughter, Katrina, (here with her little boy and Grandpa last summer) is good about calling me regularly to see how we're doing and keep me updated on her busy life. During one of those calls a couple months ago, she had been cleaning the bathroom which made her think about me so she just had to call and tell me something she had never told me before:
"I remember being at your house one time when I was little and you were cleaning your bathroom," she said. "I was so grossed out because you were cleaning the toilet by hand. You said that was the only way to get it really clean. I remembered that all those years and now that is the only way I clean my bathroom, too."
I got such a kick out of hearing that. I had no idea I had made an impression on the little girl. We laughed and laughed about it - a real "made my day" story.

I hope words you may speak now will someday come back to lift your spirits. It is a good feeling.

Apples, Autumn, The World Series, Sunday Drives and Dreams of My Dad

This picture of my Dad and Doug was taken forty-six years ago at Nine Eagles State Park near the Iowa-Missouri border southeast of Davis City. It was a beautiful fall day not unlike the ones we've been experiencing lately. I don't think there was a particular reason for our jaunt that day other than Sunday drives were a pastime for our family and we hadn't been to Nine Eagles before. Doug was three years old and Dad was close to the age Doug is now.
I've been thinking about apple orchards. It is the time of year when we used to go to an apple orchard somewhere to get apples. There was one in northern Missouri that we went to with Grandpa and Grandma Ridnour when I was little. There were free samples of apple cider so good I wanted more. And we did bring a few jugs home with us. The aroma of a trunk full of fresh apples filled the car on the way home. We all had an apple to eat. I remember Grandma chastising me because I left so much good apple on my core. She said I should eat everything but the seeds and stem like she did. Nunh uh. No way. (The only other person I have seen eat an apple that way is my husband.)
In later years Mom and Dad would drive up to the apple orchard at Griswold. Dad was known to have a 'lead foot' when he drove. One year he was stopped for speeding on the way home. Mom always talked about what an expensive bushel of apples they got that year.

I don't have dreams about Dad very often - he has been gone more than thirty-three years. But last night I dreamed about him and in the dream he looked much as he did in this picture - younger than I ever knew him. (I'm guessing this picture of him and his little sister, Leona, was taken around 1940.)
All the topics in the title of this piece combined in a dream of driving all over northwest Missouri - enjoying the autumn colors and looking for an apple orchard. We stopped at a park in a small town and got out to eat a picnic lunch. There were a lot of other people in the park and we started visiting with them - exchanging names, home towns, etc. One of the people thought he had heard of my Dad. I said, "Oh, you should have seen him when he was still playing baseball." Seems he was an almost famous ball player. And, as I said, he looked like he did in this photo - young, tall, thin - even though I was in my twenties or thirties.
There was some sort of fall festival going on in the town. One of the vendors was selling wine which I so badly wanted to buy - if I could just figure out a way to do it without Dad knowing. Maybe if it had been apple cider I would have succeeded in buying some!

"Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream."   Khalil Gibran

What Do Neckties Have To Do With Donating Blood?

 I remember the first and last times I gave blood - and several times in between. I gave blood the first time when I worked at the 'Light Plant' (Municipal Utilities) in Corning the spring of 1967. I was twenty-three years old. Community Blood Drives were held four times a year. Mom and Dad often contributed - Dad mostly because he was O-Negative which meant he had a rare universal donor blood type. The Red Cross volunteers always called him and asked him to donate.
Our nation's involvement in the Viet Nam War made the need for blood donors even more urgent than usual which is why I wanted to give blood for the first time - but was scared to. There was a salesman from Des Moines who regularly called at the Light Plant. He was a personable young man and we always conversed when he came in. When he learned that I wanted to give blood but was afraid I would faint, he offered to go with me and give blood, too. That gave me the courage to go up to the Legion Hall after work and give blood for the first time. It wasn't as bad as I had imagined. I didn't faint. In fact, I was rather proud of myself. I still remember the guy's name - Phil Wieting - and the company he worked for - McKesson & Robbins.

The second time I gave blood was in Des Moines in 1972 or '73. I worked for an Advertising and Public Relations Agency on the sixth floor of the Empire Building in downtown Des Moines. About once every month or six weeks, this little old man would come into the office carrying a suitcase. His name was Irving Redstone. He was one of the last of the salesmen known as 'peddlers'. His suitcase was full of beautiful neckties. Not all businessmen could be bothered to give time to a peddler, but the two I worked for were always gracious to Irving. They didn't always buy a tie, but they took the time to look. I even bought some ties for Denny even though they were more expensive than department store ties. I think we all felt a little sorry for the man. It seemed a hard way to make a living.
Just as I had gotten acquainted with salesman Phil, I also became friendly with Mr. Redstone. Then one day he told us his wife, Paula, was in the hospital. I don't remember the nature of her illness, only that she had had to have several blood transfusions. They did not have family members to give replacement blood and he really couldn't afford to pay for it. He did not ask us to, but when I told Denny about it, we both decided to donate blood in Mrs. Redstone's name to replace what she had used. That was the second time I donated blood.

Over the years, I donated blood many times. One of the companies I worked for in Des Moines had a regular "day" at the Blood Center of Iowa every six months. And when I moved back to Corning, I was a regular donor during the blood drives at the Community Center until......
The last time.....I was in the recliner when the nurse ordered: "Spit that gum out!" Yes, ordered. Not asked politely or even told why I should get rid of my gum. It reminded me of my school days when gum chewing was anathema to teachers. It all went down hill fast from there. She had trouble getting the needle in my arm. Then about half way through, the blood flow stopped. Nurse Crab tried repositioning the needle several times. The pain was too much and I started to faint. She finally gave up - as did I. Enough!

I have not given blood since. My fear of the needle and fainting before my first experience became true many years later. - The last time.

China's Chowder and Holly Blues

 I began reading Susan Wittig Albert's 'China Bayles Herb Mysteries' in the mid-'90's after they had been recommended by a friend. The first in the series was published in 1992, so I had a few to catch up on. I instantly fell in love with Albert's characters and setting. What woman wouldn't want to leave the fast-paced corporate world behind, buy an old building in a small Texas Hill Country Town and open an herb shop? I certainly could identify with her and her ability to solve mysteries and use herbs. (All the titles of her novels contain the name of an herb.)
I tried to read this series in order, but have had to skip around some as I was able to find copies. Holly Blues is number eighteen. All have been immensely enjoyable. Even though Ms. Albert states in every book that Pecan Springs is a fictional town, it doesn't stop her devotees from trying to find it. Her books were one of the reasons I wanted to spend time in the Texas Hill Country which I was able to do several years ago. I was not disappointed.
As with other novels in this genre, Albert includes herb recipes at the end of each book. As I write this, I can smell  China's Easy Slow-Cook Sausage-Corn Chowder simmering away in the kitchen. I hope it tastes as good as her books read.

 Funny how the subject matter or setting can make such a difference in whether or not you like an author. I had previously reported on one of Carolyn Hart's 'Death on Demand' series books that while it was good, I didn't like it well enough to keep reading more books in the series. I felt entirely different about her stand alone Letter From Home which won the Agatha Award for Best Mystery Novel in 2003.
The setting: WWII home front in a small Oklahoma town; the protagonist: a teenage girl hired as a summer reporter for the local paper - she's a good writer and all the guys have gone off to war. Perfect setting for a mystery for me. I have put Hart back on my 'to be read' list of authors.

One of Victoria Thompson's books was on the recent additions shelves at the library. I read the fly leaf and thought it sounded good. Then I noted it was the latest in a series. I thought if I was going to give Thompson's 'Gaslight Mystery' books a try, I would start with the first, Murder on Astor Place. Sarah Brandt was raised in New York's high society in the 1880's and '90's. At the turn of the century, due to circumstances we only get hints of, she is estranged from her family, widowed and working as a midwife.
"After a routine delivery, Sarah visits her patient in a rooming house and discovers that another boarder, a young girl, has been killed. At the request of Sergeant Frank Malloy, she searches the girl's room. She discovers that the victim is from one of the most prominent families in New York - and the sister of an old friend. The powerful family, fearful of scandal, refuses to permit an investigation. But with Malloy's help, Sarah begins a dangerous quest to bring the killer to justice."
I must admit I had the reason for the murder and the killer figured out before the unfolding, but that didn't diminish my reading enjoyment of this book. There is just something about the time period that fascinates me and I like the interaction between Sarah and Frank. Luckily our library does have many (I hope all) of the books in this series.

William Trevor is an Irish author one reviewer compared to Ruth Rendell. That and the cover of Felicia's Journey were enough for me. "Felicia, young and pregnant, steals away from a small Irish town to search for her boyfriend in the industrial sprawl of the English Midlands, where she falls in with the fat, fiftyish, unfailingly reasonable Mr. Hilditch. He is looking for a new friend to join the five other girls of his Memory Lane."

This book had the psychological tenseness that made me want to quit reading because of what I felt was coming - but kept me reading in order to find out. Trevor has a number of other books to his credit including a couple Whitbread Award winners, one short listed for the Booker Prize, and others on best seller lists. Unfortunately, this is the only novel of his our library has. I will add his name to the list of authors I search out in other venues. I liked this book even if it did creep me out.

Last month while visiting with a classmate at our 50th Class Reunion, I remarked to him that I had always wanted to read his Dad's book. He told me his father had actually written two books and that the first was better than the second. Also that he had given copies of his book to all the local libraries. So I checked and our library did have a signed copy of Footprints by Eldon "Zeke" Roberts. I think this must be the second book Allen spoke of. It is a series of stories about the inhabitants of "Mt. Nebo" - a thinly disguised Mount Etna, Iowa. It was fun for me to try and figure out who some of the people he was writing about were and to picture those winding roads, timbers and ridges of the area southeast of Mt. Etna. I had great and great-great grandparents who lived in and around the town when it was still a thriving community. I have memories of the Sunday drives and hikes back to the "Slide-off" that we took when I was a kid.

And while I did not know Eldon Roberts all that well, his brother was my Uncle Howard - married to Mom's sister, Evelyn. Eldon's wife, Twylla, was a Means - a cousin of Grandma Delphia's - so I am distantly related to him by marriage. Reading his book reminded me of Zeke and Uncle Howard and the large family they came from - ten children. The boys all had nicknames, Zeke, Speck, Wimp, except Uncle Howard. It makes me wonder if he had a nickname, too, and that it quit being used after he married Aunt Evelyn. Mom's folks were not big on nicknames. Maybe some day I will have the opportunity to read Zeke's other book.

Nothing Nicer Than Nieces

Today is the birthday of my beautiful niece, Kristi. She is not only beautiful on the outside, she is beautiful on the inside. If anyone needs something, she is the first there. She would probably disagree and say, "Aunt Ramona, if you only knew.... but I see her as one of the nicest, sweetest, kindest people I know. So, Happy Birthday #1 niece!

Little miss adorable came into our lives October 12, 1968. My sister, Betty, and I had our children fairly close together. My daughter Kari is seven months younger than Kristi and our sons, Doug and Mike were eighteen months apart. The little cousins were good playmates.

Kristi's birthday has me thinking about nieces. If anyone asked how many nieces I have, my first response would be three, Kristi, Lorrie and Christine. But then I realize I'm leaving out my nieces by marriage - Michelle, Tina and Heidi - so, six. But wait, including my grandnieces, Jesse, Gwendolyn, Esmerelda, Samantha and Maya, the count is almost doubled. All of them are lovely young women and cute little girls.

But I have another niece; one I hardly ever talk about even though she is often on my mind. She is my second born niece, Jennifer Lynn. Here is what I wrote about her thirty-nine years ago, December, 1972:

"I must write of Ron and Ruth's Jennifer Lynn. She was born Wednesday, December 13, but our joy and happiness was so very short lived. Mom called Saturday night, December 16, to say that the baby had died that day in Omaha. Her heart was not fully developed.
The kids and I went down to Mom's Sunday a.m. Everyone feeling so badly - not knowing how Ron and Ruth would take it after waiting so long. (They had already had several miscarriages through the years.) Finally, in the afternoon, Dad, Mom, Betty, Preston and I went over to Ron's. Ruth's sister Marianne there. Friend and wife of Ron's from work. Neighbor lady. Mom went to Ron. Held each other and cried - talked.
Ruth was on the couch. I went to her and sat down. Hugged her, cried, said, "Oh Ruthie, I'm so sorry." Drew back and looked at her, wiped some tears off her cheek and then kissed her. She said, "That's the first time you've ever kissed me." Then I moved for someone else - Dad I think.
Went out to Ron in kitchen - hugged each other and I cried. It soon became obvious that Ron and Ruth were going to be o.k. They were comforting us in our sorrow for them. Their minister came and the three of them talked quite awhile. The kids felt much better then. There was so much love and understanding that day. They are a unique couple.
Denny and I went to the funeral in Red Oak on Tuesday. We took Mom and Dad and Leslie with us. The shock of seeing that tiny, tiny casket was too much. I stood and looked at her a long time trying to memorize what I could of her. Trying to visualize what she would have looked like. Wondering why she wasn't granted the chance. The minister talked about her "playing in the streets of heaven." Ron and Ruth great against it. Many of Ron's friends from work there - just the men. A feeling of great pride in my brother came over me again.
Some of family back to Ron's after funeral. Ruthie said, "I feel so much better now." They have so much faith. Ruth showed us the things they had gotten for Jennifer. Talked about how thankful they were even for the three days they had her. Talked, laughed as though it had not happened. Great acceptance. Great inner strength - and peace. God is with them."

So, when I think about my nieces and how lucky I am to have them in my life, I wonder about the one I never got to know and what she would be like. Would she have been a Jenny? or a Jennifer? How would she differ from Lorrie and Christine in looks and personality? How would she being the eldest have changed their family dynamic? I also think about her being born on Santa Lucia which was an important date for her Swedish mother and that Jennifer and my mom have the same December 16 death date.

I can only speculate about my second niece, luckily I can go help niece #1 celebrate her birthday. There's nothing nicer than a nice niece!