Last Day of June

This is it, the last day in June. By the end of the day I’ll have made it through another year of Junes. It’s the best and the worst of months. It brings my Annual ‘Remember the Magic’ Writing Conference and it brings the anniversaries of the ‘passing over’ of three loved ones.

June brings the songs of the birds close to me while I sit in the early morning on my deck. It brings the joy of the squirrels and rabbits playing on the grass and the slight sway of the tall pines. It brings the strawberries for picking and the gardenias scenting the air with sweetness.

Tears

On my recent check-up visit to Duke Eye Center, I learned that we have different liquids in our eyes, tears and an eye wash (when we blink). As age creeps over us,(egads, she mentioned 40 years of age) the eye wash dries. That's where eye drops come in. They help keep the eye fluid. At least this is how I understand it.

Tears are something else. I learned not to cry at a young age. It was that 'growing up with all boys in the neighborhood' thing. "Only sissies cry." they taunted.

I was too young to realize that boys don't know any better than many men do. Crying is healthy. I'd held back tears for so many years that I think they just backed up and overflowed........like a sewer system. Once I started crying, about 15 years ago, I haven't stopped. When people see this they get embarrassed.

"No, no." I tell them. "It's okay. When the tears want to fall, I let them. It releases my emotions and feels good." Not to worry.

If you have a hard time trying to cry, to release those deeply buried disappointments and hurts, try this: play some songs that bring back those memories of painful experiences-the ones you worked so hard to forget. If it doesn't work the first time, try it again and again. Eventually you'll clean out all that moldy yuk festering inside ........ just like the guy does with the toilet plunger.

Reading as a Writer

It's true. Once I became a writer I began to read differently. Oh, I still read for enjoyment. I may get lost in a story but only until a passage is especially poetic. Then I sit up, take note maybe even place a 'sticky' under the paragraph so I can return to it for further pleasure. I'll re-read it aloud this time to my two girls (darling cats) letting the words roll around my tongue before I swallow them.

Or it may be just a word that stands out and I'm unable to just roll over it including its meaning in the sentence containing it. A word that demands I look it up in the dictionary, now. When the worth of the word is revealed I realise no other word could have been more suitable and I amaze over the cleverness of the author.

Reading Michael Ondaatje's Divisadero is like that. I have several stickies underscoring paragraphs that just reached out and made me pay attention. The man writes prose like a poet; creates scenes like an artist. It's a pleasure to read the words he strings together.

Writers' Group

For those who are nearby, a Writer's Group is meeting at the Warren County Memorial Library on Front St. in Warrenton, NC on the first Tuesday of the month at 6:00 until 8:00. Come early or later but join us in writing practices whether you are writing fiction, memoir, poetry or some thing else. There's no cost. Bring paper, pen or laptop.

Farmer as Poet

Today on my way to somewhere else, I passed a freshly turned field being readied for planting. But near the roadway the farmer created a small island by plowing around an area of Queen Anne's Lace. The wildflowers swayed in the breeze as if they were celebrating the farmer's recognition of their beauty and the joy they extended to anyone who took a moment to look. Surely the farmer is a poet or an artist or perhaps just someone who sees beauty when it pops out of the ground.

Spring as Art

The fields have become vast stretches of Kelly green again, creating a background, framing the brilliant yellow daffodils, the cherry pink blossoms and white Bradford Pear trees. It’s as though huge hands have framed a piece of art by an Impressionist.

A week before-the-five-day-rain, brilliant colors of early blooming flowers and trees, perked up the nearly undressed forests and sleeping farmland. An image of encouragement appears, that the blossoms are seeking the artist’s brush to continue coloring the earth, fulfilling a partnership.

It seemed as though the ground was waiting for a splash of water to bring it to life (it got a bucketful instead) to make it smile just as I suddenly become content quenching a thirst after a dry run.

This week Van Gogh comes to mind as splotches of amethyst appear in the pastures. I’m seeing what his talent recreated on canvas for us to enjoy all winter. In spring we can see the original.

Books on CD

I’ve reawakened my idea of listening to books on CD. It was great to listen to a story as I was trekking to New Jersey for a long weekend. I arrived without a trace of being tired and without realizing how much time had passed. But when I returned home, I placed the idea in a drawer somewhere to be used for my next long-distance travel.

A few weeks ago as I prepared for an hour fifteen minute drive to Raleigh-not considered long distance now that I live in NC -the idea of books on CD popped into my head. I stopped at the library on the way and restored a good habit.

I took note that whenever I get into my car I’m driving at least 20 minutes and usually longer. That's enough time to get back into the story easily. Now, if I can find some of my favorite authors.........

Images

Maureen McCarthy Draper once said “Music itself is an image, if you think of an image as Ezra Pound did, as presenting “an intellectual and emotional complex in an instant of time” . . . .Perhaps the soul needs images more than answers.”
I play music CDs on my computer. In the evening as I sit in my bedroom/office the music soothes my daily chores as I read my current book. The monitor flashes brilliant colors and shapes and images. If my book is absorbing, I ignore the images, but not Mz Lizzie. She is fascinated.
When I show her photos of other cats, she sends me an incredulous look, as if to say “what are you doing?’ That’s just before she raises her chin and majestically strides away from me. But the ‘light’ show on the computer will keep her mesmerized for an hour.

Baby is Born

The Baby is Born! And a relief it is, too. “Pieces of Me” has become “Life & Labyrinth” a name even more fitting once the manuscript came together. It’s a bit like changing your name from the one you carry to honor that old respectable aunt/uncle. You know the names, out-dated and conjuring up images of a stuffy, old codger before anyone gets to meet you personally.

Or you were named after your mother or father so all your life you’re called junior, butch, buddy or number two. Maybe you picked up a nickname to distinguish you from the original, so no one knows your name anyway, unlike being at “Cheers” where everyone knows your name.

Even after the senior passes on, you’re stuck with the derivative. So I say cheers to anyone changing their name to one they like. So, it’s “Life & Labyrinth” now available to you at the Old Bookshop of Bordentown on Farnsworth Ave, Amazon.com and hopefully soon to be at
Barnes & Noble in the Hamilton Marketplace. Or if you can’t get to those places, you can order one from me. Enjoy.

Empathy

Empathy is understanding. Compassion grasps empathy by the hand to walk together. Once a person has traveled a difficult road that others trod upon, she commends their triumph of overcoming all the obstacles. Her barriers may be different but still she recognizes the struggle.

Understanding includes those who have had sorrow in their lives but not the denial of rights that belong to them but not given. It’s difficult to see the other person’s hardship when it is so different from your own. Like choosing clothes for a holiday in the Caribbean when it’s snowing outside, there’s always an un-necessary sweater packed in there somewhere.

Sometimes it’s challenging but empathy, compassion and the extended hand are rewards in themselves.

No-Name Recipe

From my upcoming book "Pieces of Me"

NO NAME RECIPE

peanut butter * walnut halves * dried dates * sugar touched by cinnamon

I place the items to the side of the old wooden table-top, cleared now of the crossword puzzle from last Sunday’s newspaper and the antique brass candle-holder containing a taper. I’m lucky enough to have stocked up on tapers when I could still buy them at wholesale prices. The holder was a gift from Mona, who in the winter invites me for dinner served in her simple colonial dining room, lit only by candlelight, as authentically colonial as the dinner served.
I’ve also moved the wooden bowl hollowed out and hand-painted on the outside, by the loving hands of a true craftsman. This too, was a gift, but from Norma who began as a customer in my shop and became a very generous friend.
These items are removed and the table scrubbed clean of cat fur wisps from my two girls, Mz Lizzie and Lady Jane. They give me the same great joy as the Bennet sisters in Pride and Prejudice for which they were named. They love to watch me cook and bake from the safe distance of a nearby wooden wine rack stand, a gift to my late husband still in use long after he has passed.
I cup a date in my left palm, holding the paring knife in my right. The sharp tip of the knife slits the date open like a pocket sewn closed in error. A small swipe of peanut butter fills the gaping hole easily before I reach for the walnut recently plucked from the ground under my neighbor’s huge, ancient walnut tree. It was necessary to scoot the squirrels away to get the walnuts. They don’t give them up easily even though the tree will give us thousands more this year. As soon as I brought my little treasures home, I spread them out thinly on a cookie sheet, blackened with age and use, roasting the nuts on low heat for an hour or so.
The date and peanut butter embrace the newly received walnut half, not quite closing around it. Next I roll the piece into the cinnamon tinted sugar waiting in the shallow bowl with the images of Toulouse-Lautrec posters reminding me of another century. My friend Tom encouraged me to buy a whole set of them, knowing I would always treasure them as I do his pieces of artwork that I own.
The finished product is placed next to her sisters on the cut glass tray, a lovely platter salvaged from an unlovely time, an angry divorce, but now garnishing a shelf, patiently waiting for a lifetime of happy use.

P S: Cream cheese may be substituted for the peanut butter but nothing can substitute the friends that will share my creation.

Day After the President's Inauguration

Bits and pieces of the televised Presidential Inauguration Day intermittently stopped my working. I paused, turned and watched. I wept when President Obama stated, “forty years ago my father could not have entered the White House by the front door.”

As a person who has struggled to feed my kids, to stop foreclosure on my house and to be considered a second-class citizen by nature of being a woman, I applaud our new President. I’ve stood in a room of a hundred dark skinned people and appreciated being invited to the occasion. I’ve waited in line with a hundred East Indians at a New York book-signing and was the only redhead with skin coloring of my Celtic ancestors, there. Everyone else had black hair and a darker complexion including the author.

Empathy has come to me through self-education and just being open to the thoughts and dreams of others struggling to improve their situation and increase their education. President Obama opens the door for many who have earned the right to become first class citizens at last.

Cards 'n Letters

Writing and the love of it overflows into areas other than books, essays and articles. For me, I wish I had ample time to write letters more often. A letter keeps me connected whether I’m writing it or receiving it.

I also like to write a note on a card sent and wonder why folks don’t do it more often. One doesn’t’ have to be a college grad, an excellent speller or have a neat penmanship. “Happy Birthday” “Merry Christmas” or just “Thinking of You” written by hand is much more personal than the same words pre-printed.

It’s a similar emotion when eating dinner at someone else’s house. They don’t cook like you do, or maybe it’s even Chinese take-out, but it tastes even more delicious anyway. Maybe it’s in the ‘being invited.’

The same feeling emerges when finding a card in my mailbox, even a post card tells me someone thought of me. How wonderful that is.

Last New Moon in 2008

The last new moon of the year appears on Saturday, 27th December. Use the day for making wishes, like using the wishbone from your holiday turkey. Jot down the date with your wishes listed underneath to keep track of the changes in your life along with the changes of the moon’s phases.

Your visions of wishes are the first steps in making your dreams come true. To make permanent changes in your life, write up a list of affirmations. Read them everyday and know they will come to be. As ye dream, so shall you be.

PS: Just be careful what you wish for.

Vaughn, North Carolina Post Office

I mailed out my last Christmas card for this year today in Vaughn. The tiny, old post office looks like something out of the Wild West with its creaky wood porch and floors. Three people would be a bit crowded if they were all inside at once. But I’ve never run into anyone else in there at the same time.

In spite of its age and size the Vaughn post office has been a welcome sight to me and I’m sure to others, too. Especially when the other post offices in the ten-mile range are all closed on a Saturday and I’m trying to take advantage of that extra travel day for my packages or mail.

Aside from the visual comfort I receive from going there, the attendant at the window is always most pleasant. This cordial interaction between customer and clerk makes me feel like I was born and raised here. Like being home. That's a good feeling, indeed.

Food Chain Rip-off

I happily went to the food store near the lake this morning to pick up a few things since I had to go for the Sunday paper anyway. I was anxious to use the $5 coupon sent to me by email from them. It also had a buy-one-get-one bottle of soda or a Bloody Mary mix with the same offer.

When I presented the coupon, the checker couldn’t find a code to scam, oops, I mean scan. They knew nothing about this coupon so they called the manager. She didn’t know about it either so she had to call someone for an explanation.

It came down to the soda and Bloody Mary mix were the $5 value, which it didn’t mention on the large $5 Off shouting out to me in balloons. I don't use either.

This is the same food chain that I stopped buying in, for about six months last year after they offered me a great Thanksgiving deal that was cancelled out in fine print so tiny that I couldn’t read it with a magnifying glass.

The telephone call to complain last year had no effect. They refused responsibility then and probably will again. But I’m calling anyway.

Letting Go

Whew! It’s done. I’ve been finished with my manuscript for over a month but kept re-writing, adding and deleting from it. I think part of this was to stave off the pain of letting it go. I feel like I’ve given my baby up to someone else to raise, like they did in England in the 1800s. The aristocracy gave the baby to another family to suckle and rear until four or so, then sent him off at seven or eight to go to school. Of course, some had tutors come in. I think they were the ones who really liked their kids.

In the 1900s the English custom changed a bit. These same aristocrats were very big on housing nannies to raise the kids then sent them to live at school at eight or nine, never to return, except summers and holidays, until 16 or 18 or so. This was mostly the boys but sometimes the girls, too. Frankly, I think they missed all the fun.

Anyway, it’s gone and I won’t breathe deeply again until I have the finished book, with its shiny, new cover in my hands. A new child is born, named Pieces of Me.

Writers' Group Forming

Writers need writers because writing is a solitary effort. We need contact with other writers to kick up ideas, to reveal a knot that’s been buried deep inside, to seek a fix for a writing problem and to encourage each other.

Writing from prompts nurtures our flowing words and sharpens our thoughts. It’s an exercise to keep our brain as slick as a banana peel on a hot pavement.

I’m forming a writing group beginning on Saturday 6thDec from 10 am till 12 noon in the community meeting room at the new library on Front Street in Warrenton. The plan is to meet once a month. There’s no cost. No experience is necessary, just come join us. Bring paper and pen. For further information email me at: asbice@aol.com with “writers group” in the subject line.

Oakley Hall Antiques in Warrenton NC

About ten days ago I went into Oakley Hall Antiques knowing they’re closing their shop on 3 January for approximately six months. They’ll be re-opening with an entirely new concept. I don’t know what the new concept is, but I know just about everything in their shop is reduced to embarrassing low prices.

I bought a Ruth Russell Williams painting, signed. I’ve long admired her work but never as much as when I saw it hanging on my wall. It just got under my skin so much that I went back today and bought a mate for it and an original by Ernie Fleming that I adore.

This time I looked at each and every painting in the shop including a trip upstairs to ponder over their antique etchings and silhouettes.

What a great time and place to buy a Christmas gift for yourself or someone who would love a special something to keep forever and maybe even increase in value as years pass.

Missing Someone During the Holidays

I receive a brief note via email from Kristy Robinette, a paranormal with a radio show who also publishes with Schiffer Publishing Co. In reading her words I found a message for those of you who had an empty chair at your Thanksgiving Dinner table and will notice it during the coming holidays too.

She reminds us that those who have crossed over show us signs, letting us know that they’re still in touch with us even though we can’t see them. We only have to look. Kristy said while she was shopping for a butter dish in a super large store, she encountered a sparrow-inside the store. The sparrow flew from the shelf up to her shoulder. (How many times has that happened to you?) No fear. Not just any bird. Kristy said, “Hi, Mom” with her eyes tearing up knowing what this sign was all about. The sparrow flew away gracefully.

Have you thought of someone from hearing a song or smelling a certain fragrance that’s unexplainable? The signs are all around. Look for them. If you want to receive email newsletters (brief ones) you can contact Kristy at: kristyrobinett@yahoo.com

Books, People

In reading Bob Kelly’s Newsletter tribute to his friend Charlie “Tremendous” Jones, I came across this quote. You're the same today as you'll be five years from now except for two things, the people you meet and the books you read. At first I thought he meant going from romance/adventure books to more scholarly books. And he does stress reading biographies and history for healthy growth of mind. Then I realized that wasn’t the intention. How many books do we re-read? Well, all of Jane Austen’s. But other than those only a handful, yet I have a thousand sitting on my bookshelves. Each one cherished but not re-read. As for the people, I’m certain that we meet the exact people we need to meet; some to stay in our lives forever and some in passing, but indelible. Some, like the books, are “re-read” over and over never leaving the shelf or the hugs exchanged.

"The quote was taken from the November 2008 issue of THE
KELLYGRAM, and is used with permission." http://www.wordcrafters.info/newsletters.html

The Witch's Grave by Phillip DePoy

I’ve just finished The Witch’s Grave by Phillip DePoy. I began backwards, finding the author and reading his third book first. After liking it so much, I found his first and second Fever Devilin books in the series.

A wise choice. I love a mystery and when there is a good personal story within the mystery, I love it even better. DePoy takes it even deeper, having suspense and mystery in the back story. Then he takes it even further than that. He’s poetic in his descriptions as i.e. voice like an iris petal. Can’t you just hear that soft, draping voice? He also writes of his friend Andrews sitting on a tree limb as: the branch complained but held. I’ve heard that sound growing up in the woods of my youth. But I never put a handle on it.

He also mentions Monet and Van Gogh in reference. I wonder if he paints? Write poetry?

Helloing a House

I’ve finished reading Devil’s Hearth, the first in a series of Phillip De Poy’s mysteries set in the Georgia Appalachians. He mentions their habit of helloing the house that probably isn’t used anymore. This was the custom of standing out in front of the house, or back, depending on where you arrive at the house and calling out the person’s name. Inside the house, the person would call back to come on in. Or not.

This is what we did when I was a kid. We always went to the back door of our friends’ houses and called their name. We never knocked on the door or rang a doorbell until we became teenagers too sophisticated for such ways. I never gave a thought to where the idea came from or why kids don’t do it today.

Apparently the custom goes back to the early Scottish Celtic time and possibly other cultures, too. I imagine it would’ve let the folks know it was a friendly caller not an invader.

Iron Jawed Angels

Last night I watched Iron Jawed Angels with Hilary Swank, Frances O’Connor, Angelica Huston, Julia Ormond and Patrick Dempsey. A great line-up of talent and a movie every student should be required to watch. The girls, so they know the battles fought for their right to vote and the boys, so they can see what damage ignorance and male ego can do.

But it’s so typical of American movies that a love interest must be inserted. I think Dempsey was tossed onto the scene because the producers don’t believe women will watch a movie without a hunk in it. I’m sure they’ll comment with the usual “the movie is for entertainment” to cover the fiction part of the story, including the music. Great music but so wrong for the period and so candying of such a serious subject.

It’s also amazing that Alice Paul lived to be 92. Maybe it’s because she didn’t marry. J

A Trillion Dollars

Yesterday in the News & Observer newspaper of North Carolina, there was an article on our country hitting a ONE TRILLION DOLLARS tab for the war in Iraq! What would you do with a trillion dollars? Can you even imagine that amount of money or anything? Why aren’t Americans outraged?

Rob Simpson hired some assistants and spent a year in research resulting in the slim book What We Could Have Done With the Money: 50 Ways to Spend the Trillion Dollars We’ve Spent on Iraq.

A few ideas from him: Pave the entire U.S. interstate highway system with 23.5 karat gold leaf; give every high school student in the U.S. a free college education; it could buy a Buick for every senior citizen still driving in the USA; it could double the 663,000 cops on the beat for 32 years; it could build 75 million solar-powered homes (eliminating the need for oil and war in Iraq.)

More? Check it out, google: What we could have done with the money.

All Souls' Day

All Souls Day

Today is the day (or Monday when November 2nd falls on a Sunday) to honor those that have lived before and do so no longer. Light your candle today even if you have on All Hallow’s Eve. Remember the dead. Talk about them to someone. As long as they are spoken of, they will remain alive, at least in the minds of those who knew and loved them.

It’s fallen out of fashion to visit gravesites. Body boxes returning from the Iraqi War are not allowed to be shown (in this country of freedom) on TV or newspapers. But cemeteries were once gathering places to have picnics and family get-togethers. They were landscaped with beautiful trees and bushes for all to enjoy. The cemetery was also an open space for the city person to visit for peace and serenity.

Now if you see someone at the cemetery, they’re probably genealogists seeking information for the family archives. It’s a great place for learning. Tombstones reveal facts and sometimes fancies about the dearly departed buried there. And about the person who paid to honor them.

Light a candle today. Honor someone in hope that someday you will be honored for the time and good you gave to the world.

Celtic Holiday Samhain Hallowe'en

Samhain (pronounced saun or sawin)

This old Celtic, Irish and Scottish holiday denotes the end of the harvest season and the beginning of the Celtic New Year. It also denotes the “dark half” of the year. Samhain was the principal holiday with great celebrations and great bonfires set at the hill of Tara, the home of the royal court in medieval Ireland. The bonfires signaled to others to ritually light their festival bonfires all across Ireland.

This celebration honored the harvest and the dead that populated the earth before us. Samhain is thought to hold the thinnest veil between the living and the dead, a night when the spirits may come to visit. Often a place is set at the table out of respect for our loved ones now deceased and our ancestors to come join us for this night. A candle is also lit to invite them into the household including pets that have gone from us.

The Goddess becomes the Crone (wise woman) on this day, still ruling over Samhain. Light a candle to honor her, your ancestors and yourself, too. Cut away the unwanted old (negatives) and begin with the new. It’s a joyous, promising event lasting three days starting at sundown the 31st of October.

The Annual Ghost Walk

Patti De Santis put together the Annual Ghost Walk for the Downtown Bordentown Association again this year. She did a fine job of gathering talented storytellers and planning the event. Over 300 people came to listen and learn about the ghosts, some dating back to the Civil War period, some as recent as last week.

It was fun, leading a group of thirty folks who came to hear the paranormal stories in town. The stories from my book, Haunted Bordentown (New Jersey) came alive at each of nine stops as a storyteller related what happened to them or to the residents living there.

I led the last group at 8 pm. I think this is the last frontier to be explored. We’ve gone to the moon. Now it’s time to understand about time and the afterlife and how it relates to us today.
It was fun, leading a group of thirty folks who came to hear the paranormal stories in town. The stories from my book, Haunted Bordentown (New Jersey) came alive at each of nine stops as a storyteller related what happened to them or to the residents living there.

I led the last group at 8 pm. Over 300 people came to listen and learn about the ghosts, some dating back to the Civil War period, some as recent as last week. I think this is the last frontier to be explored. We’ve gone to the moon. Now it’s time to understand about time and the afterlife and how it relates to us today.

Back from Jersey

Back from Jersey after five days of interviews hearing new stories of ghostly hauntings, a book-signing at the Old Bookshop of Bordentown, followed by guiding a group in the Annual Ghost Walk, dinner parties and lunches with the best of friends. Wonderful but exhausting.

On my last morning when I came downstairs my friend Patti and hostess had a roaring fire going and fresh coffee brewing. Wow! As we sat, coffee mugs in hand, chatting, snow became mixed in the rain. Old memories began dotting my thoughts.

That afternoon I drove north to Lambertville and the sister city across the Delaware River of New Hope, Pennsylvania to say “hello” to my ancient ancestors. I stayed in my car to keep dry of the rain turning-to-snow (loved it!) Cars driving from the north were covered in snow.

Thankfully this little window of October northern weather stopped, drying the roads for my drive home later that night. It’s good to be home.

Guest Jyoti Wind

Today's Blog is by IWWG writing friend Jyoti Wind. Enjoy.

Standing Shoulder To Shoulder

Can you stand shoulder to shoulder
with those whose voices are needed now.
Can you allow the words that whirl
around in your head to have a way out.

Can you open your mouth, pick up your pen,
screw up your courage and walk to the line
upon which rests no less than humanity’s survival.
Can you let your own voice be heard now.

Can you form the words so long held in,
in that place of despair or self-doubt,
and let your vocal chords and your pen fly
or your keys tap out the nature of your piece,

the very piece you hold in the place of now,
now at this time as we face an unknown future,
a time that holds grays and maybes and fear.
Can you lend us your thoughts and stand up.

Can you speak and write and tell us what thoughts
have been keeping you up all night
and reach into your dreams and scare you awake.
Can you let us know what’s next.

Can you stand shoulder to shoulder
with those whose voices are needed now.
Can you allow the words that whirl
around in your head to have a way out.

by Jyoti Wind

From Into the Heart of the Flower: Poetry, Prose and Meditations
Also from Jyoti Wind: By Grace’s Edge: Poetry, Prose and Prayers;
Dreaming It Was Real: A Childhood Memoir.
Edited by Jyoti Wind…A Week’s Worth of Women: Poetry, Prose and Memoir.
(Available after Nov.5th)
blog: www.writes-of-passage.blogspot.com

Right to Choose

A timely subject at the moment is our Right to Choose. It’s a Right that took me a long time to be comfortable with. An early major Right was the decision to leave my husband of 15 years who was detrimental to my health. Choosing the Right to live in a town with a school system beneficial to my kids followed.

I’m fully aware of the choosing I’ve done since those early days. Some choices have been hard to live with, learning later that what seemed like the right option at the time, wasn’t. This bruise on my heart comes from knowing that I’ve hurt someone from my Right to Choose.

Lately my choices aren’t so earth-shattering. i.e. which table to choose in a restaurant, which volunteer group to join, whether to go or stay. Choices have been small ones until this historic election facing us this year. I hope the one we choose is elected. I pray our Right to Choose results in a benefit to our country. A country that desperately needs the right choice now.

El Greco to Velazquez

Judy and I went to the Nasher Museum of Art at Duke University last week to see the featured art during the reign of Phillip III in Spain. Most of the paintings are huge, many are life-size. A few, like the “Equestrian Portrait of the Duke of Lerma” by Peter Paul Rubens looked as fresh as if it were painted yesterday and still drying. Rubens was Flemish but painted the Duke while on a visit to Spain.

The Duke was an affluent collector of the locally created arts setting the pace for others to follow. Certainly the Duke’s choices led to the success of many talents and the further education of others during this Spanish painting of the Golden Age.

El Greco came to Spain from Greece (hence, the name El Greco) while Phillip II was in reign and settled in Toledo. Religious paintings aren’t my favorite but the talent and skill of these artists are awesome to see. They make it look as if it were easy to do. It isn’t.

NCWN Writers’ Annual Fall Conference

The International Women’s Writing Guild is the most important cause in leading me to be a published author. Now I know how important it is for writers to gather together whenever possible. This seems to create a special aura for the path to writing better.

Because of this and because of my quest to make North Carolina my home (home is more than just living in a house) I was thrilled to find the NCWN is holding a weekend Fall Conference from 14 thru 16 Nov. at the RDU Hilton in Research Triangle Park. Key note speaker is poet and novelist Ron Rash.

The Conference offers top writers, agents and editors to educate and guide you. If you’re interested and want more information go to the website www.ncwriters.org to sign up today.

North Carolina Writers’ Network

Peggy Richardson of the Warren County Arts Council sent a notice to me about an upcoming North Carolina Writers’ Network conducting a Fall Weekend Conference. I checked into the NCWN website and joined immediately.

It’s important for writers to gather together with other writers, so I’m very excited about being a part of this nonprofit group founded in 1985. The Network provides information and support services for all venues of writers at all levels. More information will follow, especially about the November Conference.

Another step in becoming a Carolinian.

Bordentown Ghost Walk and Book Signing

Hooray! It’s October and Patti DeSantis is hosting another Ghost Walk in Bordentown City for the Downtown Business Association. And, I’m to be part of it. First I’ll be signing “Haunted Bordentown” books at the Old Bookshop of Bordentown, 200 Farnsworth Avenue. Bring your own or buy one there at $14.95. I plan to be there by 5 pm. Then I’ll be leading the last group of ghost seekers for the night. This is a fun walking tour full of drama and surprises. The Downtown Bordentown Association is the sponsor of the Ghost Walk every year. I hope it’s a dark, spooky, cool, dry night.

Mark your calendars for Sunday, 26 October. This is always a sold-out event! Tours begin at 6. For further info call: Doug Palmieri 609-324-9909

Fences & Gates

I’ve long wondered about fences. Are they installed to keep the world out or to keep one’s small world in? Either way it doesn’t always work. I remember my two-year-old climbing the 5-foot cyclone fence circling our yard. It was meant to protect the kids from the busy street in front of our house until they were of an age. Didn’t work. He could care less about crossing the street. He just wanted to run after his two older brothers so he could be part of the clan.

It wasn’t always good at keeping out the undesirables either. Rabbits managed to sneak in to feast on my small garden. Boys in the neighborhood leaped the fence when they saw we had a swimming pool. It was only 3 ft. deep but they didn’t care. It was water to sit and play in.

Gates in paintings also intrigue me. It’s usually difficult to tell if they are open to welcome me home or are they inviting me to take the path that leads into the world, excitement, wonder and learning. H-m-m-m.

Book Reading Social

Exciting October again this year! Citizens for Animal Protection in Warren County, North Carolina is hosting a BOOK READING-SIGNING-SOCIAL Event of my latest book "Haunted Bordentown" on Sunday, October 19 from 4 to 6 pm at the Pavilion in Lake Gaston Estates, Recreation Drive.

Refreshments will be served. It’s always fun when folks eat and drink together. The Event benefits CAP spay/neuter non-profit 501(c)(3). Tickets are $10.00 each; at the door a $12.00 amount will be collected. Tickets may be purchased from Pride n Groom, Hardware Café in Warrenton or contact me at 434 S. Holiday Drive, Macon NC 27551 or at : asbice@aol.com
Endorse checks to CAP spay/neuter.

This is part of our CAP CHALLENGE! If we can raise $10,000 to help eliminate unwanted litters by November, an anonymous donor will match it!

I’m looking forward to the day for fun and meeting folks. It’s the perfect time of year for reading ghost stories of any kind. And the social part afterwards will buzz with other ghost stories. Maybe I’ll hear of some local ones to write about for next year!

Daydreaming

Are there really people who don’t know how to daydream anymore? What do kids do in a boring afternoon class if they don’t daydream? How about those long pauses between solid thoughts while writing at the computer? Or on lined paper.

I was reading my weekly Barbara McNichol newsletter about using the correct word at: editor@barbaramcnichol.com where she mentions an article by Quinn McDonald about Tips for Keeping a Blog Interesting. One thing leads to another, especially with me and words, when I came upon Quinn’s item on Daydreaming.

She guides you on how to settle down, clear your mind, smile so you’re in the right frame of mind, etc. Go ahead. Try it. If you need guidance: http://quinncreative.com/id34.html Perhaps it’s been too long since you’ve had a good daydream.

Not recommended when driving.

Sense of Fairness

When I traveled to Burnsville in Yancey County for the Carolina Mountains Literary Festival I walked, exploring the town to get the sense of it. The statue of Otway Burns (1775-1850) stating he was a hero intrigued me. The War of 1812 was primarily a fight on or near the water i.e. the Great Lakes, the Atlantic coastline towns and the coastal area of New Orleans. So why a statue of Burns in the Appalachian Mountains?

Further researching found Burns born, raised and living in the coastal town of Swansboro before the war. After the war ended, he moved to another town abutting the Atlantic, Beaufort, some distance north of Swansboro. He continued building ships and expanding his businesses and investments. In 1821 he began his political career as a Democrat serving seven terms in the House and four in the Senate.

Even though he represented the eastern county, he recognized the western counties of North Carolina were not granted fair representation in the General Assembly. When called on for a Special State Constitutional Convention to consider increasing the representation of the western counties, he voted for it. His eastern constituents never forgave him. He was not re-elected.

In gratitude, Yancey County named its county seat after the statesman who believed in a sense of fairness. Are there any more politicians out there who would vote for the sense of fairness rather than the ‘me’ and ‘mine’ only aspect?

Books I Need to Read

When I need to buy a particular book for researching what I’m writing or wondering about, I order it online. Sometimes new, usually used. But when I go into a bookstore whether it’s for new or used books, I like to just meander the aisles in the sections I like. Letting my eyes roam over the book titles and dust jackets is like looking at a menu in an upscale restaurant. I don’t enter that kind of eating establishment with a preset mind. I enjoy seeing what is offered and reading the descriptions of each selection.

I rarely choose the familiar entrée, opting instead for something with a pairing of ingredients that tweaks my curious palate. In the bookshop it seems an invisible hand reaches out, grabbing me to select the book my mind cries out to read. Any book I’ve bought this way has left me happy with my choice.

Oftentimes it’s been a book that I absolutely loved. I wonder if the title I plucked has sparked a memory or some kind of connection that’s telling me “you need the contents of this book.” With my passion for history, I ask myself if the book I chose is a link to a past life. Maybe it’s a tie that nourishes a memory lying beneath my surface needing to be built on. The more I learn in this lifetime, the less demands the next lifetime will be.

Finding Stuff

Coming from Bordentown, New Jersey where New York is an hour away and Philadelphia is half that far with multiple large cities in-between, I often wondered why my friends at Shoppe 202 received so many mail orders for Yankee Candles. I know it’s a good candle, the only one I usually burn, but you don’t really have to drive to a particular zip code to find them. They’re offered for sale in so many stores.

Now I understand. Living rurally over an hour north of Raleigh with only tiny towns in between, has given me a new perspective. Besides, even getting to the big city doesn’t mean I’ll find the items I found everywhere in Jersey. Talking with the gals from New Bern (see Conti’s) who traveled two hours to find an Italian Deli let me know I’m not the only person who shops by mail order. With the price of gasoline being so high it makes even more sense to pay the shipping.

I believe this will change in the near future because so many northerners are moving to North Carolina. They’ll want the convenience of buying familiar items locally.

Conti’s Italian Market

I’ve been looking for a place to buy Italian products since I’ve moved here. Alas, it’s been a nearly three-year struggle, but finally I found Conti’s Italian Market. I arrived at the store just before noon. The aroma caressed my nose the second my foot hit the floor. Ah! An Italian Deli has an aroma that calls you to sunny Italy in an instant. Or Mulberrry Street in New York.

Unexpectedly, I saw that they also serve the food they make, as in homemade Lasagna, Eggplant Parmesan, Spinach Manicotti, Gnocchi and Beef & Veal Cannelloni; all served with the lightest, tastiest meatballs. I had the Lasagna and brought half of it home for supper. The portions are generous, the prices so reasonable. A hearty Masicarelli red wine complimented the food just as it should.

Freshly made antipasto, soups, salads and pizzas are also offered along with Italian sausages, pepperoni, sopressa, marvelous chunks of cheese, olive oils, a variety of vinegars, and too many other goodies that I’ve been unable to find in local food markets.

While I was enjoying my lunch, twenty-five women came in from New Bern! That’s a two-hour trip! They chartered a bus to bring them to the Farmers Market, to Conti’s and then somewhere else to lunch. (Conti’s seating area is too small to accommodate 25 for lunch.)

Conti’s Italian Market at 618 N. Person Street in Raleigh is open Tuesday through Saturday but check for the seasonal hours at: 919-836-8368. Sometimes he’s open on Sundays, too.

Grapevines

When I was in Burnsville, walking around the square (pun intended) the scents of lavender and other flowers planted along the sidewalk floated up to my nose as I passed. Reaching the huge front deck of the Garden Deli I could barely make out that a deck was there because the flowers and vines are so lush and thick. The sweet scent of ripening grapes and grapevines filled the area.

The large grape leaves and wisteria grow up the front and over the top covering the rafters of the deck so thickly that I doubt if rain drips through. An umbrella adorns each table just in case it does. But it’s the scent of the grapevines that pulled at me as I walked by.

I notice many grape arbors, usually in the back portion of properties as I drive in North Carolina from the east coast to the mountains. Inhaling the aroma and seeing the arbors kicks up the memory of running through these sweet tunnels as a youngster until the grapes were ripe. Then the bees became so thick in number and so busy that I didn’t dare to intrude on their territory.

Four Leaf Clovers

A memory risen from Debra Moffitt's email.

Did you search for four-leaf clover as a youngster? I did. They were scarce in my neighborhood. I had to scour the grass closely day after day in the summertime. When I found one, a joy erupted as I leaped in the air is success!

Then the bigger problem of what to do with it arose. Should I keep it, put it in a book to have forever. Then I could keep the good luck with me. Or should I share it and give it to a dearest friend. Would my friend appreciate my efforts enough to keep it always and remember always who sacrificed it?

A gift. In those days it was a gift whether I kept it or gave it away. Alas. Today the seeds are manipulated and four-leaf clovers grow in abundance taking away the delight in finding some scare thing that even a child could find.

Political Words

Words and statements made during the campaign for the primary elections are especially noted. The words used to ridicule the opponent were often retracted or usually just not mentioned again later for the national election campaign. The line drawn gets erased and the offender often becomes the promoter. Go figure. If he was a bad guy before, what’s changed that he’s now a good guy?

Newscasters are the worst offenders of words because they go with what’s fashionable at the moment. Attack! Attack! They seem to do or say anything in order to be in today’s spotlight. Shining at the expense of someone else’s demise. Even when they are interviewing an invited guest on their show, they’ll cut the person short if the words aren’t what he wants to hear. What ever happened to respecting someone else’s opinion? Whatever happened to simply, good manners? How can the youth of our nation be condemned for mimicking what they see and hear on a serious TV news show?

Words.

Power of Words

Have you ever thought about the power of words? A body could get stabbed, shot or wounded physically, a scab would form, eventually fall off and the body is healed. It may leave a scar but not much of one nowadays.

But words; words can wound so deeply that it may take years and years and maybe never to heal. I remember words that my fourth grade teacher wrote in my autograph book that still ring in my head today. The autograph book disappeared when I left my childhood home fifty years ago. Her words weren’t hurtful fortunately.

Even in a lovers’ quarrel where words are hurled at each other without thought, the words remain long after the lovers resolve their difference of opinion. Usually that’s all it is but angry words settle deep inside and stay there.

As a society, we’re careless of the words we use even when they are being broadcasted over the airwaves. Personally I think words spoken are a reflection on the person talking but too often they are remembered as a slur on the person they’re thrown at. Thus leaving a deep scar-less wound.

Even More Festival

Coming home and spreading my treasures out on the bed to fawn over is just as enjoyable as the buying of them. I pick up each book, let my hands slide over the dust jacket, read the back cover blurbs, read the inside flaps, read the inscription on the title page written thoughtfully by the author. I let the book fall open where it may, lift it to my nose and inhale. A-h-h-h. The aroma resulting from the care and labor of a bookmaker enters my body and seeps into my deepest core. There’s nothing else like it in my world.

With each book that’s been signed, I’ll carry the image of the author’s expression when she (or he) lifts her pen to write a brief note in her creation. There’s deep satisfaction at that moment. It’s like giving birth and holding the baby after the pain subsides.

It’s personal.

More Literary Festival

Charles Price, author of “Nor the Battle to the Strong” was at the Festival. It was through his book signing at Quail Ridge in Raleigh that I learned about it. He wrote a wonderful novel on the Revolutionary War in the Carolinas. Add Gerald Carbone, author of “Nathanael Greene, A Biography of the American Revolution.” Add Dennis Conrad, Charles Baxley, John Buchanan, all with a hand in that period, and Suzanne Adair who writes fiction about women in the same war using factual information. I was fascinated by all their knowledge in a subject I can easily fall into and live in while I'm reading the book.

Peggy Poe Stern told stories of the mountains and fell into ghost stories and hauntings. I felt right at home. She’s a delightful storyteller. I could’ve spent days talking with her and days listening to Joanne Mauldon talk about Thomas Wolfe. Interesting stuff.

Gary Neil Carden had everyone laughing heartily with his stories about “Blow the Tannery Whistle.” His Scot grandmother, being thrifty with syllables, called him “Gar-neel!” He’s a North Carolina Public Television storyteller. It was a great way to spend a weekend!

Carolina Mountains Literary Festival

When like minds come together exciting conversations take place. I went to the Festival this past weekend in Burnsville, North Carolina. It’s a charming mountain town beautifully laid out. The large square in the center has a statue of namesake Otway Burns hero of the War of 1812-1814. Buildings important to the town line the outer rim of the square.

Saturday sessions with authors were complimented with live music in the town square. There’s plenty of lawn that folks could spread out a blanket or pop open a chair. BBQ dinners were offered, too. The music was loud enough to be heard but not so loud to be disruptive.

Some literary sessions were entertaining, some were panel discussions, some were talks by authors. Several different writers piqued my curiosity further. Naturally I had to browse the books available to buy in the Town Community Center, got them signed during the lunch or before-dinner break. I came home with a book bag full. Oh, well. At least they don’t add inches to my abundant waistline.

PC Troubles

Computer problems usually send me into a tailspin frenzy as soon as I encounter them. Mainly because I’m afraid I don’t know where to begin to know how to fix them or imagine having to spend an exorbitant amount of money. But not this time. This time I was ready for it.

My PC monitor has been overcast with the color pink for the last month. I thought I needed a new Video Card. When the screen finally went blank, instead of stressing out I headed for Norlina Computers. Alan checked my PC and told me right away that it was a loose connection or the monitor. He didn’t try to sell me anything I didn’t need or pursue unnecessary repairs. Ya gotta luv an honest repairman!

Sunday I bought a new wide-screen monitor. Something new-they’re all wide-screen now! Bet this one doesn’t last as long as my recent one!

Author Charles F. Price

I’d read only about one quarter of “Nor to the Battle Strong” before author appearance of Charles F. Price at Quail Ridge Book Store so I can’t do a book review yet. But I can tell you about his book signing. He wore a 1780-period-dark-red-patterned shirt that looked like cotton. He carried his Stetson hat in one hand and a writer’s briefcase in the other. His cropped short hair in the front is pulled into a long ponytail in the back. Just as many men of that period would appear. He looked the part. I recognized him immediately from the dust jacket photo on the book.

He’s a good storyteller verbally, as well as written, unafraid of laughing at himself. Tonight’s opening story was of a former appearance where he dressed all in black as fitted the period of his then book on the Civil War. He was very into the period by wearing tall black boots, black pants, vest, jacket and Stetson. As he began to read from his book, Hiwassee he realized he’d left his reading glasses in the car! A gal offered hers; so he wound up dressed as Civil War period with fancy cat’s-eye framed glasses.

About forty people attended. All seemed to enjoy it as much as I did.

Quail Ridge Book Signing

One of the first things I noticed after settling into my new home were the notices in the N & O newspaper for the Quail Ridge Bookstore Guest Author appearances. It took awhile but I finally made it!

On Wednesday I drove an hour and a half to this last independent new book store in Raleigh to see Charles F. Price, author of “Nor the Battle to the Strong.” Stopping at Whole Foods located a couple doors up from the bookstore was a delightful idea for a bowl of great Beef Cabbage Soup coupled with Jalapeno Cornbread.

Allowing myself time to browse before the author arrived, I found lots of books stocked by North Carolina authors covering all sorts of subjects. The schedule of events shows author appearances and book signings several times a week, some nights have more than one writer featured. They do a fine job of promoting North Carolina writers!

“Nor the Battle to the Strong” brought me here because it’s about the Revolutionary War fought in the South. The points of view are from Rhode Island-born, Quaker-raised- General Nathaniel Greene and Scottish enlistee, run-a-way-indentured James Johnson. I’m just finishing up a manuscript that covers this same area but from the British point of view of Major Thomas Fraser of Bordentown fame. Naturally I just had-to-have this book and having it signed by the author is a bonus worth the trip to unfamiliar territory!
Check out their website at: www.quailridgebooks.com

CAP in Macon, North Carolina

I joined Citizens for Animal Protection in North Carolina (CAP) nearly two years ago. I’m the new kid on the block learning my way around but becoming Recording Secretary for the last year has brought me into a closer working relationship in the group.

One of their important projects is the spaying and neutering of dogs and cats.

Susan Blaylock is the dynamo behind this program. The suffering of these animals shows on her face when she talks about abused and neglected dogs and cats. Reducing the number of unwanted, stray, abandoned and abused animals roaming the forests, back roads and streets of Warren County is her goal.

Her program pays approximately half the cost of the operation. Expense/Income records are kept showing the number of both cats and dogs and the money spent including vaccination costs. All monies come from fund raising and donations.

Here’s the challenge. An anonymous donor has pledged $10,000 to this program if we can raise that same amount by December 31, 2008. You can be part of this admirable project. For more info: email Susan Blaylock at: susanandbobby@embarqmail.com

CAP is a 501(c)3 non-profit organization whose members are all volunteers. CAP Spay/neuter, P O Box 334, Macon NC 27551 is their address.

Ridgeway Opry House

Last Saturday night I took New Jersey guests Peg and John to the Ridgeway Opry House for an evening of country folks having fun playing and singing their favorite music. It’s a contest on who enjoys it more, the folks playing or the folks listening. Local and guest groups, and individuals, just pop in on any Saturday night for a bit of getting together like the days of old.

In days past the building was a general store built by descendants of the Germans who were invited to settle here after ‘the War’ in the early 1880s. Eventually it came to Frieda Bender Egerton wanting to keep ‘back porch’ music alive. She’s an accomplished singer, founding member of the Germantown Strings and along with Billy Jarrell plays the dulcimer. He also makes dulcimers and teaches music. Billy keeps the complicated microphone systems and lights operating right, too.

It was a good evenin’ listening and sometimes joining in with the singing. Freshly brewed coffee, soda and water are offered at 50 cents each. Homemade cookies, cakes and on this night blackberry cobbler are complimentary. A simply delightful evening for a $5 entry fee.

Heritage

The New York City chef-turned-writer-turned-TV personality of “No Reservations” Anthony Bordain traveled to Uruguay taking his brother Chris along with him. Anthony was, typically, in search of his passion-local foods. His brother Chris enjoyed eating foods he never tasted before but was really in search of their ancestors. Not in body form but records of their life there back in the mid 1800s.

While Chris has a passion for genealogy, Anthony could care less. Is it always this way in families? Being a passionate genealogist myself makes me totally amazed that neither one of my brothers could care a hoot about who came before us. They harbor no thirst for who descended their traits or physical attributes to them.

It’s even more curious to me because I never knew any of my grandparents. I barely knew my aunts and uncles. A couple I’d only met once. My father died young. No family stories trickled down except one or two from my mother’s childhood.
All these un-answered questions, mysteries and secrets tickle my investigative gene. I gotta know!

Roadside Wildflowers

Have any of you noticed the abundance of wildflowers on the roadsides of the Warren County (North Carolina) area? It’s so cheerful and uplifting to be driving down the road, all kinds of thoughts and lists going through my head, when all of a sudden a blast of color jumps out. Well, seemingly jumps out anyway.

There’s a particular stretch in the Ridgeway area that’s full of sunflowers right now. Earlier in the season it was full of bright yellow daffodils. Who could possibly be sad when looking at a mile of daffodils just hanging out by the road waiting to bring a smile to your face. I know a gentleman plants this piece of ground every year just because.

I see patches of white, morning glory-looking flowers laying close to the ground in many areas. I’ve no idea what they are. They just appeared one day about two weeks ago. I remember seeing them last year too. Just around this time.
All these wildflowers have given me an idea. Next year I’ll buy large bags of wildflower seeds and strew them along the road leading up to my house. Wouldn't it be great if a lot of people did that?

I don’t cut all the grass behind my house, leaving large areas to just be natural. Next year I’ll scatter wildflower seeds there, too. It’s going to be lovely.

Hardware Stores

Don’t you just love the old hardware stores? The ones where your shoes step onto creaky wood floors that announce construction with every step. You can find small drawers filled with different size screws and bins of various nails. You can fill a bag or buy just one. Even the aroma is so distinct in a hardware store.

I have three that stand out in my memory. The one on Liberty Street in Trenton was about five blocks from the home of my youth. It was built in a V. I remember my father taking me there when I was under five years old. We entered at the point and I’m sure he carried something in his hand that he needed to ask about and to replace. That was probably the beginning of my love of architecture. I made many trips there alone as I grew. Sometimes just to browse around and soak up the feeling of the place.

The second one is App’s Hardware on Farnsworth Avenue in Bordentown, New Jersey. I’d go in when Mel was still alive and explain to him what I needed for my old house. If he didn’t have it (and that was very unusual) he’d tell me where I could get it. That’s hometown service that you’ll never get in a box store. Later Neil followed Mel’s ways and searched through those little drawers or bins or somewhere in the back where he remembered seeing exactly what I needed. He’d also give me advice on how to fix or repair an item I was having trouble with, sometimes losing a sale.

The third is the hardware store on N. Main Street in Warrenton, North Carolina. They’ve got it all including help and advice. In the spring I just have to stop my car and go in as soon as I see the racks on the sidewalk filled with herb, vegetable and decorative plants. Of course as soon as I arrive home, I realize I’ve forgotten to buy what I went in there for.

Changing Names

Recently I was voted onto the Board of a volunteer group. The following month when the minutes were sent out via email my name came up as Arlene White. A great, deep laugh erupted from me immediately. It seems to be an inherited curse on the women of my heritage.

My mother’s name was Anna May Philkill Daniels Bice Riggi. Her father was adopted. When he found out his real name he changed it and hers too. This took place after my mother carried his adopted name for five years. Bice was her first husband’s (my father’s) name. She remarried about ten years after my father died. Riggi was her second husband’s name

My great-grandmother carried the Daniels, Krieser, Hardy and Philkill names. Whew! That’s the result of a lot of genealogy! The mystery continues. . . . . .her mother was a Bell, a Daniels and died a Martin.
I've changed my name three times, carrying the name of the man (usually called a husband) in my life. So I’ve received mail in the name of Bice, Morrison, Brady and Falvo. And back to Bice again. When I finally took my maiden name back it felt like putting on a pair of old comfortable shoes. That’s it, I swear! I’ll never change my name again. Fortunately I bore all sons, never a daughter to be concerned about what name she will carry.

Silence

I attended an all-day writers’ workshop in Chapel Hill recently. When we broke for lunch workshop presenter Debra Moffitt planned that we each eat in silence. She stated that most Americans are uneasy in silence. Their houses are filled with music, TV or other sounds that float in the background. It’s true. Most of us are unused to the quiet. Until I moved to North Carolina to write full-time, I usually had music playing in the background, maybe softly but it was there while I worked. I sold music CDs in my bookshop so I always featured a CD, varying the type of music to appeal to different tastes.

Silence filled my house for my first year in the south. It fed my creativity allowing my mind to really think without distracting noises. I live rurally surrounded by forest. Trees are a great filter of noise. I don’t live near an airport or large city so when on rare occasions an airplane flies over I notice it. It took me back to my childhood when we stopped to point out a plane spotted in the sky. Unusual in those days.

So I delighted in taking my lunch and finding a shady spot under a tree in the forest that circles the library. A couple of folks couldn’t do it. They sat on a bench outside and chatted away. Oh, she also told us that reading at lunch doesn’t count. That’s mind noise.

Book Anger

Have you ever picked up a book to read yet it made you so angry that you couldn’t read it? That’s how it was recently when I tried to read ‘Under the Banner of Heaven’ by Jon Krakauer. It was the book discussion group selection.

Twice I started from the beginning, becoming so incensed at the abuse of women and children in our country, in the area of Utah and Arizona by the Fundamentalists of Latter Day Saints. This abuse of women and children is largely overlooked while our brilliant political leaders stamp out the abuse of women in the Middle East. Figure that one out.

Twice I had to put the book down so I didn’t explode with anger. The story is an insight of Mormon Fundamentalists. Our government sends four million dollars per year to Colorado City public school district, which, according to the Phoenix New Times “is operated primarily for the financial benefit of the FLDS Church and for the personal enrichment of FLDS school district leaders.”
I finally read the author’s remarks at the end of the book, finding it very interesting that he set out to write quite different story. Then I read a chapter in the middle of the book. Crazy way to read a book, but sometimes it’s whatever works. I never did finish all of it.

Haunted Bordentown, New Jersey

Now that I can think again after those awful Shingles have receded, I’m engaged for book signing events at the Old Book Shop of Bordentown on the Friday evening of 28th March and the Saturday afternoon of the 29th at the Bordentown Library on E. Union Street. Bordentown, New Jersey of course.

The new Haunted Bordentown book is exciting with new stories of recent and distant happenings in and around town. There’s a great story with pictures involving the original Clara Barton schoolhouse. This was a 'happening' on the Bordentown Historic Rout of December in 2006. An experience that includes two people.

Another story tells you different experiences of varied members in the same family. Yet again do those that pass over leave their skills behind for the next occupant of a house? Do we have spirits around us all the time, yet only some can see them? Sometimes the spirits show up in photographs.
Other happenings will tingle your toes and give you a new way of looking at an old town.

Shingles

It’s amazing how experiencing an illness gives me a new understanding of the pain and suffering others go through. I just never give thought to stuff like that, but my recent bout of Shingles on my face has done just that. My excruciating pain was short-lived, the earaches, toothaches (where I have no teeth) and headaches lasted for three weeks. I still can’t touch the top of my head without feeling near-screaming pain. Who knew?

It all began with what I thought was a sinus headache/earache/toothache. As soon as I used Nasacort Nasal Spray the right side of my face swelled, distorted and broke out in a rash! I assumed it was a reaction to the Nasacort. It wasn’t. It took an exam by an Ear, Nose & Throat doctor to detect the real problem. I was ten days in getting to her. All the time not knowing what creepy thing was attacking me. Awful. I don’t recommend it to anyone.

Hooray! The new ‘Haunted Bordentown’ book is on its way! Schiffer Publishing tells me it should be in the bookstores by the end of February. The Old Bookshop of Bordentown on Farnsworth Avenue has their order in and probably will be the first shop to have it stocked. It looks great, has 160 pages, photos and true ghost stories for you to enjoy. It’s been a long three years getting it together, writing, taping interviews, writing, taking photos, writing, making telephone calls, writing and re-writing.

Plans are in the works for book-signings at the Bordentown Library and Old Bookshop of Bordentown on Farnsworth Avenue. We're aiming for March. I’ll keep you posted when the dates are set in concrete. This is so exciting. I hope you enjoy reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Deer Head

While I was buzzing down a back road five days before Christmas heading for Littleton, I saw an object on the road surface ahead of me. I swerved around it glancing over to check it out. It was the head of a deer! It appeared to have a small rack but I was driving too fast to know for certain. No body was to be seen, no bones either.

I immediately thought of The Godfather by Mario Puzo and the scene where movie producer Jack Woltz refuses a request of Don Corleone. The next morning he wakes up to find his prize $600,000 thoroughbred racehorse’s head lying next to him on his bed. Ugh! Shivers ran down my back. (That scene and Alfred Hitchcock’s shower scene are imbedded in many minds forever!)

I’ve heard of some creeps killing a deer and taking the head or the rack for a trophy, wasting the rest instead of using it for food. I’ve never heard of taking the body and leaving the head. Does anyone have any idea why someone would do this?

Christmas Dinner

Setting the table in holiday dinner mood, I selected a ruby-red damask tablecloth, lacy white napkins, the good flatware and fine wine glasses. We’re conserving water in respect to the drought North Carolina has been experiencing this year. Our rosemary Christmas tree adorned the center. The rosemary spices the air with its aroma. No candlelight this year. Brother Al is on oxygen. Christmas carols played softly in the background to enhance conversation, not over power it.

I opened the DuBoeuf Beaujolais Nuveau before dinner to drink with appetizers (little fingers of anchovies in a potato and flour dough.) The bouquet was rich and fruity, more full-bodied than the one we opened in Nov. It was perfect before dinner. To drink with the standing rib roast I opened a Torre Spina Valpolicella again it was just right.

In memory of Charles Dickens, et.al. I made Yorkshire Pudding for the first time, ever. It was quite different than I expected. Not something I would eat more than once a year-it’s made from the fat of the roast. It finishes like a puffy bread crust. Tasty. In memory of good health I made fresh spinach cooked with pine nuts, raisins, garlic and olive oil. In memory of all my good friends, we toasted to their health, wealth and happiness.

Wife Needed

When reading a book I sometimes get more out of it than I expected. I’m referring to ‘The Red Rose Girls’ An Uncommon Story of Art and Love by Alice A. Carter. I was reading intensely when I found the answer to my biggest problem in life. I’ve always been the wife instead of having one. Darn it!

It quotes an article from Lippincott’s Monthly Magazine “The chief obstacle to a woman’s success is that she can never have a wife. Just reflect what a wife does for an artist: Darns his stockings, (this is an old magazine) keeps his house, writes his letters, Visits his benefits, Wards off intruders, etc. Always an encouraging and partial critic, etc. A husband would be quite useless. He would never do any of these disagreeable things.”

Bread Crumbs

As I learn about a person and they of me, usually bit-by-bit over a period of time, it’s determined whether we will become casual friends, life-long friends or just acquaintances.

I find it’s the same in the place I live. It’s important to learn about today’s every day life. Soon to follow is researching and learning the history of where I live. What happened in earlier times, how the folks responded to events, often forms the character of the people living here now.

The histories of Warren County and the rest of North Carolina are impressive from the first settlers, to those that carried on with bravery, willingness to contribute and the intelligence to learn new ways as became necessary.

It makes a difference knowing the character of my neighbors and the folks in the community where I socialize, volunteer and make friends. Hopefully, life-long friends. Now that I’ve lived here for two years I feel my instinct led me here like the breadcrumbs of Hansel and Gretel leading them home. Fortunately for me, no birds swooped down to eat the crumbs and I found the right place to settle.

Christmas Cards

I love sending and receiving Christmas cards! I search early in the season to find just the right cards that reflect my personality. Size is not important. I want the receivers to say to themselves, “Ah, this is just like her.” Or “Only Arlene would send this card.” I want a smile from them even if I can’t see it.

I start by loading up the CD player with some favorite Christmas songs, filling the wineglass half-full so I can have seconds without feeling piggy and to soften the mood so the sentiments will flow easily.

Next I think about what I want to say. Writing a personal note takes time. Some notes are longer than others but they’re all meaningful. The more often I fill the glass, the longer the note.
Now that I don’t see many of my friends from New Jersey often, the card is a connective thread saying, “even though we’re not in close proximity I still think of you and still consider you my friend.” As I write I think of them and the memories we’ve enjoyed together. Good memories should not be forgotten just because of physical distance. Hmm. Actually memories become more important then.

Warren County, North Carolina Ghosts

When something is meant to be, it can just drop in front of you like a squirrel dropping an acorn from a tree. That’s what happened in Oakley Hall Antique Shop in Warrenton, North Carolina a few months ago.

I was talking to owner Don Arnold; he was asking, “Are you retired or what do you do?”
“Not retired, I’m still writing. My latest book “Haunted Bordentown’ is being published by Schiffer.”
“Gee, I wish someone would write about the ghosts of Warren County.”

Another manuscript was born in that moment. Since that conversation I’ve interviewed several folks about their experiences with the ‘after-life’ population. One story has cast a thread that leads me to another………. and another.
If you live in Warren County or have brought a ghost story or a psychic experience with you, email me and we’ll record it to educate others about life-after-life.

Latest News from England

An article in the New York Times by D.T. Max reports Lord Redesdale whose family has been in England since 1049 is taking up arms against the American Gray squirrels. The Grays are taking over the United Kingdom and replacing their Red squirrels! How odd that sounds. Somehow when I think of the Brits trying to take over our country in the 1700s, I see them as all wearing red uniforms. I never realized the squirrels sport the same color coats.

Our squirrels were brought over to England in the 19th century as an oddity, a plaything to be kept in cages. But when the aristocracy became bored and tired of their latest toy, they let them loose. Now the Grays are outnumbering the British Red squirrels. The Brits are trying to preserve their own species.

The Reds are considered well-behaved, never making a nuisance of themselves or misbehaving like the ‘you-know-who’ obnoxious squirrels do. Sounds like their common opinion of our citizens, too.

Just the Two of Us

This morning I woke up singing. Where does that come from? I’d no music playing in the house last night. And the song, "Just the Two of Us" was from the ‘70s, a few phrases just running around in my head. Who sent this song to me and planted it there to play and re-play until I can find something to crowd it out of my mind? I’ll never know for sure.

My son Guy Arlen’s birth day is today. He would have been 45 years old. Hmmmm. I wonder if he sent me that song. I was talking about him yesterday to a woman whose son also passed away in his 20s. It would be just like Guy to send me a song for his birthday.

Synchronicity continues

A month or so ago I regaled in the synchronicity of a lost dog twelve miles away and the thread of people and events that led him back to his grateful owners. I had no idea, even after the dog was returned, where he belonged. I needed to know only that he was home safe and sound and everybody was happy again. End of story? Not really.

I got to talking with a couple I’ve never met before at the Lake Gaston Estates Association Hors d’ourves Social Night last week. As our conversation began flowing and became more animated I mentioned sitting at the beach early in the morning to write in my journal.

“Oh, my gosh! You’re the woman who wrote our telephone number on her shirt.”

I had to laugh ‘cause I knew immediately what she was talking about. The synchronicity that led the lost dog home, led the dog’s owners to me, too. In a moment we became fast friends when this unseen thread brought us together. As we continued talking we found other similarities in our lives also.

But that’s another story.

Golf Links

There’s nothing like stepping into a new situation and learning a new job that leads to seeing what others always saw and I didn’t. I recently started working at the Golf Links here in Lake Gaston. It took one ride in a golf cart over the hills, down the valleys, through the forests, and around the pond to have this golf course slip under my skin and open my mind.

My artist eyes feasted on the pale green of the ‘greens’ surrounded by a darker velvety green collar and another green flowing down the fairway with a different green of the rough. All this is framed by the many greens of the trees. The Carolina blue sky seems to compliment and complete the painting. Ireland’s patchwork quilt landscape came immediately to mind.

I’ve driven passed many golf courses over the years and just thought them boring. Ho hum. Where’s the excitement? Now I know. It’s here at the Golf Links.

A Note to My New Jersey Friends

Be not afraid that I am lonely in a strange land. Some of you, dear friends, were concerned when I first left the cozy, comfortable nest of Bordentown to settle as a recluse among the forests of North Carolina seeking the solitude of a writer’s life. No more delicate teas, convivial breakfasts at the Park Street Café. No more discussion lunches with my intelligent, interesting friends. No more wine-soaked dinners on the deck of Marcello’s or inside any of the wonderful Bordentown restaurants where we recorded the memories we hold so close to our hearts.

A few of you feared for my in-activity. What would I do with all that empty time?
Relax, I’m back working part-time, this past week I’ve put in 60+ hours. I’ve been meeting wonderful people, great discussions with folks just stopping by to chat, riding golf carts like a Texan surveying his 10,000 acre ranch and enjoying myself tremendously on the job. A customer even brought me half of a pound cake (that’s not a ½ pound cake.) Sound familiar? It’s my old life in a new place. Hmmmmm. I wonder if anyone will bring me real Irish Soda Bread in March?

Fish 'n Stuff

Journaling 7:30 in the morning while sitting on a picnic table at the beach is a lovely, peaceful way to begin the day. After a healthy walk the day seems to awaken slowly with grace. The fastest thing happening is the sun rising quickly this time of year. At least it seems too quick.

The water is still quiet without the wake of boats but I do see ‘nips’ in the water ending with circles of water moving gently. ‘The fish nibbling at the bugs in the air, appetizers’ I tell myself. But a week or so ago I saw a fish leap out of the water exposing half his body. It was a big body!

I’ve seen photos of this on covers of fishing magazines but I never thought I’d see this live! It must have been a special day ‘cause ten minutes later I found myself watching a sort of square-ish-shaped head moving around near the shoreline. I stared trying to decipher what it could be. ‘A snake’ I thought, ‘now that the rip-rap is in place.’ Later I realized it must have been a turtle with only his head showing. He was having a fun time swimming around before the crowd got there. I knew exactly how he felt.

Snow Day

While going through some files I came across a diary entry for the 6th of December 2003. If feels good just to read this in the 98-degree weather we’ve been having. It’s also a different world from my life today. Here goes :
I am fully awake at 6:30 am. Lady Jane lays at the top of my bed and Mz Lizzie is on the opposite corner. They wait patiently for me to stretch and rise. It’s been snowing now for 24 hours. Everything is covered with white including sky. Lying here, I’m thinking ‘why did I give my snow shovel to Bill Brady?’ Because it was beat up, that’s why. And I intended to buy a new one this year at the same time that I bought the sidewalk melt. But winter came on seemingly overnight. I should have parked my car in Sola & Elsie’s garage. But I didn’t even think of that yesterday, either.
Totally remodeling and moving the books into one shop has taken its toll on me. I am exhausted most of the time. I’m carrying books or finding room for stuff that hasn’t been sold on ebay yet. Today is my Holiday Open House so I’d better get up and get moving.
Lady Jane and Mz Lizzie dance around waiting for me to descend the stairs to select something good for their breakfast. When they peer out of the windows, their eyes open even wider than usual. ‘Just what is going on?’ seems to be their thoughts. They look from the outside white, to me and back again. Laughing, I tell them about snow. I’ve never seen this much snow before Christmas and we’re promised more!
By 7:30 I’m at the Farnsworth Deli. One can always rely on them being open in any kind of weather. Kinda’ grumbling, I stock up on the stuff for the Open House that I should have bought yesterday. But yesterday was my numb day. So here I am now trudging through ten inches of snow with a heavy sack over my shoulder. The air and snow isn’t really so bad though.
The Post Office is devoid of other ebayers. I am the only one here this morning. I mail another Christmas present to a lucky winner of my ebay auction. I have one less item to find room for in the bookshop. I’m rather enjoying this winter by the time I reach home.
Murat is in the shop before I even have the pot of chocolate hot. He’s been around town taking photographs. He insists that I step outside for a photo shoot. His natural joy in everything is refreshing. Not at all surprising is the number of people that have been in my shop by 11 am. On the first day of snow, everyone likes to cocoon, the second day it’s considered cabin fever. Cars are left parked where they were and everyone gets out to trek. As it quiets down a little, writing Christmas Cards seem like a good idea.

How it Works

If you know me at all, you’re used to hearing (probably tired of it) me talk about synchronicity. Today after my morning walk, I sat on the picnic table at the beach to journal. I was lost in thought in this peaceful time when I heard, “Miss, Miss.”

Anyone calling me ‘miss’ deserves my attention.

I looked around to see two folks, car door open seeking to ask a question. White slavers never entered my mind. One look and they would know it was a losing proposition-for them. An anxious looking woman continued, “have you seen a medium-sized black dog with a red collar? She’s very friendly. Dixie is her name. We’re down here in the Estates on vacation when a thunderbolt from the storm the other day startled her and the grandkids kinda let her get out.”

She took a much-needed deep breath. I could see she was upset. By this time I was up next to their car, leaving my journal back on the table with my water bottle. It wasn’t the black dog chasing me the other day. That was plain right away. We spoke a few minutes more. I then wrote her telephone number down on my shirt. (Good memory, but very short.)

Three hours later while I’m up to my elbows in canning tomato sauce, Laura calls me to ask if I can help a friend who found a black dog hanging around her house in the Estates for the last few days. “Red collar?” I burst out. “I have the owners’ telephone number right here.”

I think she stuttered before saying, “really?”

Synchronicity strikes again, just like Batman used to do! Or was that Wonder Woman?

Walking and Dogs

I walk early in the morning around 6:30ish, while it’s still cool and the sun isn’t blinding. I start at the beach, walk for about 45 minutes then spend time sitting atop a picnic table on the beach journaling. It’s a wonderful good-to-be-alive experience.

That is until yesterday, when three dogs, a collared white with black markings, a white with brown markings and a fully black puppy came charging up the road toward me. They were barking and angry deafening the quiet peacefulness of daybreak. Only forest, no houses were nearby so they weren’t defending any personal territory. I stopped dead in my tracks breathed deeply and waited until they got about ten feet from me. They stopped but stayed in their aggressive stance. That’s when I turned, very slowly, aware of my heart pounding but still moving very slow, I started walking back in the direction I came.

Two of them followed me. They stopped barking but continued to follow me up to the entrance to the park/beach area before they retreated to look for another victim.

Whew! It takes the joy out of walking.

Picnic on Water

Picnics and I go back a long way. Joy was a company picnic my bachelor uncle took my brother and me to each summer. It was always in some farmer’s field where we had plenty of room to run, a pond to swim in and an outhouse to use as a facility. Huge pots for corn and commercial sized grills were put to good use. These were big picnics where fifty cars filled the lot.

Then there were the family/friends picnics at the lake when it would take at least five or six cars to carry us all. We were like a procession leaving early in the morning and arriving home late at night.

My stepfather, mother, brother and I carried picnic baskets to the Jersey shore where we swam in the ocean. Mom had to call me over and over again to get me out of the water. I loved the ocean in those days. It was clean and considered healing.

Two of my sons were born in the summer so I hosted picnics for birthday parties. Lots of kids descended on our backyard to swim, eat and sing Happy Birthday.

A new picnic experience was added to my list the other night. To celebrate Laura’s birthday and Pam’s surgery recovery Macon, Lynn and I carried picnic goodies out to the pontoon boat. When we all climbed aboard, Lily did a ‘Kate Winslet on the Titanic’ stance. Lily’s a poodle and the leader of the pack.

Picnicking at sunset on the water with great friends is an awesome experience. Better than therapy or maybe it is therapy.

Ridgeway Cantaloupes

I just returned from my second Cantaloupe Festival in Ridgeway North Carolina. This year I worked as volunteer for the Warren County Arts Council seeking new memberships. It’s definitely more fun for me to work at an event than just to visit. Somehow I seem to see more.

The event started off with a prayer and a gal singing the “Star-Spangled Banner.” All the chattering and giggling stopped throughout the fest grounds and a silence swelled up when she began to sing. It happened instantly. I don’t know how they knew at the far end of the field when she began, but the silence fell like a heavy curtain. Hearty applause followed and the happy chattering voices began again.

Heading for the ladies’ room I made an abrupt stop to check out the pretty pink 1950 Ferguson tractor. Life-size, working tractor. Neat. I love this combination of equality and femininity. Live music played off to the left under a grove of trees shading the many chairs and the stage. Over to the right a group was making handmade ice cream.

Huge pots of Brunswick Stew were bubbling up for lunch inside the air-conditioned building. A bowl of stew, slice of bread and sweet tea was $3.00. Delicious, as all the other foods and drinks offered. I saw a booth with peanuts every which way you can think of; boiled, fried, roasted, etc. and cantaloupe smoothies cold enough to cool you down in the hot sun.

Quality crafts, arts and antiques were offered, as were free gifts from the Farm Bureau and the Warren County Economic Development. I added sliced cantaloupe ‘stress balls’ and a pink cap to the bag of goodies I bought. It was a delightful day in a country atmosphere.

Rory Block Concert

An exciting example of synchronicity happened recently while at a Warren County Arts Council Board meeting. We had less than two months to spend grant money and it had to fit the guidelines of using the grant money. What to do? What to do?

A first-time attendance by neighbor Tina Terry had the answer. She’s an agent for several singers/musicians. She came to the meeting because of an item I put in our Community Newsletter. A suggestion spoken, have a concert that appeals to the demographics of our county!

We all agreed, Tina came forth with Rory Block, an acoustic guitarist, singer of traditional country blues. Rory has been recording since 1965 and is respected as an interpreter of the late, legendary Robert Johnson’s music of the Deep South.

To expand the concert to an even greater level, the Straightway Ministries Choir, gospel singers, was invited to sing with her. Blues Meets Gospel will be performed on the grounds of Magnolia Manor just south of Warrenton. To make this thrilling Saturday night, June 16th even better, the $35 value concert is free to Warren County residents. A gift from their County Arts Council. Wow!

Of course the members of the Board have done a lot of work together to put this event together and to pull it off in such a short time.

But I just happened to put an item in the newsletter, Tina just happened to read it and just happened to attend a meeting for the first time and she just happened to be representing artists that fit our guidelines. The Board just happened to pick up on a great idea. That’s synchronicity.

Haliwa-Saponi Pow Wow

The 42nd Annual Pow Wow of the Haliwa-Saponi Native Americans was held this past weekend in near-by Hollister. Because of other commitments I couldn’t get there until Sunday. Next year they will be first on my list.

I stepped into an area of a people brilliant regaled for this gathering of tribal traditions. Their appearance was awesome with feather headdresses and intricately sewn silver, beads and feathers into their attire. With the drums constantly thumping it was easy, with a little imagination, to place myself back to an earlier time. The feel of a serious gathering of tribes permeated the afternoon. No commercialism here, thankfully.
Some Apache and Lakota Sioux joined in the competition of dance and drumming for prizes up to $15,000. Several booths surrounded the outlying area of the Blessed Circle, which was lined with bleachers for folks soaking in the background and education of the tribal dances and singing. The booths offered fine crafts of silver, leather and other traditional Native items. One fellow had statues and totems of wood detailed and full of originality. It was a pleasure just to look, like being in an outdoor museum.

Rabies Shots Day

Another volunteer event for CAP went by smoothly and successfully. I was delightedly surprised that all volunteers signed up, showed up. One fellow was already in line when I arrived at 7:45. The event wasn’t scheduled to begin until 9! He was a cheerful fellow though, and jumped right in to help set up tables, chairs etc. By 8:30 there must have been ten cars lined up and the line kept growing.

Several of us took clipboard in hand to fill in the register forms, walking to each individual so no one had to leave their cars. As one gentle gal headed for a truck she heard “Shut up, Judy!” Her head jerked up and her eyes popped wide. No one ever talked to her that way! The fellow must have seen the expression on her face. “Sorry, that’s my dog’s name.” He was a bit sheepish.

Of course there is always one; one car stopped and wouldn’t start. Help came and jumped her battery. She didn’t lose her place in line, though. Her two pets got their rabies shots without extra waiting.
After a satisfying morning of working in the sun with a parade of dogs and cats, all with their own personalities, the volunteers met at the Hardware Café for a late lunch. This is where bonding of volunteers takes place-at breaking bread together after a busy day’s work. The rabies shots were free but many people gladly made donations. Dr. Amy O’Malley attended 203 animals.

The Hills are Alive

The hills are alive, not with the sound of music but with the beautiful wild pink and white dogwood trees and dark pink umbrella trees. The green of the fir trees create a backdrop like a heavy velvet stage curtain for little girls in pastel tutus.

It’s spring and the forests of North Carolina are gorgeous. The roadways are lined with tiny little light blue and white wildflowers. Wisteria runs along fences and up trees. The daffodils are still blooming after a few weeks. The forsythias are shouting, “It’s Spring! It’s Spring!” Just in case someone didn’t notice.

Green is everywhere. Great expanses of lawns look lush and thick waiting to be walked on with bare feet. The farmers’ fields are growing high with green (rye?) slightly swaying in the breeze. The Bradford Pear trees were all white a week ago, now they’re as green as the beer of an Irishman on St. Paddy’s Day.

It’s glorious!

My Girls

So it’s the next day after Jane’s haircut. She’s adapting. She’s come out of hiding, still quiet but at least out from under the bed. Lizzie tried to tease her a bit last night. Lizzie got a hiss from Jane. First time I ever heard a hiss from Jane, Lizzie yes, Jane never.

I did some cooing and gooing, mimicking Laura’s tone and manner. It’s working. Jane’s feeling much better this morning. She’s at her post at the front door watching and listening to the birds, including some big black crows, squirrels and rabbits.

My education in Cat has begun. I hit the PC last night seeking others with more knowledge than I on the matting of cat fur. And dandruff. Is that dandruff on her back?
Is my girl lacking in some vitamin or something? Should she stay embarrassed, like on the TV commercials? Oh my! Dandruff! Will she be shunned socially? At lease dandruff won’t show on her shirt-she doesn’t wear one.

I still haven’t found out how or why but I did learn about grooming and combing.
Something new.

Lady Jane

Poor Lady Jane is embarrassed and hiding. The fur along her spine has been matted for some time now. It looked clumped along the ridge of her back. Joe G. noticed it when he visited and mentioned it. She’s a Manx. I thought it was supposed to be like that. Duh.

Apparently not. Thanks to Laura Thompson of ‘Pride and Groom’ I’m starting my new education on cat grooming. A little late in coming but you know the old saying. She buzzed her clippers easy and gently, little by little, talking to Jane softly. Keeping her as calm as possible. Her caring and concern flowed out with each purring word she used to Jane. A pinch-full at a time, the clumps of hair came off leaving a stripe along Jane’s back. She sat perfectly still, not moving or jerking away at all. Amazing.
She’s embarrassed. I’m embarrassed. Guess I should have known it wasn’t natural. I don’t know about cats, I raised kids. Come to think of it, I used to buzz cut their hair.