January '23 Book List

Only seven books for the first month of 2023. That very one at the bottom of this first pile might have had something to do with the low number. 

City of Fortune is book #6 in Victoria Thompson's Counterfeit Lady series. These are fun little mysteries.

Our Missing Hearts is the second book I've read by Celeste Ng. I did not like it as well as her 'Little Fires Everywhere'. It was too disturbingly close to what is and has been happening in our country the past few years.

The Next Accident is #3 in Lisa Gardner's FBI Profiler series. I've read these slightly out of order but they are all very good reads. 

The Ink Black Heart by Robert Galbraith (J. K. Rowling) is the sixth in her Cormoran Strike series. I love the characters and the storyline of these books. There are 1024 pages in this book and I read every one. 😋

A World of Curiosities by Louise Penny is her eighteenth book featuring Inspector Armand Gamache. I love this series so much and now have been enjoying watching the Amazon Prime series, Three Pines, based on the books. I got smart this time and had my name put on the list to be one of the first to read this book instead of waiting for months for 'my turn'. 

Touch & Go and Crash & Burn are books #2 and #3 in the Tessa Leoni series by Lisa Gardner. Many of her characters overlap from one series to another which make them more interesting, I think. I will soon have read my way through all the books our library has by Gardner and have to find another 'new' author to follow. 

February is our 'short' month, less time to read, but I'm thinking I'll probably have a longer list of books read. Unless I check out another of those 'heavy reading' ones.

On another note: You may have noticed that I managed to post a blog spot every day in January. No, it was not a New Year's resolution. I've done it in other months from time to time. It is just a notion I take to try and post every day. Then I start thinking, "Who cares?" and quit trying. I am giving myself permission to do whatever feels right in February at the same time thinking I need to spend more time exercising and cleaning (a form of exercise?) than blogging.

So much to do, so little time. 

I hope you celebrate the month of Love, not just Valentine's Day and your sweetheart, but with some self care and connecting with friends and family. And may reading be part of that loving yourself. 💖

Escaping On The Black Dragon

Yesterday, in those wee morning hours my eldest and I seem to habituate, I received this FB message from him: "And it came to pass in her 21st year, that she constructed a bridge. Not merely to ford the small brook, but to escape the gloom that had set upon her and the paper lion.

But, alas it was a trick, set out by the witch, for she had strewn thorns along its path, and she was hobbled by them.

They had to escape on the black dragon, instead."

Every once in a while Douglas sends me one of his poems. So my first thought was that this was one of those. But I pondered its meaning for a few minutes before replying. I was getting the hint of a memory from his childhood.

"Is this about those planks I put across that ditch east of the house at the Odell place? The one where I stepped on that nail and had to have so many penicillin shots that I developed a rash and now can't have penicillin? And we took the black Plymouth to the Dr. almost every day? That 21st year? How do you even remember this? I love you sweetie."

In my 21st year, Douglas would have been three years old - about the age he was in this picture of him and my Dad, his Grandpa Louis, holding a big fish. I'm surprised he remembers much from that age.

My bridge building was going to be the first step in creating a new area for a shade garden. It never got any farther than those planks and that rusty nail. In addition to the penicillin, of course I had to have a tetanus shot.

And this is the black dragon we escaped on (in). Dougie and I had many adventures in the '57 Plymouth Belvedere. He wasn't just my little boy, he was my co-conspirator, my confidant, my co-pilot, my reason for living.

In looking through previous messages I found another poem he sent me in 2019. At that time I didn't catch a couple of the references about me.

Shipwrecked Soul

Corked empty, contained the words,

If this finds you, then you'll know...

Abandoned to share the ancient scroll.

I fell into the finality of a shipwrecked soul.

Ocean sunrise, sunset, Island beauty,

So like mine tho years apart.

Perhaps adventure or a life anew.

But, in the end the bottle he threw.

Flying home, the note still haunts,

Its plea for someone to know.

The bottled letter, its gripping spell.

But who am I to tell?

I can't rid myself of the shipwrecked soul.

Nor the bottle or his note.

On the ground the first glints of snow,

If this finds you then you'll know.

Rusted wire, twisted repair,

Much like the gate across my soul.

The barbed wire doesn't stop the wind and snow.

If this finds you then you'll know.

The lines, "Ocean sunset, sunrise, Island beauty, So like mine tho years apart" is a reference to his trips to the Virgin Islands the past few years and my one trip there in 1968. The time he tried to visit The Baths at Virgin Gordo, BVI, the sea was too rough for a safe docking. It was a magical experience for me, one I trust he will know, perhaps on his next stay on St. John.

And the "rusted wire, twisted repair....

....relate to the time when he was 17 and I was 35 and took on a job of repairing a fence for the $$$ we both needed.

We've both been through alot more since then - one of the roughest when he graduated from highschool and began his own life.

I am so grateful he is my son, but even moreso that he is my friend.

Facebook Has Given and Taken Away

When I joined Facebook in 2009 it seemed like 'the best thing since sliced bread' as the saying goes. It was great to connect with friends, relatives and even strangers with like minds. But what Facebook gave in those early years it has now taken away. Sign on now and all you get are ads, articles and links to sites that FB has 'identified' for you as per your interests, etc., etc., but very few posts from the people you care about and those you have to really hunt for in order to see. 

But once in awhile I am shown things that I do find interesting. Here are three from this morning:

A guide to deciphering dessert. One person commented that they had heard of them all except for 'grunt'. I had to agree; I didn't know that one either. But, when you read the small print you can see that it is also known as a slump. That I have heard of. There might even be a recipe for it in Mom's recipe box. And Betty, a little less well known, but it was my sister's name, so, yes, I had heard of that.

Then there was a photo from The Cathedral in The Baths National Park of Virgin Gordo, British Virgin Islands. I don't have any photos of me taken there, but I still have my memories from fifty-five years ago.  From that distance this could be a photo of me. Just imagine her in a bright yellow swim suit.

Lastly was this list of 'Aging musicians still with us in 2023'. Only ten are older than I. And topping the list is one of my very, very favorites. I have loved Willie Nelson and his music for at least fifty years. And, yes, I have seen him in a live performance.

Earlier this week Facebook 'gave' me a lengthy, reprinted article about Willie's guitar, Trigger. It was interesting - how he got the guitar, how long he's had it, why he named it Trigger, etc. At first I wasn't going to read the entire piece, but I did. I even went to YouTube and listened to some of the songs mentioned that I was not familiar with. 

I've always felt a connection with Willie and his music. Then I read this little bit embedded in the article: "By 1970 he was going through all kinds of personal changes -- reading the poems of Kahlil Gibran and the prophecies of Edgar Cayce...." Me too Willie. Me too.

In My Folder of Blog Ideas

I had another one of those middle of the night blog ideas. I even let it percolate through the old noggin for awhile making sure I would remember it this morning. Yeah, I have no clue. And nothing else struck my fancy so I went to my folder titled "Blog Ideas". Nothing there either.

But, there was a name, 'Jakub Schikaneder'. It didn't ring any bells, possibly a long lost relative in the wrong folder? Google the name and find that he was a Bohemian artist born in 1855. As soon as I looked at some of his paintings I knew why I had bookmarked him - I not only save poems and poets I like, I save artists and their paintings.

Here is what Wiki says about him: "Schikaneder is known for his soft paintings of the outdoors, often lonely in mood. His paintings often feature poor and outcast figures and combined neoromantic and naturalist impulses. Other motifs favored by Schikaneder were autumn and winter, corners and alleyways in the city of Prague and the banks of the Vltava - often in the early evening light or cloaked in mist." Well no wonder I like his paintings. These are a few of those in order of favorites....

Autumn Dawn

Evening in the Garden

Weeder

Dark Path

The Sad Way

And lastly, this one, for which I couldn't find the title.

It's the figure in the doorway, the stone pathway and the moodiness of the grays that like about it, or as I usually say: "It speaks to me."

Starch - Whether In Your Clothes Or Spine

That word I mentioned yesterday that I had been chewing on in the early hours was starch. I was remembering how it was part of every Monday morning wash day routine. But for the life of me I could not remember how Mom made it. 

But I seem to remember it involved using her blue enamel water bath canner and some kind of powder.

Faultless Starch was the oldest brand that did not require lengthly boiling. It was developed in the 1880's and probably what Mom used in the 1940's.

While researching I discovered an interesting, to me, side note that from the 1890's to the 1930's, in Texas, books were attached to the boxes of starch with a rubber band. There were thirty six titles designed as a supplement or substitute for school texts and primers. 

As for how Mom made the starch, which was supposed to save 20 minutes or more of ironing time, first, one, two or three tablespoons of dry starch, depending upon how heavy she wanted it, was stirred into cool water until it was the thickness of light cream. Step 2 says to slowly add the creamy mixture to rapidly boiling water and stir constantly until it turned from milky to clear.

What it doesn't say is how much boiling water to use. I suppose Mom knew from years of experience just how much to use depending on how many pieces of clothing she needed starched.

Niagara Instant Starch was introduced in the1950's. It did not require boiling the starch which was its main benefit.

Not only was there no boiling, the instructions on the box were more complete and easy to understand. 

Ironing starched clothes worked best if they were still slightly damp. If one didn't get them off the clothesline that way, lightly sprinkling them before ironing worked. I can remember Mom sprinkling by hand, but she also had a cork bottle top sprinkler which fit into the neck of a pop bottle that we used. 

It took a lot of starch for all our dresses, skirts, blouses and the men's good dress shirts. But what I remember most about starching was trying to get my can-cans good and stiff!

Faultless introduced instant spray starch in 1960. Niagara brand is the one I mostly used. It was such an improvement over the powdered starch and came along just in time for me - after can-cans and shortly before I became a housewife. I rarely iron anything anymore, but I do have a can of spray starch in the laundry room.

By the way, that 99-cent can pictured is off ebay for sale for 'only' $8.95. 

And that mention of spine in the title of this post? Once in awhile when it seemed something was too difficult for us, Mom would say, "Get a little starch in your back". Meaning, toughen up or use more energy, or be bold. You might also "Take the starch out of someone". Which meant make them weak or unsure; lose confidence. Just another of those old sayings from childhood which still reside in my memories.

When The Universe Gives You A Sign

I already had a subject for today's post after cogitating upon a question my eclectic brain presented at 3:04 a.m. this morning. I was still planning on that until the universe gave me a sign that it was time to work that idea which has been on the back burner for a year or more.

Not too surprisingly, the hint came from today's M-W word of the day: knackered "an adjective mostly used informally in British English to mean: very tired or exhausted". Well, most days I am pretty knackered by afternoon but that isn't what I had in mind.

I was thinking of the much older noun, knacker, which originally referred to a harness or saddle maker and then to a buyer of animals no longer able to do farm work - like a team of horses. 

For that is what I have wanted to write, a poem about how my Dad might have felt when he had to sell the team that he had worked with for so many years. He had graduated to a tractor and other machinery but still kept the horses around. I remember leading one of them, the 'hay horse' to pull the bundles of hay up into the hay mow. Out and back, out and back, until the hay was stowed safely away.

This picture was taken before the knacker came to take Rex and Dolly away. I was old enough to understand that meant they were going to slaughter. I was used to the cattle and pigs being killed for food, but not horses. It was upsetting and whether Dad planned it or not, they were taken away while we were in school so we wouldn't have to see them go. 

And I remember the name of the knacker, a neighbor who I always thought of as being more dignified and prominent than the average farmer; one who held some authority like president of the Farm Bureau or something. Not the slovenly, unkempt type I imagined a knacker to be. Once again I should query my older brother for his memories of the man.

Before the Knacker Came

He hung the harnesses on the pegs

Put hay in the mangers 

And oats in the feed boxes 

Currycombed their hides

Gave a few last pats along their sides

Turned to thoughts of all the years

Whether in sun, rain or snow 

How this faithful team kept going

And for a man who never cried

Wiped tears from his eyes.

Of Laughing Eyes and Simple Ways

Today is my Mother's birthday. She was born 104 years ago today. I was going to search for a poem for her, but as I poured my first cup of coffee, Elvis' song, Memories, came to mind. So here is a picture of Mom with her sisters and a little cousin. (Mom Ruth on the left, younger sister, Lois, middle, older sister Evelyn, right.)

Memories (Written by Mac Davis and Billy Strange)

Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind,

Memories, sweetened through the ages just like wine

Quiet thoughts come floating down, and settle softly to the ground

Like golden autumn leaves around my feet

I touched them and they burst apart with sweet memories.

Of holding hands and red bouquets

And twilight trimmed in purple haze

And laughing eyes and simple ways

And quiet nights and gentle days with you

Memories, sweet memories

So many sweet memories of mom. She was a woman with laughing eyes and simple ways. 💖