This morning, between rowdy thunderstorms, I heard an odd sound. Gary and I were sitting together in our sunroom, gazing into our backyard, which – after all the recent rain – looks like a jungle. The noise was pitched high enough that Gary couldn’t hear it. Years of high-frequency milking machines will do that to you. It almost sounded like an alarm: two tones in fairly rapid succession and then silence. By late afternoon, I’d forgotten all about it. Then…
About halfway through April’s books, it struck me that nearly all the main characters had the same problem: they lacked impulse control. Book 1: The Moon’s a Balloon by David Niven This memoir is an absolute trip. David Niven found success in spite of himself. Over and over again, his unfiltered mouth got him in trouble. From boarding school to the military. From the stage to screen. Story after story revealed Niven’s severe lack of impulse control. All the same,…
In the last few days before today’s total solar eclipse, I couldn’t resist checking to see if Mom had ever written a poem about this all-too-rare occasion in nature. Sure enough, she had. But, as often as she wrote about the moon, that’s not what this poem from 1971 was about. Eclipse I saw two wagons passing by the sea:one full of letters from my love to me.The other held a cargo of such strange designthat I could only pray…
Today is Mom’s birthday. She was born 94 years ago, giving her mom bragging rights to winning the great competition. During her teens, Mom penned this poem. Writing in first person as an octogenarian, the lovely green-eyed redhead tried to imagine what life would be like so many years in the future: Passing Phase of an Octogenarian Today is my birthday. And when they think I do not hearThey whisper I am old. They say that I have had my…
These Irish eyes spent the month of March reading books by Irish authors. Book 1: Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt This is a memoir I very much wanted to reread, but since the great sadness descended on the family with first Mom’s death and then Dad’s, it has seemed wise to hold off until I felt sturdier emotionally. The story about that story is here in an earlier post. As with seemingly all rereads, there were many plot points I…
Now that we have a sunroom, Farmer Gary and I notice daily we have several new patches of disturbed earth outside. It’s time to decide what to plant there. We brought up the topic while visiting with John, Aubrie, and Cameron last week. Aubrie loves to garden and is always great with gentle advice – be it regarding fruit, vegetables, or flowers. It’s always fun for John and me to observe our spouses dig in and discuss fertilizer, alkaline levels…
Books make wonderful presents. Books for birthdays. More books for Christmas. Mother’s Day. Father’s Day. Farmer Gary and I take it to the extreme, with books for Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter … you get the picture. Around our house, most books are one-and-done. Upon completion, the volume goes back on the shelf or, occasionally, into the donation basket. But once in a while, there’s something about a book that is almost haunting. A single reading is not enough….
February was not meant to be my month to read books subjected to a ban, whether in school, prison, or overall. But here we are. Book 1: All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr Thanks to my cousin Suzanne for recommending this wonderful novel. Set in Germany and France during World War II, it presents some of the impossible challenges faced by children of war-torn Europe. Male protagonist Werner is a child genius who just happened to be…
There is something about the English language that is so delightful, yet infuriating. In particular, I mean the sometimes opposite definitions we Americans place on a British word. (One example, which I won’t detail completely, involved me complimenting a TV producer’s fanny pack. Well, she and the executive producer were fresh off the plane from England. They enjoyed a fine giggle at my stunned expense.) Here’s another example: Scheme. Scheme is a perfectly fine word in England, and presumably the…
It was close to midnight the other evening when I heard it. A train whistle. In the far-off distance. I love the sound of a train, especially at night. It’s so comforting. I asked my musical brother Dave if he knew exactly what chord the whistle plays. Here’s his reply: I’ve heard a lot of different chords from train whistles, but my favorite (which I’ve heard quite a bit) is a major chord with an added 6th, like F-A-C-D. The add-6 chord…