"Audie Murphy!" (A W.C. Fields exclamation of wonder!)

Somebody nominated Ramey's Sweet Music on Moonlight Ridge for the Pulitzer Prize! Wow, wow, wow! She spent yesterday getting her picture and other stuff sent in, and I helped a little, I'm proud to say, by printing her new photo.

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Every time I cook, I learn something. Yesterday I made a beef stew or pot roast in the crock pot, and I learned that before cooking you ought to decide whether you're making a stew or a roast. Eating stew with a knife and fork is challenging. Anyway, I ate most of it yesterday and today. I also learned that I like fire-roasted tomatoes, in spite of the black flakes that stick to your teeth.

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O wild west wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,

Thou from whose unseen censer the leaves dead

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing--

This morning I watched the wind blowing leaves eastward across the back of the lot. For several days it was just small stuff blowing off the trees; but now the bigger leaves are beginning to turn loose and fly around. And settle, of course. But I don't care. If they get knee-deep on the lawn or the back yard, Mo and I will just get out there and roll around in them. The poem is by P.B. Shelley.

Unfinished Quilt Projects

In my never-ending basement browsing, I rescued this Lady of the Lake mini-top, and another mini that I don't know the name of (top). I need to finish quilting the leaf quilt in my blog title. And can you believe I haven't even finished binding my Una quilt?

I need to check with Ramey and help her finish the Drunkard's Path quilt. Also, I've been "working" on this little brown basket quilt for two or three years. At least all the pieces are cut out. The blocks are 5" square.

In my quilt scrapbook, there's a list of about a dozen that I want to make "someday." And I have a box full of star blocks that my mother made, that I intend to strip together with black to make an Amish-style top. So many projects, so little time!

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On the way to Nantucket: "...swimming like a dog...[Queequeg] rose again, one arm still striking out, and with the other dragging a lifeless form. The boat soon picked them up. The poor bumpkin was restored. All hands voted Queequeg a noble trump; the Captain begged his pardon. From that hour I clove to Queequeg like a barnacle, yea, till poor Queequeg took his last long dive." [Page 64 of Moby Dick.]

"Queequeg was a native of Kokovoko, an island far away to the West and South. It is not down on any map; true places never are."

Poetry Reading Canceled

This was the night for our poetry reading at the Arts Council, but Cookie called this morning and said it was canceled due to illness and other member business. I'm right disappointed. I had planned to read my Mother Teresa poem, and the one I wrote a long time ago about Andrea del Sarto's Madonna of the Harpies (above).

Somehow my blog has got messed up. It will no longer let me position pictures to left or right; they all come out centered, and I can't control the size. Jed and Ramey say they can't post to it sometimes. I hope everyone will keep posting--hit the Refresh button under View, if you get a "Service Unavailable" message.

I really appreciate Ruth's looking in and posting occasionally. New readers welcome!

I'm glad the picture enlarges when you click on it. I love this painting. The base is decorated with sphinxes, which have been misidentified as harpies, accounting for the popular name of the work. They look more like harpies than sphinxes, I guess.

Andrea was called "The Perfect Painter." Robert Browning wrote a wonderful poem about him and his unfaithful wife--Andrea's wife, not Browning's.

Here are two of the angel ornaments. They don't have their wings yet, because I can't find any white lace. Mo is driving me to distraction; he meows and complains constantly, and if I sit down and try to work on anything, he claws my leg and meows louder.

Captain Horatio Hornblower

A few days ago I saw the last half of this movie on TV. It was interesting to see the ships, the riggings close up, and the costumes. Hornblower (Peck) wore his hat the right way, like Jack Aubrey. The love interest was Virginia Mayo, which may be one reason the movie didn't make much of a splash.
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In contrast to the break-even Amazon.com sale of the big book last week: Yesterday I cleared nearly $8.00 on a 1967 paperback copy of Portrait of Jennie. I still have my copy, even older than that, which I enclosed in cardboard covers years ago.

Heavy, Heavy, Hangs Over Your Head

Today I'm afflicted with the above. I can't do anything because of everything that needs to be done. Usually on days like this, I just get a big garbage bag and go through the house filling it up; then all I have to do is put it in the trash cart. But that never helps much, because it just exposes parts of the next layer.

I would seriously consider getting "maid service" again; but it was my observation that the service is mainly to vacuum the middle of the floor and flick a little dust rag around the tops of the furniture. And pick up their hundred-dollar check.

I know you're supposed to follow them around with a whip, but I've never been a good slave-driver. I'm too polite to protect myself except explosively. I always remember the time I lost my temper at Mrs. Harshaw for putting the carving-knives blade-tip-up in the dishwasher and bending up and down over it while looking at me and talking. Things like that haunt the troubled midnight and the noon's repose.

Drunkard's Path

We've got half of the blocks cut out for Ramey's drunkard's path quilt. Can't wait to get started sewing it together. The other half of the cutting will go quicker, because it's all white, and I can cut multiple layers at once. Could have done that with the prints, if the pieces of cloth had been more uniform in size.

The book I'm reading now is The Archer's Tale, by Bernard Cornwell. I wonder if he's related to detective novel writer Patricia Cornwell. His writing is good, simple and straightforward, with no attempts to be cute, fancy or solemn. The book is pretty good so far.

I was proud of the box I made to mail the big book Friday. It cost six dollars to mail, so I made six dollars profit, not counting my labor, which was only about four hours' worth. And most of a $4 roll of tape. And gas to take it to the post office. I need to work smarter, not harder.

The weather continues hot. We could use some rain. Wish we had Lily C. and Willie T. to do a rain dance.

I've just about abandoned the old computer. This new one is great. I just need to make sure I have everything essential on it from the old one.

Boxed--or Stumped!

I was thinking I had met my limits in box-making. I've got to mail this 14" x 18" x 2" book that weighs over 7 pounds. I've got a piece of corrugated cardboard big enough to make a box, but I'm feeling so inadequate! However, I find from my records that I sold--and shipped--another copy of the same book a year or so ago. So I know I can do it. I know I can. Especially if I go eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich first.

Ka-boom!

This book I'm reading explains plates, tectonics, subduction, and all that stuff that causes earthquakes, tsunamis and volcanic eruptions. A lot of it also ties in with the David O'Brian books. I'm so poor in knowledge of geography, I had to spread my big National Geographic world map out on the living room table to see where everything is. I can't keep it straight in my head where Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope are situated--on the southern tips of which continents. For some reason, I thought the Falklands were near Australia, but they're off of South America. I found Mauritius, St. Denis and Reunion islands on the map.
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More than 35,000 people were killed when Krakatoa exploded. At least two thirds of them were killed by the big waves caused by the explosion.

Angels With No Faces (so far)

This is the long-labored-over kind of ornament that I'm trying to make for Christmas. The button is the halo; all that's missing is the head.

For years, I've been growing a little cedar tree in a pot. I dug it up out of the flower bed and put it in a big planter. It's about 2 feet high now, so I think I'll use it for my Christmas tree. This prototype angel ornament is about 4 inches long, but once I get the production line going, they'll be smaller. There will also be Santas and reindeer. I hope.

I'm reading a book, Krakatoa, by Simon Winchester. It makes me want to re-read The Little Prince by St. Exupery and The Twenty-One Balloons by Du Bois. I ordered the English version of The Little Prince from Amazon this morning. Krakatoa Jr. has been forming itself ever since the big one blew in 1883, and now it's several hundred feet high. It grows several inches a week.

Ramey and I are going to Michael's this afternoon to get wooden beads to make angel heads.

Experimental Cuisine

My cooking doesn't always turn out pretty, but the results usually taste OK. Yesterday I had two big chicken breasts that had to be cooked or frozen, so I split one of them and made cornbread dressing to layer around it. By the time the thermometer said it had cooked long enough, the chicken was dry and tough, but the dressing was delicious. So next time, I'll know not to cook it an hour and a half.
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This is the kind of sofa that I want. Overstock has it on sale for between $400-$500. It looks like a loveseat, but it's enormously long, over 80 inches. I think it would be practically indestructible, cats or not. If they claw up a cushion, you can just re-cover it. Of course, you'd probably have to re-cover all the cushions, but at least it would be possible. If you didn't like the two seat cushions, you could get Tom (upholsterer) to make one big long foam cushion for the seat. The real reason I would like this kind of sofa is that it's mission oak, Arts and Crafts style, which is what I like for this house. As far as matching the other furniture, it is approximately like the TV cabinet and the maple table. You don't want everything "matchy-matchy."

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Jed and I have been looking at Lowe's for a new light fixture to replace the Wal-Mart special in the foyer. I found this antique one online for several thousand bucks, but this style would be great. Maybe someday we'll see one that looks approximately like it.

Friday's book club meeting was good, although most of the members were out due to illnesses, travel, and (in poor Ramey's case) sitting in the dentist's chair with her mouth propped open. And Mable was just "wo' out." So the group consisted of only Nell, Susan, Betty and me. Like last month's meeting, I was reluctant to see this one close. We really tore that author's parents UP! Unfortunately, it was too late. I admired Susan for getting to the meeting, because she was obviously in a lot of discomfort.

This morning I have figured out the first step--just the first step!--in making the Christmas tree ornaments that I started last month. I thought I knew exactly how to go about it, but I'm not always as smart as I think I am. The project turns out to be much simpler than I thought, and now I've wasted boocoos of time and about two dozen clothes pins! But "Man's reach should exceed his grasp, /Or what's a heaven for?" (Robert Browning)

Robert Browning, while we're on the subject of my favorite poet, also said in that same poem that we only go to sleep so that we can wake up. So (almost) every night when I've said my now-I-lay-me-down's, I repeat, "We sleep to wake."

Book Club Today

Last month Nell gave us a sheet of discussion questions for The Glass Castle, and one asked, Which scene in the book is the funniest? I'm anxious for someone to remind me of any scene in this book that could remotely be called funny. I think it's a good, well-written book, and it isn't depressing. Hard to say exactly what it is. Most of it makes you furious at such parents! And even when someone gets what's coming to him, it isn't satisfying, because it's all so unnecessary. If Rose Mary's laissez faire life-style had been mixed with even a little love, it would have been better. If Rex's what-passed-for-love had not been focused on Jeannette only, and had a bit of humor in it, his drunken foulness might have been excusable.

What's missing in The Glass Castle is love. What's there is so subtle that it hardly meets the eye, just tugs gently at the heartstrings. I think Dinitia, and the other black girls at the swimming pool, supplied the most normal human touches. Maybe that scene was funny; I'll read it again.
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I'm almost sorry I read The Reverse of the Medal. I'm afraid the events destroyed Jack Aubrey's sunny nature. Which is the same as saying I'm afraid they destroyed Jack Aubrey.
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So, late yesterday afternoon I ordered a big pepperoni pizza, ate a couple of slices, then reclined on the sofa to read until time for Project Runway to come on at 8:00. The next thing I knew, I woke up and it was 4:30 this morning. I had slept all night on the sofa, about 9 hours, with a book under my head. Back in the 60s or so, there was a sleep-learning theory, where you could have a recording playing while you slept and you'd remember what it said. Between the TV going last night, and the book I was sleeping on, I should have learned something. Well, the sound wasn't on the TV, so maybe it doesn't work just by sleeping on a book.

The Reverse of the Medal

There's a very moving scene near the end of this book. Captain Aubrey is convicted of a crime, or an illegality, that he didn't commit, and is sentenced to be put into the stocks for an hour every day. News traveled fast, and on the day they put him in the stocks, it seems every onshore sailor and naval officer in England was there, gathered around him and chasing away the filth peddlers and abusers. When they had everything cleaned up, they set up a great cheer for Jack Aubrey, Post Captain, and stayed with him until he was released. He wasn't pilloried again.

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Labor Day was lots of fun. Jed came over on Sunday and helped me clean and shop and cook, and we ate Sunday lunch at McAlister's (I had a "Big Nasty"--it wasn't pretty, but I ate the whole thing). We had hot dogs, beans, and potato salad for lunch on Monday, and Ramey brought a salad. I had invited all the family and Mable, but Mable couldn't come. Susan, Ramey, India, Buffy, Philip (Buffy's boyfriend) and Reed were here. I hope I didn't forget anyone.

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Project Runway is on TV this evening. I think I'll order a pizza--I haven't had pizza since 'way back in the summer, sometime in July.

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Every time I save a post, Google throws up an advertisement on my posting page that somehow relates to what I posted that day. Today it said, "The 9mm Won't Save You--What the Self Defense Masters and the Army Don't Want You To Know."

Oops!

I had a big long post going but accidentally lost it. It's just as well, I guess, and I'm certainly not going to do it again.

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When I Was One-and-Twenty

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As I was going to St. Ives

All in the month of May,

I met an aged, aged man

With hair like moldy hay;

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His hair was weedy, his beard was long,

His boots were up to the thigh;

And I never saw a man who looked

So wistfully at the sky.

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"Rain, rain, go away!"

He cried into the blue;

But the sun shone bright, where never lark

Or even eagle flew.

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So now, whene'er I see my cat

Twirling the kitchen knives,

And look again, and find it's just

A bowl of leeks and chives;

I realize that sight grows dim

After old age arrives,

And I understand that man I met

A-going to St. Ives.

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This is the last of the fall contest poems. It wasn't easy. In this category, you had to take lines from well-known poems and put them together to form what the sponsor called a "Cento." They may throw this one out on technical grounds, because I broke down halfway through and started making up lines.

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I have small hope for the easy poems, ones I wrote quickly, like "Old Abe" and "Mother Teresa." But I'm entering 10, so maybe one or two of the old ones will win something.

A New Poem for Sunday

I'm trying to get all the poems written for the Fall 2010 contests. In this one I played fast and loose with the facts, like '83 for '93. And where it refers to speed, you ought to read efficiency and dependability--I never really outran the troopers. And old Abe is still going. This poem is for the category "Look On the Bright Side."
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Eulogy for Old Abe

Old Abe was my car that traveled near and far
In all kinds of weather and places;
Born in '83, it was very plain to see
That he'd never lay down in the traces.

He guzzled the gas, and no other car could pass
When I put my foot on the pedal;
Any time we had a mind, we could leave 'em all behind
Waitin' for the gravel to settle.

I can't forget the time on I-59,
When I saw the state troopers up ahead;
The gauge said 102, and I thought, Uh-oh, we're through!
But Abe wasn't ready to play dead!

He edged to the right, so the mirror caught the light
And blinded the law with the glimmer!
When we left them there a-blinkin', they must have been a-thinkin'
That what passed them was only a shimmer.

But since it's Nature's way, in '09 there came a day
When we couldn't keep up such a ruction;
We were 'way out in the woods, when I popped up the hood
And saw a tragic scene of destruction!

The engine was gone and the radiator blown;
Every B had come loose from its A (so to speak);
There was no use to boo-hoo--Abe had met his Waterloo,
Just like that old Deacon's one-hoss shay!

So Abe came to be a mere streak of memory,
Like so many other wonders from my youth.
They can build all kinds of tripe, but they'll never see his like;
Old Abe was the best, and that's the truth!

And if there's a place where ghost cars can race,
Some track out beyond space and time,
You can bet that Old Abe is leavin' 'em in the shade,
Just like he did on I-59!

By JRC, 09/05/10

Nearly 300,000 to go

Macintosh--I meant MacAfee--has been scanning ever since I turned on the computer this morning about 10 a.m. So far it says it has scanned 61,892 things--somethings, I don't know what. Several days ago when it stopped scanning, I clicked on it, and it said it had scanned 350,000-plus things. That's one reason my old computer is so slow and takes me all day to get anything done.

Today I mailed my Mother Teresa poem to be included in the 2010 Alabama Poetry Society anthology. Robert Frost said his goal was to "lodge a few poems where they can't be ignored." I wish I could hit some places like that.

Remembering

Today my heart is with Susan. Vann passed away a year ago today.

On July 9th, I remembered not only my Jenny and other loved ones, but also my good friend Vann Cleveland. They are all never far from my thoughts, and I miss them so much! The world gets smaller on this side of the river.

Well, I've read three fifths of Doctor Zhivago, and it seems a shame not to finish it, although it's like running uphill. My hat's off to anyone who has suffered through the whole thing. Hundreds of characters that seem like thousands, with unpronounceable names; there may really be only a few dozens, their names change so often that you can't be sure whom you've met before. The very length of the names makes them exhausting to read. Yuri and Tonia are almost always referred to as Yurii Andreievich and Antonina Alexandrovna. And those are two of the easiest.

The first half of the book takes place during "the war" that's going on before the Russian revolution, and you don't know which war or who "the enemy" is until deep into the quagmire.

This is one instance where the movie is definitely better than the book. In fact, it's one of my favorite movies. Or used to be. I don't know if I'd ever watch it again, except for the exquisite landscape scenery, and the great and beautiful actors in it--Omar Sharif, Julie Christie, Geraldine Chaplin. Even old Rod Steiger was great; corrupt and nasty as Komarovsky was, he had a good heart, and I felt sorry for him every time he got his come-uppance. And even in the book, he was always Victor Ippolitovitch Komarovsky--only eleven syllables.