Goodbye, Old Year...

2009 is closing. Who'd 'a' thought it? I guess, emotionally, I live somewhere in the 1960s or '70s; haven't caught up to the years, yet. Yet I have completed 75 years of my journey here. I hope I can make at least spiritual progress in each one that I have left, the Dear knows how many that may be. If I can improve spiritually, any other improvements will be gravy. Eleemosynary, one of Mark Twain's favorite words.

Yesterday and today I re-set my eBay account, and have listed one item for sale. In the New Year, I hope to rid my home of a lot of flotsam and jetsam, without acquiring any more nonessentials. I've probably got enough clothes (except shoes and underclothes), furniture and books to last me about a hundred years; one cat, after whom I don't want any more; and a home in this wonderful house without having to make a huge house payment every month. My cup runneth over, truly.

2009 was a sad year for the Three Ramey Sisters, in different ways, yet we share the losses and reverses in our hearts, and are thankful that we have each other. December, the month of Christmas and my birthday, was so wonderful! I don't have the words to express my love and gratitude to my family and friends who made it so.

Is anyone else reminded of Gordy Ramey's grin?

The fifth day of Christmas

Yesterday morning I started reading Dave Ramsey's book, The Total Money Makeover. Jed left in the afternoon, I lay down on the sofa and slept until about 9:00 p.m. Then I woke up and read for a couple of hours, fell asleep again and slept until nearly 8:00 this morning. So I'm feeling rested and ready to face life again. I finished the book and believe that I can follow at least parts of it to improve my financial situation. I think everyone who doesn't have a budget, or even a job if they need one, should read this book.

On the Feast of Stephen

No snow lies round about here. The sun shines bright. I haven't poked my head out the door yet, so I don't know how cold it is. Jed has gone to the park to run.

This is my favorite gift received, a 2010 calendar from Jed; each page has a large Native American portrait, with identification at the bottom of the page. He also gave me a new scanner, but I haven't got a photo of it yet.

Below is one of my gifts to Jed. It's a Rod McIver water-color print which I ordered from Heron Dance. It didn't arrive until Christmas Eve, but I had a couple of little things wrapped for him, just in case it was late.

Our Christmas dinner guests were Susan, Pat, India, and Buffy. Suze brought one of her out-of-this-world rum cakes, and I over-ate, as usual. I had set two tables, for eight people, but Andy, Jesse, Jason and Reed didn't come. We missed them.

Here's Pat holding up the quilt I finally finished and gave her. She wouldn't show her face. It was one of the best Christmases I've ever had. But I missed Jack. We also missed Vann, Mama and Jenny. Someday, we'll all be together.

"...faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen." -- Hebrews 11:1

The Hebrews is a wonderful book to read. It also says, "Let brotherly love continue. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." (Heb. 13:1).

In 2010, I want to read the whole Bible through again, from beginning to end.

Snow Delivered To Wrong Address?

Today 50 per cent of the United States is covered with snow. I thought I had put in my order early enough, but no! I mean, Noooooh! Not here. Not now. Maybe in March or April, as a sort of anticlimax to winter.

Susan's soup supper last evening was mighty good. Suze made Santa Fe soup, and Andy made Italian wedding soup, and both were delicious. As was the enormous carrot cake, and the salad that Jed provided.

I rose before the sun this morning. Matter of fact, the sun hasn't even got here yet. Anyway, I got all my cooking done, and now I'm resting before setting the tables and so forth.

Where did I mislay that Christmas spirit?

I kept thinking it would come upon me suddenly, but now it's Christmas Eve! The gifts on the hall chest are about the only signs of the season in my house. I'll try to add some stuff today, if I ever get through DUSTING!

Tonight is Soup Night at Sister Susie's Yellow House, and I can't wait. Jed is supposed to arrive sometime today, and the weather is fine. 9:30 a.m. and all is well. But I think it's supposed to rain and turn cold tomorrow.

Today I'm going to make potato salad, which is always better when it rests overnight, and a sweet potato pie. Will cook the vegetables and other stuff tomorrow morning. I may have to make two s.p. pies, because--do you think I can let sweet potato pie alone for 24 hours without devouring a significant portion of it?

I feel like celebrating!

My shopping is done, I tell you, done! D-o-n-e! Done! Done! Done! And my house is almost as cleaned-up as it's going to get. Of course, I have to start all over again, but it'll be easier than it was before I cleaned it last week. She said.

Now to make a list of the chores I've been saving for Jed. Lemme see....

The St. John's Bible

From an article by Jason Byassee, pastor of Shady Grove United Methodist Church in Providence. North Carolina. and a Ph.D. candidate in theology at Duke Divinity School. This article appeared in The Christian Century, August 9, 2005, pp.20-23. Copyright by the Christian Century Foundation; used by permission.
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The St. John’s Bible is being produced by dozens of scholars and artists who have been laboring for almost a decade, at a cost of about $4 million, to create the first handwritten, illuminated Bible in five centuries. Chief calligrapher Donald Jackson and his colleagues are producing something priceless -- a Bible beautiful enough to make readers want to keep reading, and even want to praise God.
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The project began with a decision by St. John’s Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota, to commemorate the second millennium of Christ’s birth in grand fashion. The Benedictine order has long been devoted to manuscript preservation. In the Middle Ages the order copied precious books that would otherwise have been lost.
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St. John’s decided to produce a Bible with all the trappings of the greatest editions of the past -- using gold leaf, calfskin pages, quill pens and so on. But the project would also draw on modern resources, such as computers to plot out the spacing and provide schemata for the calligraphers. To oversee the work they tapped Jackson, chief calligrapher for the queen of England, whose life ambition was to produce a handwritten Bible. St. John’s allowed him to choose a team of assistants. A committee of theologians and biblical scholars directs the project from Minnesota.
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The St. John’s Bible has been called "America’s Book of Kells" by Newsweek. It may be far more important than that, for this text is meant not only to be beautiful, like a museum object, but to inspire a renewed love of scripture. It is meant to be read at home and used in liturgy.

Snow?

First we have to dreen off all this flood water. Passing by the big park yesterday, I noticed the creek was overflowing. This morning we still have puddles in the back yard, but it's mostly OK.

Scarlett came from Ebay about 2001, in her original dress, socks and pantalets, but they were in woeful condition, as was her hair. I bleached the dress twice to make it white again. She had no shoes, so last night I made her a very quick and temporary pair of sandals.

*

So today the preparations for Christmas dinner begin in earnest. Monday I'll finish shopping for the ingredients, Wednesday query Jed regarding the turkey, and cook all day Thursday.

*

Right now I need me another cup of coffee.

Morning's almost gone

And I spent all of it packing THE book I've sold in December. It's a paperback that weighs about three pounds, and of course I had no box it would fit in. Anyway, I think it'll be OK with my extra pound of bubble wrap, cardboard, kraft paper and tape. I think I'll quit this business. Some buyers will use every trick in the book to get a refund or a freebie. If they can't think of anything else, they'll say it smells bad, and what can you do? I left this book outside in the wind for several hours yesterday, then stood it up on the table and sprayed above it with room deodorizer. Not to mention cleaning the covers with Windex. If I sold more books, I would worry less about each one, but currently it's more work and worry than it's worth.

Trying to make haste slowly

My right hand looks like it's beginning to turn into 300-grit sandpaper. So this morning I decided to wear an acrylic glove on it all day while I'm cleaning the microwave and refrigerator, washing dishes and trash cans, picking up trash out of the yard. There's what looks like a bundle of packing material in one of the trees in back, but I couldn't reach it with the rake, which is the longest-handled tool I've got. I've worked on the house some today, but not frantically. I think I'm done with frantic.

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Joyce Earle called me yesterday and said that we'd lost another classmate, Jerry R. He didn't graduate with us but we've always considered him a classmate for some reason. I don't even remember his being in any classes with us. Anyway, that's a sad note.

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Another Elvis dream. I feel like Blanche Devereaux, dreaming about "George." These aren't romantic dreams, just sometimes sweet and usually funny.

Christmas Time's A-Comin'!

And I've got more to do in the next few days than I can--or will--possibly get done. I tell myself I've got it all under control, but myself says, "Yeah, right." But I've got one day set aside for shopping and one day for cooking, so at least we'll eat. I mean shopping for food; I've got the gifts wrapped, all but one that I haven't got a box that'll fit.

At the right in the photo is my same old Father Christmas that I made goodness knows how long ago

A beautiful day?

Every time I look outside, I expect to see snow falling. It's that kind of a day, but only a few tiny raindrops or something occasionally. It feels good to pop out onto the deck or porch for a few breaths of clear cold air, and then back into the warm house.

Our book club Christmas party yesterday was really great. I took some nuts, wine, (store-bought) pecan shortbread cookies, paper plates and plastic utensils to leave for later, and my bag of ornaments that (I hope) everyone liked. I kept this one -

and gave the 3-4 leftovers to Ramey because she has put up her Christmas tree. Mary Anne, Nell, and our new member (whose name I forget, as I haven't met her) were absent. Carol, Peggy and Chris have been not-attending for a long time, for various good reasons.
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We talked about a few books, anyway, although it was just a party, and made donations to the library in honor of the late Jane Culbreth for whom the library is named. Susan mentioned Shape of Illusion and the new Stephen King book, Under the Dome, that she's reading. Of course, Betty and I had to go over Shantaram again; I think it was her and my favorite book in 2009. Also, someone mentioned The Awakening Land, by Conrad Richter, which we read in (I think) 2007.
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We also signed up for hosting book club in the months of 2010. I chose April, and have to find a good book for that month. Betty chose January, and the book she recommended is Nancy Swimmer, by Clyde Bolton.

Get cracking!

Still sitting here in my pajamas, with only two hours before book club meeting. I did finish the ornaments this morning. Here they are, front side and back side:

The front view will enlarge on my quilting blog. Gotta get moving!

Ah! West and wewaxation at wast!

I've been making Christmas ornaments all day. Still have a few to finish, but had to quit because I couldn't see the thread or needle, due to eye strain. So I'm just resting, with my after-dinner cup of coffee. If it weren't so near bedtime, I would take a nap.

While I was sewing, I watched President Obama's Nobel award speech. I hope (and believe) that he believes everything he said, and that it wasn't just some speechwriter's hype. It was a humble but dignified speech, and I would challenge anyone to find one word of it that was wrong or unworthy of a Christian, an American, and the president of the United States.

We have Book Club meeting at the library tomorrow, and I'm making these ornaments as favors. I hope I get enough finished to give one to each member who's present. We didn't have to read a book this time; we're supposed to bring refreshments, and money to donate to the library.

Light show over Norway--What is it?

The North Wind Doth Blow

Actually, I think it's the west wind. Yesterday evening I sat here and listened to the garbage cans flailing the neighborhood, and was glad I had got my cart in behind the house before dark. Today I'm trying to wrap Christmas gifts, but I need to get more Scotch tape and stuff. It's always something.

In February and March, July and August, time drags; a day seems to take a week, and a month is a long time passing. But come the last quarter of the year, the wheels speed up and days are gone before you can get started. Is today really the 9th of December?

I've got three projects going--one on the kitchen table, one on the dining room table, and one on the sewing machine. None of them can be finished until I go to the store(s). So here I sit. I'd like to be outside in the sunshine and wind, sneezing or not. In a little while, I'm going out. Or back to bed.

A Headache Remedy

I've got a mild sinus headache, the first headache of any kind I've had in many years--more than ten, I'm sure. If I press on the bone under my left eyebrow, the pain goes away for a few minutes. That's how I know it's a sinus headache--or, that's why I think it's a sinus headache. And every time I go outside, I start sneezing. And that reminds me, I've got to replace the furnace filter.
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I am so excited about Christmas! First time I've really had the Christmas Spirit in a long time. All my shopping is done. I think. I started stockpiling gifts about in July or August, and I herewith issue a general apology for the unevenness of the quality/expense of them. Now I've got to wrap them--which is one of the most fun parts.
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The first week in November, I sold five books, but not one since then. Curious.
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These pictures (yesterday and today) are from Christmases Past, which I guess is why they won't enlarge when you click on them. At least, they won't for me.
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You don't have to read Random Harvest.

I really don't demand that everyone read the books I mention. I just get carried away talking about them. And that movie might make you not want to read the book. So don't watch it. I mean, in my opinion, you shouldn't watch it, at least not until you've read the book.

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When/if it comes my turn as Book Club host in 2010, I may choose Random Harvest. But I've lost, donated or sold my copy.

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Happy Holidays to Everyone!

Movie and Book Comments

Random Harvest (1942)

Directed by Mervyn LeRoy. Stars
Ronald Colman, Greer Garson and Susan Peters.

Based on the Novel by James Hilton

TCM showed this movie last night. It's pretty good, but not one one-thousandth as good as the book. So Please Don't Watch It until after you've read the book, which is one of my favorite novels of all time.

Greer Garson was beautiful, but looked about 40 years old, and Ronald Colman looked every bit of an ill-preserved 65. The movie was mostly doom-and-gloom, except for the mushy hearts and flowers and gingerbread cottages. The book isn't like that at all.

The movie begins in 1917, the day that World War I ended. A veteran is in a mental hospital in England because he was wounded and lost his memory and all his identification. He doesn't know who he is, but he knows he isn't insane, so one night he just walks away from the hospital.

The book begins years afterward, and much of the background story is told in flashbacks. In contrast to the movie, there is at least one event in this book that is so funny, I laughed like a crazy person the first time I read it. And the romances are so poignant as to add touches of sadness. There's a priest who is a perverse and delightful character, but he wasn't in the movie.

Please don't read the Reader's Digest condensed version. The real thing isn't a big book. James Hilton also wrote Good-Bye, Mr. Chips and Lost Horizon. Random Harvest is better than both of those put together.

I have to say it.

I'm very proud that the Crimson Tide beat the Florida Gators 32-13 for the SEC championship. The cheering was sort of dampered for me, though, watching that Florida quarterback cry. I felt sorry for him, but it put me in mind of seeing Martina Navratilova crying when she got beaten. At that time, I thought, "Can you imagine Chrissie Evert crying because she lost a tennis match?" And I didn't feel a bit sorry for Navratilova. It's different, though, seeing a big cute boy shed tears, gave me sort of a sick feeling. They need to teach 'em sportsmanship as well as football. After all, Florida won it last year, and did you see any Bama guys crying?

Anyway, today I saw Nick Saban smile for once.

The White Stuff That Fell To Earth

We did get some snow last night. At 8:30, when I woke up and looked outside, each post on my deck had a little mound of snow on top. The deck looked like a skating rink, with ice and frozen snow all over.
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Tomorrow my great-nephew Reed Agan will be four years old, and I hear there's a birthday party on the agenda. (Uh oh, if it's a surprise party, I hope Reed doesn't read this! I wouldn't be surprised if he did--you never know what that guy can do until he does it.)

Pinky-Promise: This is ab-so-lute-ly my last purchase in 2009. Don't know what I'll do with all the money I saved on it! I hope to have my kitchen refurbished by Christmas, and this is the new color combination.

Today and tomorrow, I plan to give Miss Sylvia a makeover and finish her Christmas outfit. I don't know how old this doll is, but I would guess 1950s.
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Speaking of makeovers, next week my car is going to get a new battery and a new tire or two, and inside-out cleaning and polishing and all that. "But right now, I need me a ri-ide! My uncle used to love me, but she died--" It won't start again, so I guess I'll get Murray's to come start it one more time, and I'll just stay in it and drive it around until the new cables we ordered arrive.

Do Guardian Angels Like Their Job?

I was thinking about the times I believe my guardian angel has rescued me from peril. For some reason, it occurred to me that the heavenly creature may not even like me, but keeps an eye out for me anyway. I know that I don't have the most comfortable and inviting personality in the world, and I was a wicked, wicked child. If I were convinced that I'm a sore trial to my angel, I might be wondering, with Robert Frost, "how to take the curse, tragic or comic."

I think I would just apologize and try to mend myself: be more sensible, sociable, practical, farsighted, industrious, brave, pious, and so forth.

Hoping to make his/their job a bit easier.

Four Days To Read a Book?

I finally finished it today: The Cloister and the Hearth, by Charles Reade. If your heart can break over and over, this book can do it to it. So I don't recommend it. It's a historical novel, about the mother and father of Erasmus. Who was Erasmus? Who were his mother and father? Ancient history. Courage, comrade! le diable est mort!

Additions to My Quilt Blog

After hours of trying to get the spacing right, I've posted some more quilt pictures to my blog, Family Quilts (link in left column). If anybody urgently desires one of them, say so and I'll think about it. My first go-around on this deteriorating planet isn't going to last more than 25-30 more years (I don't think I had any past lives here; at least, I don't remember any).

Iron Bowl and other food for thought

The second half has just begun and they're tied 14-all. I am not-watching so as not to jinx the Tide. Jed said if Alabama gets ahead by about 30 points, he'll call me.

Yesterday, Ruby Tuesday's was the only place we called where we could get in and sit down without waiting until dark, so we had a wonderful lunch there, my treat. I had the New Orleans seafood platter, and Jed had Chicken Bella which I almost wished I had ordered instead. For once, I cleaned my plate and came near to ordering dessert, but got strong and desisted.

I feel really bad about not cooking for Thanksgiving. If I keep my stren'th, that won't happen again. I'm going to cook everything good I can think of for Christmas. Jed is (at present) determined to fry a turkey, and he promises to educate himself about the process so that we won't have a 30-foot-high fireball. Just to be on the safe side, I may also stuff and roast a hen or a turkey. And make a Lane cake. And ye olde-tymie green-bean casserole. And a really good potato salad. And my sister Ramey's sweet potato pie. And some divinity candy. And I don't know what-all. I'm craving pineapple upside-down cake; I haven't had this since the last time my mama made it.

Wednesday evening, Jed brought sandwiches from McAlister's Deli, and the best soup I've ever had in my life--tortilla soup!

There may be flies on some o' you guys . . .

This is the smartest cat that ever walked on the topside. I was cleaning up his litter box, and he jumped in it and started to scratch.

I said, "Mo, don't use the box till I get it cleaned up for you. Go outside if you need to."

He looked at me curiously, then jumped out of the box and went down the basement stairs and outside.

This may not be the most delicate subject I ever wrote about, but it's very true and significant.

There ain't no flies on Mo!

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod

By Eugene Field

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe--
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three;
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

*

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in that beautiful sea--
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish--
Never afeard are we!"
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
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All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam--
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea--
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
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Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

***

Babies from left: Peter Alexander (1-1/2 inch; antique), McLeod II (1960s), and Little Eustace (1980s). Their names are from one of my favorite books, China Court, by Rumer Godden.

[I made the high chair and the ruffled bassinet! And all the clothes.]

A good mystery

My knee doesn't hurt any more. I realized yesterday, climbing the deck stairs, that I was walking normally with no pain. I would think it was a muscle cramp or bruise, but it lasted for months and got worse as it went along. Then all of a sudden it's gone. I'm very thankful. And I don't have to put up with them in January trying to find out what's wrong with me.

"Poor wounded name!..."

This afternoon on the way to the "library," I picked up the first book I saw, Tess of the D'Urbervilles, and read the first chapter. All my life I have put off reading this book. I've read The Mayor of Casterbridge and Jude the Obscure, and I once saw a beautiful movie based on Far From the Madding Crowd. I should have read Tess first, but for a while I was saving it for a future treat, and then after reading Jude, I decided I had had all the Thomas Hardy I could take.

Now I am so captivated by Tess, the book, that I can't do anything industrious. The next day or so will be spent among those pages. A map in the front of the old book shows me that "Wessex," the setting, is southwest in England, almost Cornwall, an area with which I made myself as well acquainted as possible in my short time there, in the year 1997. This cures my impression that "Wessex" was somewhere north near Scotland or Hadrian's Wall. I've always tended towards ignorance in geography. But I loved Bristol and the Channel, and Bath, Lynton, Tintagel, Barnstable. Stonehenge and Salisbury. Well, I didn't love Stonehenge, but I liked the old crooked-spired cathedral so much that I re-read Sarum.

If my sentences are somewhat scatterbrained, it's because I can't wait to get back to the book.

Whassamallayou?

I can't figure out why, but every once in a while I think of Tojo Yamamoto, a wrestler whom Daddy and I used to watch on TV. He tried to scare the other wrestlers with fierce looks, and when he talked at all, he ran all his words together and left out a lot of syllables.

I Googled him, and found out he had a sort of ordinary real name, Harold Watanabe, and he shot himself dead in 1992. What was the matter with you, Tojo? Well, he had diabetes and was too miserable to live.

(Photo may be subject to copyright, but I don't plan to use it for resale or any kind of profit.)

The real question implied by the title of this post is, Why doesn't anyone ever comment on my "Book Reviews and Movie Comments" (a feature in the left column of this blog)? Agree or disagree, but say somepn.

Steve and his crew are outside, blowing leaves off the porch and driveway, chopping down rosebushes, grinding up leaves, chopping off shrubbery, and cleaning the gutters. "How much do you want me to chop off?" he said, and I said, "Just chop until you get tired." You have to be severe with plant life, or it'll take over the lot and intrude into the rooms. Especially the kind of plant life that this lot grows. The roses are the only thing I've planted that will grow here; otherwise it's trees, shrubbery, grass, weeds, and nameless aliens; you can sit and watch them grow.

Goodbye to all that stuff

Today I'm going through the house and throwing out everything that I don't want, except for anything I can leave out for the Exchange Club truck next week. I've already filled one big black construction bag. One thing I'm happy to see the last of is a slipcover for the sofa, that I started about five years ago and have worried over, off and on, ever since. Yesterday I was going to try to finish it, and the thought occurred to me--"Why? Why not banish it forever from my sight?" The fabric was expensive, but I don't like it now, and after so long a time, you just cut your losses.

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Mama Gots New Boots!

To go with my winter-white pants and jacket. They're sooo comfortable, I may wear them all the time. Not really, but I ordered them half a size larger than my usual, so I may do that from now on.

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(Added about 5 p.m.) My closet hasn't been this uncrowded since I was in college and really didn't have much to keep or throw away. Some of the stuff I'm giving to Exchange Club, I've never worn, and they're all pretty nice clothes. I'm proud of me for thinning out the accumulation.

Just experimenting

When it's all cleaned and shined, and the cat-scratched corners patched, it may look more OK. In fact, my new rug may turn out to be a "wow factor."

I don't know why my camera is making fuzzy pictures. This one is a little better than my first effort.

Giving thanks

I thank the Good Lord that I was able to maneuver the old Abe Lincoln through this steady downpour today, and get my books mailed. I didn't know the P.O. would be closed tomorrow until I got home; I figured they would shift it to next Monday, if I thought about it at all. Mary U. sent a video by email that made me really think about a great matter that we have to be thankful for--the men and women in our armed forces who can't be with their families this Thanksgiving season.

"Conscience doth make cowards..."

I had 2 book sales over the weekend. The last one is an old mass-market paperback, and it sold for $14.76. Last time I had a sale like that, I felt so bad about charging that much for an old paperback, I refunded the buyer's shipping charge. Well, I ain't a coward any more. She can read it and probably resell it for at least that much.

Cindy

She's a vintage Madame Alexander "Poor Cinderella," 13" high, from Ebay.

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The flower trimming came on a spool, and I just tacked rows of it to the crystalette, or whatever that fabric is.

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I think this is the last photo of the dolls until I've made a few more, and then I'll post them all as a group or something.

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Next I'll be working on Sylvia, the one that started my collection. Mama gave it to me back when she was selling antiques, must have been late sixties or early seventies.

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I'm making the simpler ones, to learn how to sew little garments again before starting on the gown for Pinkie Baby.

Don't complain about the sleeves, Val...

...I spent two days on them.



"Ah! Les manges--elles sont magnifiques!"

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He may still get some new boots before Christmas. On the other hand, he may not.

Favorite Recordings By E.P.

Don't
Farther Along
For the Good Times
From a Jack To a King
Good Time Charlie's Got the Blues
He Touched Me
Honey
I John
I'll Remember You
Little Egypt
Moody Blue
Proud Mary
Stand By Me
Sweet Spirit
What Now, My Love?
Where Could I Go But To the Lord
Without a Song
The Wonder Of You
Yesterday
You Gave Me a Mountain
Young and Beautiful
You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'
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E.P.: Call home.

"Once more into the breach..."

This morning I started writing another November novel. I didn't hook up with NaNoWriMo, and I intend for this to be a closet piece. It's about a certain family, including a marriage and a divorce, and it's purely for therapy. I knew I'd have to write it eventually before I could do anything else important. They say you have to write a million unsuccessful words before you learn enough to write something good. I expect I really have written at least half that much. Probably more. Have I learned anything? "Ahem," as they say. That's another word I hate--it really is a dictionary word.

I did get a few trick-or-treaters last night, and they were all little kids. I don't like it when groups of teenagers storm the porch.

Curly Sue

I found this little doll in a grocery store several years ago, Food Fair or Food World. She had a broken leg, but we fixed it. These are her original clothes, so I don't have to make her a Christmas outfit. When I got her, I had just seen the movie "Curly Sue," so of course that's what I named her. She's not so little--15 inches high. Old Valentine is a gangly 21 inches. Yes, storage is a problem; boxes on top of boxes.

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I sold my copy of Leeds: Her Story today for $36.

My Fussy Valentine

He threw the mask in the trash, but Jerry found it. Val was miffed because he had to wear his old blue boots. I couldn't be bothered to make new boots for Halloween; maybe for Christmas.

Sew So

Here's Valentine Ballantyne in his skivvies. Val was made (by me) about 1985. He and his dog Jerry are in for the first fitting of their new Christmas outfits. Val complains about my sewing, says I never get the sleeves right. That's his old Valentine's Day suit in the background, and on his poor old bald noggin. He has a point with his complaints; seems his boots make him look like he has two left feet. I said if he'd be sensible like Jerry and just wear a bow around his neck, maybe I could do a better job.

Val said he's a direct descendent of the Tudor clowns Will Somer and his wife Lucretia, and he thinks I ought to make his costumes out of better materials than plain old cotton. He said Will and Lucretia were issued ells and ells of scarlet velvet to make suits for Queen Elizabeth's coronation celebrations. I said all this sewing is giving me 'ell, and I'd give him all the cloth he wants if he'll take over the tailoring.

He also complained because I haven't made him a Halloween costume. I said I'd think about it, if he'd just shut-tup!

This morning I watched the movie "Wolf" on TV. I've avoided it before, but today there wasn't anything else to watch while I was sewing. It's not that bad a movie; pretty bad, but not that bad. What saves it is the combination of Jack Nicholson's acting and Michelle Pfeiffer's beauty. If I got reincarnated and got to choose how I wanted to look, she would be it. Besides, when this movie was made, James Spader was still pretty--at least until the moon was just right.

Poems I Know By Heart

Shakespeare's Sonnets tell the story of his life.
#76
Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why, with the time, do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
O know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent;
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love, still telling what is told.

#94
(I don't know this one by heart, but it tells his name. It's the only one of 154 sonnets that contains all the letters of his name in order--his usual signature. All the letters of his first name are counted from the left; all the letters of his last name are counted from the right. I presented this at an Oxford Shakespeare Society convention in Atlanta or Washington DC, I forget which. The poem doesn't make much sense, except that it tells his name.) Drawing by me, from a portrait of the Earl of Oxford.

ThEy that have power to hurt and will do none,
That Do not do the thing they most do show,
Who moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, And to temptation slow;
They Rightly do inherit Heaven's graces,
AnD husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and Owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their eXcellence;
The summer's flower is to the summer sweEt
Though to itself it only live aNd die;
But if that flower with base inFection meet,
The basest weed Outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by theiR deeds:
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeDs.

Building Self-Esteem

I had a most interesting dream last night. Somehow I had won a bit part in an Elvis movie, but it was a very special bit part--the Elvis character was supposed to receive some very good news which made him so happy, he kissed the girl standing nearest him--which was me. I must have been about 33 years old, because that's how old Elvis--who never paid the least attention to me--looked.

It was a long, complicated dream, mostly having to do with the crew quarters which consisted of a large warehouse-looking building. The interiors were windowless, all done in tile and metal and fluorescent lighting, so clean and spotless I wondered if we were going to eat off the floor. In addition to my bit part in the movie, I was responsible for the props, which were continually being delivered at the back of the building.

Anyway, when it came time to film The Kiss, I was as nervous and fluttery as a hummingbird. The director and star and other people were standing around joking and laughing, and I was standing on my mark. The director yelled "Lights!" and I closed my eyes. Then a pair of skinny arms closed around me, and a really revolting mouth closed over about half of my face. Somehow there I felt the gap of a missing tooth. I stepped back, opened my eyes, and beheld a grinning old geezer in a suit completely covered in rhinestones. He even had glitter in his sparse, fuzzy white hair.

I looked around, and Elvis and the crew were talking and laughing with their backs to me.

"My gosh," I thought, "they sent in the stunt man."
*
Anyhow, I've got to get dressed and go mail a book.

Progress and Poverty

All week I thought I was making so much progress--sold a couple of books, got all my bills paid and ordered an area rug for the living room, and faced the resulting semi-poverty bravely. Then yesterday I decided it was too cold for Mo to have to go outside, so I fixed him a privy in the bathroom--and in the process of all this activity, the rooms look like a tornado came in the front door and got caught somewhere in the center of the house. Oh, well, I've coped before, and no doubt I'll cope again.

Mo has got so old, all he wants to do is lie in my lap and sleep. Yesterday, the last time he went outside, he didn't come in right away. I called and called, and finally found him camped out in the basement. He had to be coaxed up the stairs, one step at a time. If I should find him asleep and not breathing, what will I do?

Thanks to economist Henry George for the title of this post. He wrote a great book, which I guess has done a lot of good in this country. Still, I think it takes a lot more now to live close to the poverty line than it did in 1867 when the book came out.

The Curiosity Bump

"Insatiable Curtiosity," as Cousin Rudyard called it, can get one into trouble. It can also lead to higher learning, but that doesn't concern us right now. Anyway, yesterday my oft-piqued curiosity about Facebook led me to sign up for the danged thing, whatever it is. I just followed the Steps 1, 2, 3, 4, claiming to be a friend of every name that I recognized. Now I've received 2-3 emails accepting me as a friend, so many thanks to each. I'm going to reply to each email with the gist of this post, when they stop coming in.

The "gist" is that I don't intend to lecture, inspire, comfort, console or try to reform anyone on Facebook. If I post anything, it's most likely to be a far-fetched non sequitur.

"Gist" is one of the ugliest words I've ever seen/heard. Must be Anglo-Saxon or Old French. You'd be amazed at how often I have to consult the dictionary about a word. I wish everyone else would do the same; that would make my life warmer and cozier. I wish all liberal arts colleges would add a required course called "Dictionary." Or is there such a thing as a liberal arts college (or course) any more?
*
I slept off-and-on from about 6:00 p.m. yesterday until 3 p.m.-something this afternoon. When I woke up, I immediately scribbled a title and complete outline for a new chapbook. And I'm feeling like me again, after my ninth cup of coffee (slight exaggeration).

Soup for one or two

Nothing fancy. I just slivered some baby carrots in a casserole, added 1/2 cup of water and a pat of butter, and microwaved it for 10 minutes. Then I added a cup of Campbell's cream of chicken soup and a cup of water, stirred it up and added some black pepper and heated it again for about five minutes. I didn't eat crackers with mine, because they would have defeated the taste of the carrots. Mmmm, good supper last night.

I'm reading The Poems and Fairy Tales of Oscar Wilde. I love Oscar Wilde, and I think it's a shame the way he was treated in Great Britain. I'm glad he left there permanently when they let him out of prison. One of my favorite quotations from O.W. is, "It is what you read when you don't have to, that determines what you will be when you can't help it." It seems to be partly true, and completely free of his usual sarcasm or irony.


I know that I'm always starting projects and not finishing them, or planning projects and never beginning them. But this time, Mama means it! I'm going to start today making Christmas outfits for all my dolls, or as many as possible. I own about 50 or 60 (every time I count them I get a different number), so maybe I can dress at least half of them, the larger ones, before Christmas. I'm also planning to have snow for Christmas, one way or another.

This is my 1935 Madame Alexander "Baby Pinkie." She was born just a year after I was, but has aged much better. I'm thinking a christening gown for her, and a knitted or crocheted blankie.

Potato Peel Pie?

Thank goodness, the book doesn't dwell on the pie but on the Society members. I never would have picked up this book to read based on the cutesy title alone. But again thank goodness, whoever the October Book Club hostess is, she chose it for this Friday's meeting. It's one of the best books I've read this year.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows, is an "epistolary" novel, consisting entirely of letters from and to the protagonist, author Juliet Ashton. It concerns the WWII German invasion and occupation of England's channel islands, specifically the isle of Guernsey. Even more vividly than Ursula Heigi's Stones From the River, it underscores the existence of that era's bad Germans and good Germans. The book is full of humor and romance, as well as tragedy, and is a thoroughly delightful reading experience.

I feel blessed lately with an abundance of good books to read. In addition to the Guernsey..., Anya Seton's The Turquoise, William Barrett's The Shape of Illusion, and The Red Tree by Caitlin Kiernan; all are worth rereading someday when one doesn't have anything new to read.

Heavenly Powers by Neil Silberman is fascinating, and for some reason also disturbing. Others may disagree, but I don't recommend it, as it tends to disarrange some aspects of the mind if one doesn't concentrate on a fixed object. I shake my head.

Doggie Contest

Added Monday, Oct. 12: Cindy has withdrawn Chucky from the contest. The weekly winners are getting votes in the thousands--though how they can do that we can't figure out. I think Chucky's high numbers were between 100-200.

My friend Cindy in Arizona has entered her miniature Schnauzer in a "cutest dog" contest, online. If he gets the most votes in a week, he wins $500. If he is a runner-up in the contest, which ends Thanksgiving Day, he'll get $5000. If he should by any luck win the grand prize, it is one puredee million $U.S. Prizes are awarded on number of votes. Here's the link. If you don't want to vote for Chucky, you can at least look at the dog photos, or even vote for a dog you like better. http://www.cutestdogcompetition.com/gallery.cfm


And here's Lucky Chucky.

My sisters could enter their little friends in this contest. If I had a dog, I could enter him or her, and I bet we'd win.

If Chucky wins anything, Cindy plans to divide it among her large extended family of relatives. Good plan. If Ramey and Susan enter Gretchen and Sophie, and happen to win, I hope they'll consider adopting that plan.

Out, out, d---ed cholesterol!

Not really doing it on purpose, but for 3 days (including today), all I want to eat is oatmeal. Quaker Old Fashioned. With raisins. No sugar, no milk, no butter. It sounds healthy enough, I think. I still eat my Cheerios with skim milk for breakfast (when I think about it), but the rest of the day it's oatmeal. Go figure. At least it's healthier than Ball Park franks.

Why can't we be sensible, plan our meals or at least the kinds of meals we need, and then carry out the plan? (Read "I" for "we.") Must be because we aren't built that way. I can write plans and lists all day, or for an hour a day, or occasionally. But the execution part comes hard, very hard. Making all those plans tires me out. It's like planning a book or story or poem before I write it. The result falls into the "ho hum" category, and the "why did I bother?" bucket.

I'm not complaining--remember, I pledged not to complain any more this year. Just telling it the way it is.

Earth my likeness

Walt Whitman was a wild soul. His love of wild nature and the sensual experiences of life are felt in everything he wrote. ...The beauty of Roderick MacIver's... watercolors creates a grand tribute to this sensitive soul.

As I have walk’d in Alabama my morning walk,

I have seen where the she-bird the mocking-bird sat

on her nest in the briers hatching her brood.

I have seen the he-bird also,

I have paus’d to hear him near at hand

inflating his throat and joyfully singing.

And while I paus’d it came to me that what

he really sang for was not there only,

or for his mate nor himself only, nor all sent back by the echoes,

But subtle, clandestine, away beyond,

a charge transmitted and gift occult for those being born.

— Walt Whitman

Picture and text from Heron Dance, A Pause for Beauty 321, Oct. 1, 2009

Painting: Autumn Portage, by Roderick MacIver

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Added about 9:15 p.m. - Curiouser and Curiouser

On HGTV, there's a program called "If Walls Could Talk." I watched it last night, and part of it was very strange. The featured homeowners had bought a house formerly owned by astrologer Linda Goodman, in Cripple Creek, Colorado. The house still had all of Goodman's furniture and furnishings, drafts of all her manuscripts, personal possessions. Weird.

*

The couple who bought the house said that the reason the house was left "as is" and eventually put up for sale was that Linda disappeared. Wikipedia says she died in 1995 from complications of diabetes, but that she had a daughter who disappeared in 1973. I couldn't find any details online about her later life and the circumstances of her death, but apparently she was born in 1925.

*

When my children were teenagers, we enjoyed reading Linda Goodman's Sun Signs, and I have read (and own a copy of) Linda Goodman's Relationship Signs, published posthumously and edited by Crystal Bush. The latter book says that she died in 1995, that Crystal Bush and Carolyn Reynolds worked with Goodman until shortly before her death.

*

The whole house is decorated with the theme of Alice in Wonderland. It has stained glass windows with scenes from Alice, decks of cards with scenes from Alice on the backs, plates with Alice scenes (a la the Tenniel drawings). All the furniture in the house is antique, and a lot of the pieces are rather funny-looking antiques.

*

I don't believe that astrology can predict anything or "foretell the future." But the types of people born under the signs of the zodiac do seem to match the astrological descriptions.

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Sometimes my blog won't leave spaces between paragraphs. I put asterisks between paragraphs when this is happening.

Dining Room: It has been worse

Not really a makeover, I just cleaned and redecorated a bit.

I think in October I'll work on the kitchen.

One down

Yesterday Steve and his crew mowed the grass and cleaned up the remains of the pile of limbs by Jerry's driveway. So that's one worry off my mind. I asked Steve if he knew a good place to call to get my water-in-the-basement problem fixed. He said he would call the plumbing company that he uses in Trussville and ask them, and if they did that kind of work, he would let me know.

...Creatures great and small

Back in the spring, I noticed that a cardinal had a nest in the hedge outside my office window. I saw at least one young bird before it started to get its color. Now, almost every day when I sit at the desk, I see beautiful fat redbirds coming and going at the bush. One of them lit briefly on my windowsill, one day back in the summer.

Last night I was watching TV. The door to the deck was open and the porch light on, and through the screen I saw an enormous possum come up the steps and proceed to the bowl where I had left cat food for the black cat. It didn't seem to like the cat food much, just ate a little and scattered a lot around the bowl. Then it explored on the deck, out of my sight, for a while, then found the steps and went off into the dark.

Here alone most of the time, I could get lonely now and then, if not for all the animal life that keeps me amused or concerned. I know I shouldn't leave food out for the cat, but one day a crow sat on the deck rail and gnoshed a little. That same day a large blue-and-black butterfly had the little bowl covered with its gorgeous wings, but flew away before I could get the camera.

My sister Ramey gets deer in her yard, which I try not to covet. Once she saw a white squirrel, and on rare days a big turtle appears.

A Favorite Meal

This afternoon I got a bean in my bonnet, that is, a craving for beans.

Great northern beans, cooked with a strip of bacon. Green tomato relish. Cornbread. A big glass of milk.

I only cooked a small pot of beans, a small cake of cornbread, because I pretty well knew that once I got started, I would eat the whole thing. And I did.

Jed had to work in Birmingham this morning, so he came over yesterday afternoon. We had seafood at Ruby Tuesday's for dinner, and he helped me move one piece of furniture out of my dining room. After his presentation to some prospective customers today, he shuffled on back to Atlanta. It was a very nice visit.

Just Call Me Sweetie Pie

I think I've done enough complaining to last for the rest of this year. I resolve not to whine again until after January 1, 2010--that's when I'll be looking my annual medical checkup in the face, so I'll have to groan a little.

Irony, irony; and why I'll never hire anyone again

All summer long, I picked up fallen limbs and piled them under one of the trees. Once I asked Steve to get his crew to clean up the back of the lot, so he ran the mower over the dead leaves and left, and charged me 30 dollars extra. The pile of limbs grew and grew, till it was almost as high as me. You can say I should have started out piling them on the curb; with 20-20 hindsight, I can see it now.

One reason I piled them all neatly together was that I expected Jerry to break them up for kindling for his fireplace in the winter. That's what he did last year. But this year he didn't.

I went out yesterday afternoon to pick up the white thing that I thought was trash, and found that it was a ceramic pot that I had left standing under a tree after planting what was in it. A few feet from it was the pile of limbs; the rain/flood had deposited them neatly beside Jerry's driveway. It had also floated the wooden frame of Jerry's flower bed out into his driveway.

Now, instead of worrying about how to get the pile of limbs about 50 yards out to the curb, I only have to move it a third of that distance. Of course, the water compacted it all till it isn't nearly as high and brambly as before. Also, the dead leaves and twigs from my yard form a long line this side of Jerry's driveway to the back of his lot. My yard, especially the area under the trees, is clean as a pin.

All of this just gives me something else to worry about, like messing up the neighbor's property. The wind already, 2-3 years ago, blew one of my trees down onto his garden. There's nothing funny about it, but the imp that sometimes sits on my left shoulder laughs its head off at the irony of it all.

By the way, Jerry's name isn't Jerry, it's Jared.

My basement is truly flooded, this time. Last night the water was about shoe-sole deep, and the mildew scent was overpowering. When I started the car yesterday afternoon, it coughed and groaned before the starter caught, and I left the motor running at CVS while I ran in and got my prescriptions that I had called in.

I know exactly what must be done: Hire someone to install a sump pump. Hire someone to haul off everything in the basement except my deck table and chairs. Hire someone to clean, de-mold and paint the basement.

In addition to my impecunaeity, so far I have not been very good or lucky at hiring people. Citing: Allen Bergal for landscaping. Martin's Tree Service to trim limbs out of the trees. Lee Kingry, The Window Factory, to replace the deck. Shane Mozingo, handyman. Atchison's Landscaping and Turf to correct what Bergal did to the lot. Willis Cain, partly to correct what Kingry did to the deck and chimney.

My experiences in hiring people have made me suspect that hirees just don't take a woman and her cash seriously--except when it comes to taking the cash. Now, I apologize if I'm 'way off base with this, but it just seems that way to me. They tell me they'll be here Monday, and I assume they mean next week, or at least this month, and sometimes it turns out they meant sometime this year. Or next year. They tell me the job will take a week or ten days, but what they leave out is that the week will be spread, one or two days at a time, from early spring to midsummer. I'm through, I tell you.

I'm not going to hire anyone else, except Murray's Garage to come out and start my car when the battery corrodes again and won't respond. It always amazes me when Murray's Garage tells me they'll be here in 30 minutes, and they turn up the same day.

From now on, when somebody needs to be hired, I'm going to be very busy practicing on my horn. I mean, working on my novel.