Take Joy!: Is it Wednesday already?

Words to Consider

There must be more to life than having everything. -Maurice Sendak
The first revolutionary act is to call things by their true names, said Rosa Luxemburg.
When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the morning light, for your life and strength. Give thanks for your food and the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies in yourself. —Tecumseh
i do it for the joy it brings / because i am a joyful girl / because the world owes me nothing / and we owe each other the world / i do it because it's the least i can do / i do it because i learned it from you / i do it just because i want to / because I want to —"Joyful Girl", Ani DiFranco
"Nothing living should ever be treated with contempt. Whatever it is that lives, a man, a tree, or a bird, should be touched gently, because the time is short. Civilization is another word for respect for life." - Elizabeth Goudge, author of The Joy of the Snow
"There is nothing I can give you, which you have not; But there is much, very much, that while I cannot give it, you can take. No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today. Take heaven! No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present instant. Take peace! The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within reach, is joy. There is a radiance and glory in the darkness, could we but see, and to see we have only to look. I beseech you to look. Life is so generous a giver, but we, judging its gifts by their covering, cast them away as ugly, or heavy or hard. Remove the covering, and you will find beneath it a living splendor, woven of love, by wisdom, with power. Welcome it, grasp it, and you touch the angel's hand that brings it to you. Everything we call a trial, a sorrow, or a duty, believe me that angel's hand is there; the gift is there, and the wonder of an overshadowing presence. Our joys too: be not content with them as joys. They, too, conceal diviner gifts. And so, at this time, I greet you. Not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem and with the prayer that for you now and forever, the day breaks, and the shadows flee away. " (Fra Giovanni 1513 A.D.)

Books, 2009

Gatty's Tale, by Kevin Crossley-Holland
In the year 1203, nine companions set out from Wales on pilgrimage across Europe to Jerusalem. Not all of them will return home. This is the story of Gatty, the field-girl already known and loved by readers of the Arthur trilogy. These four books are Young Adult, but I enjoyed all of them greatly—I'll pass them on to grandchildren at some point, but not yet.
King of the Middle March, by Kevin Crossley-Holland
In the year 1202, newly knighted Arthur de Caldicot finds himself in Venice at the launch of the Fourth Crusade. But jealousies and greed threaten the Crusade—and Arthur struggles to pursue an honorable path, while his own life proves equally perilous.
At the Crossing-Places, by Kevin Crossley-Holland
It is the 1200, and Arthur de Caldicot is about to leave his home to fight in the Crusades. But before he leaves, he must untangle himself from a web of murder and blackmail . . . and the mystery of his birth.
The Seeing Stone, by Kevin Crossley-Holland
The year is 1199—on the border between England and Wales, Arthur de Caldicot waits impatiently to grow up and become a knight. His father's friend Merlin gives him a black stone—a seeing stone—that shows him visions of his namesake, King Arthur. It will be his fate to discover the connection between the two Arthurs.
If Ever I Return, Pretty Peggy-O, by Sharyn McCrumb
60s folksinger Peggy Muryan moves to the small Tennessee town where Sherriff Spencer Arrowood keeps the peace—but someone is stalking her.
Three Woman, by Marge Piercy
A woman, her mother, and her daughter—three lives intertwined.
The Seamstress, by Sara Tuvel Bernstein
A Holocaust memoir. Bernstein was born into a large family in rural Romania, went to Bucharest where she eventually became a dressmaker, and ended up in Ravensbruck. . . and survived.
The Word Undone: The Story of the Great War, 1914 to 1918, by G.J. Meyer
An exhaustive look at World War I, complete with lots of backstory and sketches of the major players . . . good for someone like me, who doesn't remember ever having studied World War I in school, other than someone shot the Archduke and then everyone fought . . .
An Incomplete Revenge, by Jacqueline Winspear
In her fifth outing, Maisie Dobbs delves into a strange series of crimes in a small rural community—features gypsies, hop-picking, arson, and a wartime Zeppelin raid that no one in the village seems to have gotten over.
Messenger of Truth, by Jacqueline Winspear
Nicholas Bassington-Hope has fallen to his death. The police call it an accident, but his twin sister doesn't think so. For Maisie to solve this case, she must explore the art world and the desolate beaches of Kent.
The Mystery of Grace, by Charles deLint
Grace and John—a magical story of the intersections between reality and faery. (Hint: she's dead. He's not.)
PaganTime, by Micah Perks
A memoir of Perks' childhood on her family's commune in the Adirondack wilderness. Strange, interesting, but not altogether enjoyable.
The Song of Rhiannon, by Evangeline Walton
Retelling of the third branch of the Mabinogion: how Manawyddan united with his long-beloved Rhiannon, and what befell them afterward.
Prince of Annwn, by Evangeline Walton
A retelling of the first branch of Welsh Mabinogion, the story of Prince Pwyll and the Grey Man, the Prince of Annwn, and how Pwyll won the Lady Rhiannon to be his wife.
The World Without Us, by Alan Weisman
What would happen if our species disappeared? A close look at the processes by which things fall apart. I am heartened by the notion that things would continue without us.
City of Darkness, City of Light, by Marge Piercy
A novel of the French Revolution, written from the woman's point of view—three women, in this case. An actress, a politician's wife, and a chocolatier.
The Story of World War I, by Robert Leckie
(Adapted for young readers from The American Heritage history of World War I). I bought this one (used at Mr. K's) mainly for the illustrations, which are not only photos, but also contemporary illustrations, cartoons, and so on. It was well worth the $4.
Pardonable Lies, by Jacqueline Winspear
Maisie searches for an aviator presumed dead in the War, but always thought alive by his mother. In the course of the case, she's forced to revisit France.
Birds of a Feather, by Jacqueline Winspear
Maisie searches for a runaway heiress, and in doing so, revisits the agony of the Great War.
Maisie Dobbs, by Jacqueline Winspear
Maisie, daughter of a struggling greengrocer, went into service at 13, studied her way to Cambridge, and served as a nurse on the Western Front. Now it's spring 1929 and she has just opened her detective agency . . .
The Great War, by Jay Winter and Blaine Baggett
Companion to the PBS series, this is a look at World War I and its shaping of the 20th century.
The Last Gift of Time, by Carolyn G. Heilbrun
Subtitled "Life Beyond Sixty," this is Heilbrun's look back at her 60s. Her conclusion: it's been a good life, all things considered.
Children of the Wolf, by Jane Yolen
Fiction based on the true (and controversial) account of feral children in India in the 1920s. Sad, sad, but Yolen is always good.
The Starlight Barking, by Dodie Smith
Followup to The 101 Dalmations (which I need to read again, I think), this features Pongo, Missis, et al, as they solve the mystery of The Great Sleeping.
All My Patients Are Under the Bed, by Dr. Louis J. Camuti
Memoirs of a cat vet (who's allergic to cats), told in highly entertaining style. If you like cats, you will like this.
Blitzcat, by Robert Westall
The Blitz. The firebombing of Coventry. England, bloody England. Lord Gort doesn’t understand war. She’s just a lost cat, trying to find her way home. Her trip will take her into the heart of the war, into the hearts of the people she meets, and perhaps break her own heart . . . I love this book.
The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter
A murder-suicide in Dark Hollow, Tennseess; an old woman with “the sight”; a troubled minister’s wife; a dying elderly man; a poverty-stricken young mother . . . all combine to make Sheriff Spencer Arrowood's life more interesting than usual . . .
The Rosewood Casket, by Sharyn McCrumb
A dying old man and his four sons who have come home to build his casket; Nora Bonesteel, his long-ago sweetheart and the woman with “the sight”; and the box of human bones she brings to be buried with him.
King's Oak, by Anne Rivers Siddons
Andy Calhoun leaves her disaster of a marriage and moves with her daughter to a small town in Georgia “in search of banality.” What she finds, however, is Tom Dabney, poet, magician, and worshipper of the wilderness. He declares war on the poisoner of his woods, and she must choose . . . vintage Siddons, and my favorite of all hers.
Yvegenie, by C.J. Cherryh
Kavi Chernevog has returned from the dead, to trouble Eveshka and Pyetr again . . . and their fifteen-year-old daughter Ilyana, who is, like her mother, a born wizard.
Chernevog, by C.J. Cherryh
Eveshka, the former rusalka, is now married to Pyetr and living with him and his friend Sasha, the half-taught wizard, and she is in the grip of some dark magic. Kavi Chernevog, her muirderer, bespelled by the forest guardians, is awake and has snared Pyetr and Sasha. And the vodoyani, or River-Thing, is awake too . . .
Rusalka, by C.J. Cherryh
Set in the world of pre-Christian Russian folktales, this is the tale of Pyetr Kochievokov, exiled from his native city, and Sasha Misurov, perhaps a fledging wizard, and the murdered daughter of their mentor, the old wizard Uulamets.
The Pigtail of Ah Lee Ben Loo, by John Bennett
A children's book from 1928, featuring stories and poems illustrated with silhouettes. I can't believe my brother was willing to part with this!
Growltiger's Last Stand, by T. S Eliot
Also containing "The Awful Battle of the Pekes and the Pollicles" and "The Jellicle Cats". Illustrations by Errol Le Cain.
Rabbit Hill, by Robert Lawson
One of my fav children's books—the story of the Little Animals on the Hill, when New Folks move into the house. Will they be gardeners? Will they have good garbage? And will there be a Cat? (Lawson, BTW, illustrated The Story of Ferdinand.)
Milking the Moon, by Eugene Walter
A Southerner's story of life on this planet. Walter is from Alabama, and it shows. Fascinating!
The Long Descent, by John Michael Greer
"A User's Guide to the End of the Industrial Age." Greer, also writer of The Archdruid Blog, offers concrete suggestions for dealing with climate change, peak oil, and the decline of our present technological civilization. Well worth reading once, maybe twice.
The Love Letters, by Madeleine L'Engle
Juxtaposes a 20th-century love story and the love affair of a 17th-century nun and a soldier, as both struggle with their vows. Superbly done, as usual.
The Woman Who Loved Reindeer, by Meredith Ann Pierce
"In a wintery land where two moons shine, a young girl named Caribou falls in love with a man who isn't a man at all . . . " YA, but I enjoyed it on an adult level—and I liked the fact that Caribou was independent, took care of herself, and didn't let her falling in love interfere with what she needed to be doing.
Lolly Willowes, by Sylvia Townsend Warner
A single woman's struggle to break away from her controlling family—but so much more than just those bare bones. Definitely a re-read.
Heartbreak Hotel, by Anne Rivers Siddons
More drama from the Deep South. This time, sorority girls and segregation. One of her better novels, IMHO.
Sweetwater Creek, by Anne Rivers Siddons
12-year-old Emily has survived her mother's abandonment and her beloved older brother's death by finding refuge in training her father's Boykin Spaniels. But her troubled new friend threatens to blow a hole in Emily's world and let reality in, with all its troubles. Written in Siddons' usual purple prose, but engrossing as usual—it kept me distracted for a couple of days while I was sick.
The Goblin Mirror, by C.J. Cherryh
As a vague sense of menace threatens the small country of Maggiar, three young princes, a wizard, and a huntsman become caught up in a magical battle to save their land from the Queen of the Goblins. Not her best fantasy, but enjoyable still.

Wednesday, 21 May 2008

Is it Wednesday already?

Yes, I guess it is . . . how time flies! (whether you're having fun or not)

What have I been doing? Well, Saturday was the tailgate market—another successful one, too. I sold one apron and two tote bags (there went the last of my chicken fabric; must keep an eye out for more), all the bread but one loaf, all the gingersnaps (these two ladies who were together each bought one bag; then a few minutes later one of them came back saying, "We've already eaten all the ones we bought. Give me all you have left." So I did . . .), a fair amount of jam, a couple of jars of honey, all the eggs but three dozen (which I brought back home and am stashing for deviled eggs in a week or so, when I can actually shell them without the whites coming off in chunks). Even better, we bartered three jars of jam and the remaining loaf of bread for a lovely fat roasting chicken, which I am cooking today, and two lamb shanks, which are in the freezer.

Then I came home and slept for two hours.

Sunday . . . what did I do Sunday? Not much; it was very damp and icky, and I felt groggy and disoriented all day, so I did a little bit of sewing, repotted the sanseverias (they are getting very large; next year it will be a two-person job, I think) and hauled them down under the maple tree for the summer, weeded the rock garden (and found what I think is poison ivy; I shall have to point John in that direction), took a nap . . .

Monday I did the laundry (but not the ironing, which is in a rather alarming pile on the end of the ~~cat sleeping shelf~~ ironing board), and we went to the farmers' market to look for more strawberries, molasses and country ham. And a cabbage, as I had a corned beef brisket in the refrigerator (marked down twice, so actually affordable!). We not only found strawberries for $7 a gallon, they had four gallons that were too ripe to sell (?!?) so gave them to John for nothing—twelve gallons of strawberries for only $56! So we made an unexpected run of strawberry jam—and two gallons in the dehydrator, two more in the refrigerator waiting to go in today, and another gallon for us to ~~stuff ourselves on~~ eat. (And these were more local S.C. berries, too—'local' being 'within 100 miles'.) And we had corned beef and cabbage and potatoes for supper, and it was good. And there is a nice little container of corned beef for sandwiches, too.

Yesterday we dug into the fruit freezer and got out peaches, the last of the figs, and a gallon of pears. (note to self: do not freeze pears. I cannot imagine what I intended with these, but they went to the chickens, who were highly appreciative—they were gone in less than five minutes.) John made peach preserves and fig jam with them, and the jars (all 70+ of them) are all labled and stored in the wellhouse, and the kitchen is mostly non-sticky now. Also, I went to the post office and mailed Cathy's doll, and to the office supply store to buy tags and labels for various things, and in search of flannel and poly beads to stuff floppy animals . . . first I went to AC Moore, and then I went to Hancock, and then I went to Asheville Cotton, and then I even went to WalMart *shudder* . . . AC Moore had no polybeads. Hancock had neither beads nor flannel, and they were rearranging everything for some sort of construction in the back. Ashevill Cotton had no flannel, for they are busy moving across town in two weeks and I could find nothing. WalMart had neither, and was generally annoying besides, as it always is. Finally I found polybeads at Michael's, but still no flannel . . . so I ended up ordering it from fabric.com. (Not only gray, but polka dots in several colors!) All that running around to no avail put me in a very bad mood, so I indulged myself by getting a nw vegetable brush, two strawberry cappers (I have one, but I have put it in a safe place . . . ), a cookie scoop and two new measuring cups, one of which holds eight cups and can also be used for pancake mix and so on. (Yes, I'm justifying.)

And I did a little weeding, but stopped when I found more poison ivy. Drat! I read somewhere that with the warming climate, poison ivy is becoming more virulant. I know I have never had a case of poison ivy (and a good portion of my misspent youth was spent grubbing around in the woods) until last year, and it seems to show up more and earlier every years these past few . . . Poison ivy and ticks, which are also increasing—in fact, we had to get Frontline for all the cats last month, to keep them from bringing ticks in the house and dropping them where I will pick them up. It's always something, I guess.

Which brings us, rather circuitously, to today: I must get the dried strawberries out of the dehydrator and put another two gallons in (and cap them beforehand, unfortunately), and roast the chicken (I think roast chicken for supper, and yellow rice, and the rest of the broccoli from the garden—it got warm early and we didn't get much this spring; we'll try again this fall—and perhaps some of the pickled beets from last year), and weed a little more in the bed I'm attempting to clear so we can plant caraway and anise and various annual things around the lilies and hollyhocks that are already in there and can't be moved, and then I must get back to work on the apron and floppy animals that I started working on Sunday . . . And I really need to take the camera out and wander around the yard; there are things blooming—false indigo and dutch iris and columbines—and the little praying mantises have hatched out (I saw one today, nearly as long as my fingernail), and the little chickens are enlarging daily . . . speaking of chickens, look at this article on chicken intelligence (via Ellie at Child of Illusion). The world is full of all sorts of interesting things, isn't it?

And now, my aspirin has kicked in and I believe I shall go back to bed for an hour or so before I have to get up and feed the ravening horde . . .

Posted by kirbanita on Wednesday, 21 May 2008 at 04:51 AM in just stuff going on | Permalink

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Comments

I have a very large measuring cup for holding pancake batter. And I have a safe spot.
I take these small things as a sign that someday I will - oh, shoot. I got a phone call and now I have no idea what I was going to say.

Posted by: k | Wednesday, 21 May 2008 at 01:44 PM

Hi Anita! Sounds like Home Sweet Home to me...lol. I finally got the registration form for our local farmer's market...only to be hit with soooo many rules/regs... am speechless. I can't sell eggs unless I have a special permit from the Egg board and have the chickens checked. I can't sell bakedgoods unless I am a non profit and bake in a church kitchen...on and on it goes. So, I shall sew and take produce.....do you have rules like that there?

Posted by: Trudy Neill of Windemere Farm | Wednesday, 21 May 2008 at 10:51 PM

I need to have another coffee after reading that! Whew...... And to Trudy, we have rules in Ontario now about selling pies at the local markets.

Posted by: Jo-Anne | Thursday, 22 May 2008 at 09:33 AM

Whew! I'm TOTALLY exhausted just READING this post! Still, I wish I could have done it all with you! (Well okay - maybe not the weeding.) Re: the stipulations for selling food goods here - we DO have a STRINGENT set of them except in school bake sales or church sales. (Do the powers that be assume PTA mommies & church ladies are safer than other citizens?) Recently I took my surrogate kiddos (aka Borders Bookstore employees) some cookies. Next to the jar I left this note: This jar of treats has been awarded the official seal of approval from Homeland Security who will attest that no weapons of mass destruction were used in the baking of these cookies.

Posted by: Kai | Thursday, 22 May 2008 at 05:54 PM

The Butterfly Queen is exquisite, Anita. And I love your blog. Everything looks and sounds yummy!

Marilyn WK, out from lurking in the Fabric in Altered Art group

Posted by: Marilyn | Saturday, 24 May 2008 at 11:46 PM

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July 2009

Take Joy!

In the dark of the moon, in flying snow, in the dead of winter, war spreading, families dying, the world in danger, I walk the rocky hillside, sowing clover. —Wendell Berry

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Is it Wednesday already?

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