The Headmaster's Darlings

Sister Ramey brought me this book last night, and I sat down and read it because book club meets tomorrow. I was sure I wouldn't like it, but it was reviewed,  blurbed and foreworded by Pat Conroy, and I wanted to see why. Once started, I had to finish it. It wasn't at all bad, except for semantic and grammatical lapses. "He thrust his hands on the arms of his chair," et al. However, it was the author's first novel,  published in 2015, and reviews say that she has written three more since, with the same setting, and published by the same South Carolina firm of which Pat Conroy is editor. Maybe, in the brief intervals, she learned that the objective case of who is whom, and a few other details.

I hate to be snarky and sarcastic. But in my opinion, this is a semi-good book. I'm probably influenced by my attitude towards the city of its setting. Too good to be a part of my birth city, Birmingham, Alabama.

 Gone But Never Forgotten

The Almost Sisters, by Joshilyn Jackson

Another Good Book***

It was much better than I expected. I read all 300-odd pages today. Our book club meets tomorrow.


I'm glad I finished the book. But my eyes feel like somebody threw gravel in them.


In the last month, I have paid off the two old credit cards, and kept my Amex current. I'm rather proud.

News of the World, by Paulette Jiles*****

"National Book Award Finalist—Fiction
It is 1870 and Captain Jefferson Kyle Kidd travels through northern Texas, giving live readings to paying audiences hungry for news of the world. An elderly widower who has lived through three wars and fought in two of them, the captain enjoys his rootless, solitary existence.

"In Wichita Falls, he is offered a $50 gold piece to deliver a young orphan to her relatives in San Antonio. Four years earlier, a band of Kiowa raiders killed Johanna’s parents and sister; sparing the little girl, they raised her as one of their own. Recently rescued by the U.S. army, the ten-year-old has once again been torn away from the only home she knows." - Amazon review

This is one of the most beautiful volumes of prose that I've ever read. I was anxious to find out the ending, while wishing the book wouldn't end at all.

Goose Bumps

I've spent about an hour listening to some of the songs on You-tube, songs that make my hair stand up on the back of my neck. A lot of those I've listed in the left-hand column of the blog have been removed, but "Please Come to Boston" is still there. And "The Holy City" by the Irish tenors. I need to add some of Carole King's songs. I know You-tube isn't the best site to listen to music, but a lot of them are very good, and ones I don't have on CD's.

The Last Days of Night, by Graham Moore****

The Last Days of Night is our book club selection for this month. It is a novel based on actual events, many of which really occurred, though not necessarily in the time or setting of the originals. Although the reader might have been long aware of some unsavory accusations and assumptions toward Thomas Edison, it was his (fictionalized?) reaction to the takeover of his creation, Edison General Electric, that brought this reader to tears.

The book is fascinating, owing not only to its scenes of sickening horror and emotional excess, but to Moore's superb writing as well. I noticed, aside from split infinitives (which in these latter days have lost much of their offensiveness), only one grammatical error and no typographical ones. I read it in six hours today, minus an hour out for lunch break, reading the first few chapters, which I had read two days ago, over again.

I suppose the moral of the book, if there is one, is that you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs.

Hoosegow, anyone?

For days I have been wondering how the term "hoosegow" originated. This is what I found online:

"The word is from Mexican Spanish juzgao, a jail, which came from juzgado for a tribunal or courtroom. It shifted to mean a jail because the two were often in the same building (and the path from the one to the other was often swift and certain)." So it looks as if we even pronounce it Mexican-style.

For dinner I had roasted vegetables: Yellow squash, red potatoes, carrots, red bell pepper, tomato wedges, and lemon slices, with lots of spices. My weight is still dropping, which is strange because, except for my back giving out too fast, I feel better than I've felt in a long time. But I'm trying to eat more, and as healthily as I can. Trouble is, sometimes in the middle of a meal, I get so tired of chewing (especially meat) that I have to quit. I've been putting table scraps on an aluminum tray and leaving them out on the deck at night. They're always gone when I look out the next day, but I never see who is enjoying them. I suspect crows.

I spent most of this day waiting for people to show up. The insurance lady, concerning my broken car-bumper, never got here, but the painter made it in the afternoon.

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood**

Aaargh!

Looking for Alaska, by John Green*****

It bothers me that I will probably forget this book, as I've forgotten so many books, and I didn't even like the girl. Alaska was a girl, not a place, and the author of this book attended Indian Springs school in Alabama. He used it, fictionalized, as a setting for Looking for Alaska. When I first started reading it, I was relieved that it did not involve another protracted journey of teenagers in a substandard automobile.

"We can't know better until knowing better is useless."

Paper Towns, by John Green****

This book is fully as awesome as An Abundance of Katherines, if not a little bit more so. Quentin ("Q") is a nice Jewish boy whose two buddies are Radar of the colored persuasion, and Ben who is indescribable--all three are high school seniors. They go on an 1,100-mile search for a missing classmate, and by the end Quentin has grown up in a lot of ways. I guess this is one of your classic "coming of age" tales.

Some fascinating features of the book are the "paper towns" themselves, towns that almost got started, but never made it.

The Good Soldier, by Ford Madox Ford****

The Good Soldier, by Ford Madox Ford, from Gutenberg Project online.

This is one of the best novels I have ever read. But it's written in the most infuriating English way, so that I can't give it five stars. Many places in it call for tears, but don't draw them forth because of the proper British presentation. Still, I persevered through it, straining my eyes to read it on the computer.

Ashburnham and Dowell, two highly sympathetic male personae, are confronted in life by an impressionable but rather stupid girl whom they both love, and one of the most intellectually cruel women (Leonora Ashburnham) in all of literature.

From hints in reviews of the book, I gather that it's supposed to be based on a true-life experience of Ford himself, or possibly of people he knew. If I had it in paper form, I would read it again.

An Abundance of Katherines****

"When it comes to relationships, Colin Singleton's type is girls named Katherine. And when it comes to girls named Katherine, Colin is always getting dumped. Nineteen times, to be exact. On a road trip miles from home, this anagram-happy, washed-up child prodigy has . . . an overweight, Judge Judy-loving best friend riding shotgun--but no Katherines." (Blurb from back cover.)

This is a delightful book, of the YA genre, I suppose. Yes, I'm sure kids do talk like that these days. Maybe they always did. Anyway, Colin is on a quest to fill the hole in his insides left by Katherine XIX. This entangles him with firearms, a feral pig, a Goliath-sized bully, and any number of less ominous adventures. I highly recommend it, even for OA's.


***
On Easter Sunday, Jed and I attended the Leeds Presbyterian Church, where I saw old friends and was welcomed by a lot of new ones. Sister Susan treated the family with a very fine Easter dinner at her house. A sumptuous feast.


During the recent hiatus in my blog posting, I've attended a poetry group meeting. Jed has visited from the great state of Georgia a couple of times, and I saw my doctor last week. He recommended reducing one of my medicines and adding still another. I'm "of two minds" about adding more drugs. But I'm usually of two minds about almost everything.

Maytime

Soon May will come, with all the flowers that bloom,
et cetera. Will I still sit in this room
awaiting inspiration for poetical creation,
but writing only sterile gloom and doom?

Oh, no! I shall go forth to Nature's world,

and walk beneath the trees, and see the squirrels
and the chipmunks on the ground, hear the birds' melodic sound,
and perhaps to spy a hawk with wings unfurled.

I'll enjoy the exercise and health I'm gaining,
kick a few dead soggy leaves from fall remaining;
I will jump and skip and run, and when all of this is done,
improvise a little dance—unless it's raining.

Too long I've hidden from the world of people—
men and women, dogs and children, church and steeple;
I'll no longer play the hermit, but I'll sing and dance like Kermit,
and inhale perfume of flowers, bud and sepal.

Heaven strengthen me to keep this resolution,
and to my sad complaints find the solution;
let me confidently hope I'll no longer sit and mope,
but reform my world without a revolution.

By JRC 04/19/17 

Too Pooped to Pop, or Too Hot to Hoot

Today, Jed and I went to Birmingham to get my car tag, then found that the right place was in Bessemer, so there we went. Afterwards we ate lunch at the Irondale Café. But it was a lot more complicated than it sounds, and we are both worn to a frazzle. And Jed even has to drive back to Atlanta today.

"But fill me with the old familiar juice,

Methinks I might recover by and by. . ."

Last night the poetry group met at the Leeds Arts Council. Jed went with me, and I read my new poem, "This Rough Magic." It was a good meeting.

I'm Really Okay. I think.

Today I arrived for my dental appointment exactly four days and one hour early. Really, what happened is that I had dreaded it so much, I had changed the appointment a couple of times. I called myself checking my email confirmation this morning, but reckon I looked at the wrong one. A couple of other one o'clock appointments didn't show, so they took me anyway. I had a new technician, and she had some new fuzzy stuff to clean my posts, so my mouth isn't sore.

I did get my NFSPS entries postmarked on time Saturday. Or whenever the fifteenth was. If this is Friday, it must have been Wednesday. I entered 21 old and new poems that had never won much of anything, and had never been published. And probably never will, but you never know till you try.

Yesterday I cooked turnip greens and cornbread for lunch. Today I had corn, green beans and potato salad.

No Book Today

Yesterday afternoon, Dave was dissatisfied. He thought the old beat-up mailbox spoiled the perfection of his artwork. So he went to Walmart and bought a spiffy new metal box and installed it. All this was surprisingly inexpensive: $14 for the mailbox, plus all the stuff he had on hand, and I paid him what I regularly pay him for a day's work. As long as the City of Valor doesn't bill me for a permit to replace a mailbox.

The Pecan Man, by Cassie Dandridge Selleck***

This is our selection for the next book club meeting. It's a very short novel, and good reading. I finished it a few minutes ago.


I think Ramey is going to host the next meeting of the book club. I'm going to try to help her, as I don't believe I could handle having the group at my house. Though I don't know why. I feel well lately, as long as I don't have to walk a long way. We shall see.


Dave and Jennifer came over this morning. Jenn cleaned up the house, while Dave fixed my mailbox. He straightened the post and the crooked box, then replaced the crumbling wooden base around the foot of the post, then painted the base and the post brown because he had some brown paint. He painted the numbers white. I guess it's up to me to plant something inside the frame. Me and my black thumb.


I went to the post office this morning to mail my entries in the National Federation of State Poetry Societies' contests. I entered 21 contests. Anyway, the post office's computer or something was down, and they couldn't do postage and mailing. There was a long line, and a couple of us were only there to mail packages. I decided that, instead of waiting, I would come back tomorrow. I asked the lady behind the counter if she thought it would be fixed by tomorrow, and she said, "It'd better!" If it isn't, I'll go to the P.O. on Montclair road, because tomorrow is the deadline for mailing the stuff.

Oh, me!

I slept too long, and now I've got to go to Walmart for medicines and typing paper. I've got all my submissions for the NFSPS contests on the computer, but ran out of paper last night.

Need to find out what's making me sleep so long. I suspect it's the increase in my meds. Anyway, when you gotta go--

The Lost City of the Monkey God, by Douglas Preston****

I've nearly finished reading this new book (Jan. 2017). It's the most fascinating archaeology book I've read since 1976's Maya, by Charles Gallencamp. Makes me wish I could have been an archaeologist and could have gone with them to Honduras.


This has been a good day, with a lot of thunder and lightning and spattering rain. Tomorrow is Women's Strike Day, and I'll wear my red shirt in support. Although it's doubtful anyone will see me.


Today my cousin phoned. I wish there were something I could do for her. She's living in her and her husband's original house which is falling down around her, ill, without a car, and her two children don't help her much. Her son occasionally takes her to buy groceries or to a medical appointment, and she gives him and her grandchildren money all the time. She hasn't seen her daughter, who lives in Atlanta, for six years, when she (my cousin) drove part of the family to New York for her grandson's wedding. I try to get her to buy a car while she still has some of C.'s insurance money, but she seems to be in a paralysis of nerves, says her son won't help her look for a car, and she can't do it on her own. I take some of it with a grain of salt; it seems to me she has just found a sort of comfort zone in a houseful of cats and dogs, where she's not in danger of having to nursemaid another family member as she did her father and her husband for years on end.


She thinks after the children get all her money, they'll put her in a nursing home on welfare and forget about her, which sounds sort of reasonable, considering how they've treated her so far. I want to help her, but I'm reluctant to, like helping her get a car. If she had an accident, or even if she didn't, the son and daughter would probably jump on me like ducks on a june bug. Besides, I'm several years older than she, and not in the best of shape myself. I'm afraid to drive on the highways to get over there.


I must admit that her personality is a very large part of her problem. Since she and C. lost all their property except the little house where she lives now, she seems to turn all of her hurt and resentment outward. If a thought comes into her head, it goes out her mouth in a tirade. Knowing her history and how her personality came to be, it's very hard for me to blame her or hold her responsible. But while she still has money, she simply must take hold and rescue herself. Sometimes it's necessary to let a child/grandchild (or in her case, a bunch of them) fend for itself and take care of Numero Uno.


Maybe I shouldn't put this on my blog. But I can't vocally explain all this to other members of my family, and besides, I've got so many cousins, only a few will know whom I'm talking about.

A Gothic First Novel, by Andrew Michael Hurley****

I enjoyed this book at the very beginning, because of the rainy, overcast seaside locale. It reminded me at first of the Cornish coast, Plymouth, Portsmouth, etc. But then the vegetation started sprouting and blooming too early, and other oddities happened. I had to keep going back to check things I thought I remembered but that didn't seem quite comme il faut.

I thoroughly agree with Stephen King that this is a whale of a first novel, worthy to be set up there beside some of Shirley Jackson's and Daphne duMaurier's tales. Those who complain of the many words they had to read before getting to the horror, most likely didn't catch the hints--nay, the events throughout--that I, too, understood only after the final explosion. The Loney really lives up to its name.

I think we should have this for a book club selection. Or maybe not. You don't get the full significance until after the end, and maybe not even then, that could have whispered, "You might better think twice about reading this!"

I bet "Tonto's" real name was Michael.

Polar Star by Martin Cruz Smith****

This is a very good crime novel, set in Siberia in the 1980's. It's a sequel to Gorky Park, another Russian novel by Martin Cruz Smith. The investigator is Arkady Renko, a very unhappy man. I've read a bunch of novels by this author, and these two are my favorites.

Today I received The Loney from Amazon. Sounds spooky.

Mercury Mariner

Jed came over Tuesday of this week, and on Wednesday a nice lady from Atlanta delivered my car. So I have to get used to having wheels again. It's a very dark blue, almost black. 2008 vintage, but it looks and feels like a new car.

*

To Be or Not To Be, by Ryan North***

I finished jumping around in this amusing and interesting book, probably about Feb. tenth.

Lifesaver

Every once in a while, my sister Ramey visits the Daylight Donut shop and brings me a selection of the goodies.

The Whole Town's Talking, by Fannie Flagg***

Highlights:


The name of a town, Elmwood Springs. Being Fannie Flagg, she probably named it after Elmwood Cemetery in Birmingham. Which, in an odd way, was appropriate.

A bored Indian who heard people talking. He thought they were birds squawking, and he went back to sleep.

A very evil pig named Sweet Potato, whose ultimate fate was never revealed.

An exploding bathroom commode.


The Heroine:

To me, a girl/woman/other named Elner was the real hero of this book. She was present, almost from the beginning of the story until 'way past the end, and she reminded me in some ways of my sister Susan.

I give this book four stars out of five. **** There.

***

"Fannie Flagg" was born in Birmingham, Alabama in 1944, and grew up in Irondale. Her birth name was Patricia Neal. She changed it to Fannie Flagg as author- and stage-name because the actress Patricia Neal was already famous. -- Wikipedia

Little Moses

Away by the waters so blue,
The ladies were winding their way,
When Pharaoh's little daughter stepped down in the water
To bathe in the cool of the day.
Before it was dark, she opened the ark
And found the sweet infant was there.

And away by the waters so blue,
The infant was lonely and sad.
She took him in pity and thought him so pretty,
It made little Moses feel glad.
She called him her own, her beautiful son,
And she sent for a nurse who was near.

And away by the waters so blue,
They carried this beautiful child
To his own tender mother, to his sisters and brothers.
Little Moses looked happy and smiled.
His mother so good did all that she could
To rear him and teach him with care.

And away by the sea that's called Red,
Little Moses the servant of God,
While in Him confided, the sea was divided
As upward he lifted his rod.
The Jews made it across, while Pharaoh's hosts
Were drowned in the waters and lost.


Carter family

E.E. Cummings, by Susan Cheever (2014)***

This is a good biography of Cummings, finished reading today. It includes many photographs from his life and acquaintances. Something I didn't know, Cummings was also an artist. His name was Edward Estlin Cummings, and he was called Estlin. This is my favorite poem by him:

All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn... et seq.

Roosevelt's Beast, by Louis Bayard, 2014*****

I started reading this book last night after watching "The Hunger Games" (2012) on TV. Its 299 pages took about 3 wee hours to read. Another one that I couldn't put down.

Roosevelt's Beast is a novel imagining what might have happened to Theodore Roosevelt and his son Kermit on an actual expedition into the Brazilian forest in 1914.

"Roosevelt's Beast is a story of the impossible things that become possible when civilization is miles away, when the mind plays tricks on itself, and when old family secrets refuse to stay buried. With his characteristically rich storytelling and a touch of old-fashioned horror, the bestselling and critically acclaimed Louis Bayard turns the story of the well-known Roosevelt-Rondon expedition on its head and dares to ask: Are the beasts among us more frightening than the beasts within?" - Goodreads

Kermit Roosevelt, a sketch by John Singer Sargent from his book

*

I read a book by Louis Bayard several years ago, Mr. Timothy, which was pretty good but not as interesting as this later book. It was a novel of Dickens's Tiny Tim grown up.

Some Recent Notes

Last night I watched (again) the saddest movie I have ever seen, and certainly one of the best--"Legends of the Fall," 1994.

Putting Brad Pitt and Anthony Hopkins in the same film conjures up magic. The same thing happens in "Meet Joe Black."

*

Here's a poem I wrote on Jan. 10:

Water Sign

Water-colored, my eyes are
turquoise, blue-green
I crave the rain, clear aquamarine
water-bearer to earth, air and fire

Clouds cheer me, wet, weighty
with jeweled drops airborne
to anoint dry lips that mourn
for moisture in sea, sand, humanity

Drought alters all that lives and thrives
My eyes reflect the face
of earth in sere and sun-burnt poise

When silver rain revives
this parched and withered place  
my eyes turn back from amber to turquoise

Fireworks?

In all my years in this neighborhood, yesterday was the most quiet New Year's Eve I have ever heard. Sounded like a few kids with firecrackers, and just a couple of booms but no shooting stars, etc. Always before, at any major holiday, I've watched fireworks from my deck or high front windows. Nothing to watch this NYE. I can understand it as far as Democrats are concerned, but what's wrong with all the victorious voters who look forward to the rewards of 2017?

The better to see you with.

On the last day of 2016, I've decided to pick up my blog again. The Christmas and birthday holidays have been wonderful, with Jed, the sisters and nieces and nephews. Susan invited us to her house for Christmas Eve soup supper, and Jed treated us to birthday luncheon at Carrabba's. Dave and his daughter have been very good, checking on me and helping me out since I've been without a car.


A week or so ago, I had an eye exam and got a prescription for new glasses. They dilated my eyes. Up until then, I was seeing okay, but over the past few days my vision has got so blurry, it's very hard to read. And I have a stack of good books that "won't read themselves," as they say. I went to Walmart--they have a better selection of frames, and better prices on glasses than I expected. My glasses should be ready sometime this week. The doctor at UAB Eye Hospital said I've got cataracts and should have the surgery sometime in the future, so I've got that to look forward to.


I hope all my friends and loved ones have a very Happy New Year.

Pterodactyl time

I think I'm having one long anxiety or panic attack. I have no pain or nausea, can't identify anything specific, but feel like I'm dying. Like the worst has happened, but things can always get super-worse. I've had this before, but it never before lasted for such a long time.

The Greatest 1935-2007

Is it possible that Pavarotti has been dead for nine years?

He once said that his father was 70 years old and still had a beautiful singing voice. Luciano hoped that he himself would be granted such a blessing, and he was. His voice deepened and colored into the finest and most moving tenor voice I have ever heard. I rank him, Maria Callas and Elvis Presley as the three outstanding voices of the twentieth century.

I miss him. I haven't yet played all the recordings I have of him--half a drawer full. The other half, and another whole drawer, are full of Elvis recordings.

Another Crock-Pot Fiasco

Another pot to soak and scrape. I bet people who post these "simple easy" crock-pot recipes on Facebook get a good laugh when people complain about the results. I tried the cake-in-a-crock-pot recipe and wound up with a disgusting mush instead of a pretty brown-on-the-top confection. At least it made the house smell good for a while.
*
And why isn't PBS showing Poldark tonight? Should I blame Obama, or that other guy?

Pat and I went to the poetry meeting yesterday evening, and it started storming just as we started home. She was driving, and since she is one of the two best drivers I've ever known, we made it home through the sturm and drang. I slept this morning and this afternoon until nearly one o'clock, and when I looked outside, I saw that the storm had split one of the oak trees.

I'm making a quilt, or throw or pillow sham or something, out of my old raggedy jeans. Glad I saved them, and now I'm rid of them. Just have to sew the rows together and decide what I'm going to do with it.

I'm not going to fringe all the seams and then wash and dry it in my some-20-year-old washer and dryer, and try to deal with all the bits of thread left in them. But something will occur.

I voted.

So did it seemed like a couple thousand other people. I've never seen such crowds at a voting place. Scarcely dare we hope Democrats.

Made by MER?

I found this little quilt top in the basement, and just washed it. This photo looks blue and yellow and sort of orange, but it's really pretty pink, blue and white, all hand-stitched. It's hanging across the shower rod to dry. The size is about 40x70 inches.  The blocks are 10" square; I couldn't get far enough away to photograph the whole thing. I think it would make a lovely baby quilt, taking off the bottom 2 rows of blocks. I don't remember ever seeing it before.

I've got at least half a dozen tops that need to be quilted. I could have some of them machine quilted, but hand-quilting would be better for this one and Mama's basket quilt.

November at Last

Yesterday for dinner I had turnip greens, green beans, ripe tomatoes, and the best cornbread I've ever had. The bread was from a Mexican mix, with jalapenos and I don't know what-all. And then came bunches and bunches of trick-or-treat visitors--they got about fifteen dollars worth of candy. I had to raid my kitchen candy bin to eke out the treats. I always give individually-wrapped stuff, Hershey minis, etc. Wish I had thought to photograph some of the little gremlins, cutest things ever!

I guess November is my second-favorite month of the year. Just hope the weather cools down some and rains some. This week and next, I'll have people around fixing the roof and the outside gas gadgets, cleaning up the leaf-covered yard, and other things. Have already had the furnace inspected and the gas turned off from the wrecked grill and burnt-out yard lamp.

I read on the news that one of my favorite actors, Val Kilmer, is battling cancer. He's having fun with his art work, though. He starred in some of my favorite movies: The Ghost and the Darkness, Thunderheart, The Saint, and one with Kim Basinger that I don't remember the title. Also the best movie I've seen about Billy the Kid. Great actor.

Two Meetings

Ramey, Jed and I went to Calera yesterday to the ASPS meeting. This photo is by Jerri H. It seemed to me that I smiled and grinned until my jaws were sore, but she managed to catch me looking--the way my mug looks in this picture--natural, I guess.

The "crowd" at the meeting was very small. When we arrived, a message came about the caterer; on the way to Calera he had been stopped by police, and all the food was unloaded and investigated. But eventually he arrived, and we had lunch. Then the prizes/awards were given out, and Ramey and I each won a couple of second and third prizes.

On Thursday, I went to the Leeds Arts Council where our poetry group entertained Jim and Liz Reed's Birmingham Arts Journal staff. This time there was a huge crowd, and I enjoyed meeting old acquaintances and new.

Something a bit funny happened when I got to the Arts Council--Joan D. hugged me, and one of her earrings got tangled in my hair. We spent about five minutes getting untangled, with everyone laughing at us.

Jed went back to Atlanta today, and I'm resting up for whatever this week has in store.

The Ghosts of Halloween

I want to make some more, maybe several in my old shrubbery, if I "have the time."

It's nearly noon, when I have to shift into high gear and get ready for tonight's event.

Cherchez les Duds du Clown

I've turned my house upside-down hunting Valentine Ballantyne's Halloween costume. This is it, from last year. Or some year before last.

Right now he and Jerry are dressed for Christmas. Those are the only two outfits he owns, except for his skivvies. No--that's wrong. His original costume was a red jumpsuit printed with white hearts, and a matching beret. I can't find it, either.

*

I had to go to Walmart yesterday to pick up a prescription. Then today I had to go to Publix to find all my stuff for the Arts Council meeting tomorrow night. And after turning the house topsy-turvy, I'm purt-near wore out, as Maw Maw would say.

What a Week Ahead of Me!

I just received an ASPS email that said I have at least one good reason to attend the Fall meeting this-coming weekend. That usually means at least one of my poems won, at least an honorable mention. I've registered for Jed and me to attend the ASPS awards luncheon on Saturday, Oct. 29.

On Friday evening, the 28th, the Leeds poetry group is entertaining Jim Reed's publishing staff at the Arts Council, and I've volunteered to help with refreshments. So that means I can get home from the Arts Council and just stay up all night and go to the ASPS meeting without having to change clothes. Just joking, but it's possible.

Jed is coming over for the awards luncheon, but I don't know which day he plans to come. Probably Friday, and he can give me moral support for the weekend.

An added incentive: Last week I ordered a new dress from Coldwater Creek. I hope it arrives soon, and the post-person doesn't try to stuff it into my mailbox or leave it on my front porch.

*

I was mistaken about the Birmingham Arts Journal meeting at the Arts Council. It's Thursday, Oct. 27, instead of Friday. So that makes it better for me timewise.

Another "Lost" Dream

One thing recurrent about this dream was that the same guy, who has appeared in other "lost" dreams, tried to help me in this one. The difference was that this time I recognized him. He was a student named Gerald who used to work for one of the law firms. I don't remember his last name.

Anyway, I had worked all night at UAB, and when I got in my car I took a wrong turn and couldn't find the right street to get out of town. I couldn't even get out of the Southside. Some of the streets were unpaved, with loose rocks and concrete scattered around. At a couple of points I got out of the car and asked for directions. One of these was a small shop run by a young woman with a couple of children playing in the floor. And then I couldn't find my car.

After I walked a few blocks, I met Gerald at the exit from some building. He said he had to get his car and would pick me up. I waited, and saw his car pull up and park across the street. When I got over there, I found his car but he wasn't in it.
*
It's funny, when you try to remember a dream. Much of it is fuzzy, and you try to avoid making up connections to the disconnected parts.

Kingdom of the Hwicce, 577-780s AD

Hwicce

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

For Debbie, or anyone else interested in England. See the Wikipedia article. Refers back to Bath, England, where we visited in 1997.


***

Hoping we can see "Poldark" tonight instead of some political blather.

Delta, a 7-year-old Border Collie

I'm in love again! 

Good Intentions--Foiled Again

I meant to go to the library today to hunt these two books. I've had a hankering to read Bleak House again, and Ninth Ward is our book for Book Club which meets this Thursday.


But the Heating and Air man came to inspect the furnace, and this afternoon I had--or have--three painful problems, so I didn't venture out.


So I may order a copy of Bleak House from Amazon, and will ask Pat to lend me her copy of N.W. to read.


I found a site online, and printed out four pages that list all the characters in Bleak House, and tell who each one is in the story. About the only things I remember from reading the book are Mr. Jarndyce calling his study The Growlery, and a case of spontaneous combustion of a human male.

A Tree Grows in Israel

Sep 7, 2016 2:11pm Transaction ID 1rq15yk8 Receipt for Trees Order [#14047] - 1rq15yk8 Shalom Joanne R., Thank you for planting 1 Fruit Tree: $45 in Israel. Your trees will be dedicated: In Memory of All of Israel's Victims of Terror Sara Joanne Ramey Cage Your full mailing address as entered is: Joanne R. Cage 7122 Rowan Road. Leeds, Alabama 35094-2477 United States You selected that the certificate be mailed to: My Address United with Israel thanks you very much for participating in our "Plant Fruit Trees" project. Soon your trees will blossom into magnificent expressions of bounty and beauty. You have made a wonderful contribution to the Land of Israel! May you be blessed and rewarded for your kindness and for your love of the Land. You are truly a partner in building the Land of Israel. With Blessings from Israel, The United with Israel Family __________________________________________________________________ Please keep this receipt from Zo Artzeinu for your tax records. Zo Artzeinu is a registered 501 (c) 3 non-profit organization. All donations are tax deductible in the USA. (Federal ID # 11-3321933) NO GOODS OR SERVICES WERE PROVIDED IN RETURN FOR THIS DONATION Billing Address Joanne R. Cage 7122 Rowan Road Leeds,Alabama 35094-2477 US Description Price Total $45.00 How many trees would you like to sponsor? 1 Fruit Tree: $45 $45.00 Credit Card : ****1005 Amount Paid : $45.00 Blessings from the Land of Israel

Fall Contests

This week I've sent half a dozen poems to the ASPS Fall contests, and a couple to the Aesthetica Magazine contest. So maybe I'll get a prize or two.

The ASPS fall meeting will be held in Calera, Alabama. I think we've met there before. Anyway, I hope to feel like going to the luncheon/award meeting.
***
I also entered a contest sponsored by Negative Capability Press.

Have Rocket, Will Travel

Last night I watched a Stooges movie. It was good until they returned to earth from Venus, even though Uni the unicorn came with them. Back on earth it became boring again. At least I learned the Stooges' names: Moe Howard, Larry Fine, and Curly Joe DeRita who was the last in a long list of replacements for the original Schemp Howard as the third Stooge. Overall, a good show.

Now I can cook--If I can lift the thing!

I finally got around to cleaning and seasoning my old iron skillet. Did a pretty good job, but I'll probably bake it some more before using it, because it's still kinda sticky.

Feeling good today, and it's a good thing, because there's a lot to be done around the house. Hope everybody has a good sunshiny day!

Page 295*

Mr. Norrell has given Mr. Strange a book! It's only the biography of a Mr. Tott, an obscure non-practicing magician who never wrote his own book on the subject. Probably no mention of the Raven King.

*Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, by Susanna Clarke - I've been reading a few pages of this book, at random times, for two or three years now. Approximately 700 pages to go.
***
This afternoon I bought groceries, and when I got home, I sat in my car thinking, "I don't think I can get myself up those stairs, let alone a bunch of grocery bags."

Then I said, "Come on, you did ten push-ups yesterday." Of course, they were knee-pushups instead of toe-pushups, but the thought gave me the push I needed to get me and most of the groceries up the stairs.

Great Sunday

Yesterday I went to the Presbyterian church with my sweet sisters, and there were Joan and Frank, Ellen, Doris, Spurgeon, several other people I knew, and a whole bunch of friendly strangers. They were having a farewell party for their young pastor, his wife and two adorable babies. There was so much food, I couldn't even sample all of it.

Now I've got the phone on speaker, waiting for UAB to answer, to clarify my prep instructions for the test tomorrow. I keep telling myself it will be over tomorrow afternoon, so I can wait a day or so to think about committing Harry Carey.

***

George Romney is one of my favorite portrait painters, and "Miss Juliana Willoughby" is my favorite of his paintings. (This is listed in the National Gallery free images.)

Progress

Not quite 9 a.m., and I've already accomplished several things. I've decided to turn the story I've been working on into a novel, and spent some time this morning doing some research. Have one notebook for research, and will probably fill up that and another one with notes and stuff I've already done for the story. I've thought about calling it "Grendel's Children," but that's a joke. So I'm going to try to spend my time working on this. I think I've done enough reading my poems to a group, and reading stuff chosen by someone else and trying to find something polite to say about it. I'm not talking about the books Jed and I both read and share, but about the book club.

I've found some good friends through the book club, but as far as the group goes, they don't read the kind of writing that I read.


Yesterday after the meeting, Joan took me into the nave of the Presbyterian church. It is small, but very beautiful. She showed Nell and me their organ, and played a hymn that almost sent me into a trance. She also told us some of the history of the church. I value Joan and Frank, and somehow, especially, Carole, although she hardly ever says anything. Maybe that's one of the things I like about her. I think I gave her the Indian Hatchet quilt that I made ten years or so ago. I miss Jean M., Mable, and Betty W.

Although Betty called Muslims "Muslins," she at least chose and read good books, especially Shantaram. Mable and Jean also read a lot. Jean read classics and knew a whole lot of good stuff.

Anyway, I intend to "endeavor to persevere" with this novel business until I have something complete. Remaining time allowing.

Activities

Yesterday I watched "Dances with Wolves." As with a few other films, while I'm watching it, I think "this is the best movie I've ever seen in my life." And Kevin Costner is the "handsomest movie star ever."

Today I'm reading Miss Jane for the book club meeting tomorrow. Troublesome book, hard to read, but worthwhile.

Get Along, Little Doggies

On National Dog Day, I received a response to my adoption application. It said that the two dogs I was interested in were no longer available, so I've been sulking. I looked on the website again, and both dogs were still listed, with the note that nobody was yet interested in them. I guess I'm Nobody; so at least they acknowledged me with a note. To quote one of my favorite authors, "It just goes to show you."

I have to go to TKC next week for another humiliating test. They finally found one I haven't had before. I'm sure that took some effort.

We have book club meeting Thursday (Sept. 8) at the beautiful Presbyterian church. Pat's going to bring me the book today.

Going To the Dogs

This morning I spent 15 minutes walking around the yard and under the trees, before my back started complaining. I'll try to increase the exercise time every day, in preparation for walking my dog, if I ever succeed in getting her from the Pet Finder agency.

I sent in the adoption application a week ago today, but haven't heard anything from it. J.J. is an 8-year-old beagle/corgi mix, being fostered somewhere in Bibb County, best I could gather from the Pet Finder. I was looking for a larger dog but just couldn't resist these photos of her.


I almost fell for the dog shown below, but a one-year-old dog with his tongue hanging out is bound to be hyperactive and sort of wild. They're calling him "Uncle John." If he were mine, I would call him "Spats."

Too Much Is Enough?

I've read a little more than half of A Prayer for Owen Meany. The spectre of 300 more pages is daunting to me. Maybe I'll save it for another burst of reading energy. Owen was captivating as a child, but the older he gets, the more predictable.

Something has messed up my "Pictures" album. I have to go halfway around the world to get to the actual pictures, and then they're just words until I retrieve them. Or something.

I'm just tired. I had such a terrible dream night-before-last that I haven't slept much since about four o'clock yesterday morning. And spending that time reading "Owen Meany" hasn't helped the weirdness much.

On Becoming One's Mother

I used to feel (but not express) a little annoyance at my mother for walking so slowly in her 80's. Hah! I hope she was up there watching yesterday when I went to Walmart for prescriptions that were delayed for medical approval.

I shuffled around, found an uncrowded aisle and stopped, slumped over my shopping cart, and tried to breathe and wipe my hair out of my eyes. I heard someone laughing behind me, turned, and saw a woman about my age slumped against a counter, looking at me and cackling with laughter.

"This must be the rest stop," she said. "Do you think we can make it any farther?"

I laughed too, and said, "Why, I can walk several steps at a time before I have to stop."

After we exchanged a few quips and further laughter, I said, "But really, do you need any help?"

At that, she laughed harder, and said, "What would you do if I said yes?"

"Well, maybe I could call somebody."

She said, "Do you need any help?"

"Naw," I said, "I'm cool," and continued on my snail-paced way.

Rough Weekend

Man, I've had one! From the middle of Friday night until sometime this morning, I was thinking maybe it was time to buy the farm. Severe abdominal pain, bad enough to make me moan and groan while stifling screams. I called the doctor's office yesterday, but both Onae and Dr. G. were off this week on vacation. The covering doctor said go to a treatment clinic over on the Southside for "further evaluation," but I decided to wait one more day.

So this afternoon I found I had enough energy to take a shower and wash my straggly hair.

Yesterday, Pat picked up my prescriptions for me from Walmart, and brought some cottage cheese and canned pears, plus a big bottle of Sprite and a bag of spearmint Lifesavers, which is what I've eaten ever since plus a can of chicken noodle soup. I think the mints did the most to settle my stomach. Seems like I might have had a touch of food poisoning--I blame some chicken legs of which I had made a sort of barbecue mess. I turned nauseated while trying to eat it Friday, and later poured the whole megilla down the disposer, except for the bones.

I just watched a good blood-and-guts movie starring John Travolta. 1999, I think it was made. "The General's Daughter."

Missed the book club meeting this morning, because I wasn't sure the nightmare was over. I still have a little pain, but not enough to make me holler.