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.
*
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.
*
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.

***
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.

***

(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.

*

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

*

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.

*

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.

*

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!"

*

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'
***

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.