American Bandstand

Can’t you just hear that theme song as soon as you hear the name American Bandstand? Bandstand. Back in ’54 two years before Dick Clark entered the scene, the show was hosted by a big guy, Bob Horn. That’s when three girlfriends and I played hookey from 8^th grade and went to Philadelphia, experiencing my first time seeing ‘trains’ running overhead of the streets making a loud rumble and dark shadows on the roadways. I was appalled at the dirty, filthy streets and a little alarmed at the exterior of the TV studio. It looked like a an old broken down-factory without windows.

But my mother was just as excited as I was, dressing up to be on television! I’d be dancing with the stars of the day-teenagers just like me. Without hesitation of the consequences of being caught absent from school without proper permission; principals in those days were definitely NOT ‘hip’ and would NEVER allow us to go. We were a merry group. The mother of one of the girls was familiar with the City.

Our first surprise was the small area that looked so big on the screen at home. It always looked so crowded with lots of kids. It was a crush but there weren’t so many kids in reality. Most of those were regulars and danced with the regulars. I did get to dance twice, with a tall, 6 ft. guy. A full foot taller than me. I remember stretching my arms up to reach him. So I did get on TV filling Mom with glee.

The following Monday when we got back to school, the secretary called us in. Uh-oh. After she closed the doors, she piped up, smiling. “Hey, I saw you all on Bandstand last Friday! You looked great!” She was beaming and happy for us adventurous kids. The principal, of course never would watch that show so we were safe with our daring.

Writing Workshop

Getting back to leading a “Writing Your Memoir” workshop at the library reminded me how much enjoyment comes from writing with others. Starting with lists of places we’ve lived, choosing one and writing about it brought back memories long buried. Good memories.

Our writing began with describing the surrounding exterior area that a stranger would see when approaching our home. Sight, sound and smell were incorporated into the physical. After listening to the writing about a dorm, and two very different houses that were so easy to picture from the descriptions, we moved inside to a particular room.

Out of seven of us, at least three of us chose the kitchen and each one was very different from the other but as each of the writers read from their pages, I could feel the warmth and deep feelings come through their words.  It was a good session.

Invitation to Dine & Laugh & Enjoy

For all my North Carolina friends, and those that aren’t, it’s time to invite you to spend an hour with Terri Grady, Linda Paschall and me in the Community Room at the WCMLibrary on So. Front St. on Wednesday 28 March from 1:00 pm to 2:00 pm.

We will be talking about history and food, family and food, stories of food and some of those wonderful memories that certain foods bring back to us. What is your favorite Thanksgiving Day memory from the table? I know you have one. We all do; some good, some funny, some still stinging with the pain of it. We’ll be offering our Warrenton Woman’s Club fund-raising project, the delightful Recipes & Remembrances Cookbook for $15 and will have a table laden with samples for you to taste from some of the recipes in the cookbook. Come out and have lunch on us. A little taste of this …..a little taste of that…… while you listen to our tales of food and life and have fun. Ummm. Dips, Hors d'oeuvres. Casseroles, Cheesecake, Lemon Bars, & more.

Heart Valve Replaced with No Pain

I heard Angelo’s words in my head and carried his triple by-pass experience, from back in the late 80s or early 90s (forgive me on dates) with me the entire time that I was recuperating. Of course I watched him struggling to heal but I had no idea what he was really feeling or suffering. It’s not like he would ever complain about something like that. He saved his complaints for more mundane things. Now I have an idea.

But I didn’t have the pain I think he had. NO PAIN. I’m still sore inside but of course. I had a rather blaze’ attitude about the whole thing until the anesthesiologist explained what he was going to do to me. I got a bit serious then, but I had seen myself healing in my mind’s eye so I couldn’t get too intense about it regardless of the great respect I have for these knowledgeable and skillful people who held my life in their hands, literally.

In between anesthesia (as I understand it and I’m medically blank) he gave me what he called a ‘giggle gas’ (again I’m remembering with a fuzzy mind) this is where the patient tends to rattle on about whatever.

 “Oh, my God! What did I talk about?” I asked with great anticipation. He smiled and said “Pickle Ball. And furthermore everyone in the OR talked about it for two hours because they had no clue just what it is.”

I also remember telling my pacing, anxious son just before the surgery not to worry because I’d had no visitors. Both my mother and brother had visitors i.e. loved ones who passed away, come to them for a period of time before they, too passed away. It must be a family tradition.

Watching a Man Who Loves His Work

It’s great to watch a man who loves his work. It shines out of him without his even being aware of it. At least it seems that way to me. That’s how I felt as I watched Dr. Donald Glower come into my Duke U. hospital room each morning, once as early as 5 a.m. (like he couldn’t bear to wait for another moment to pass) to check his work, as in the sutures, etc. resulting from his replacing a deteriorating heart valve recently. And I have a certificate to prove that a cow gave his life to save mine. Noble animal.

The entire week was a joyful experience for me. It wasn’t only the doctors who impressed me it was the entire 3300 patient care floor, RNs, those who take your blood, wheeled me to x-ray each day, cleaned my room, and the receptionist at the point of the floor, right across from my room.  A camaraderie blanketed the floor.

The floor is laid out in a triangle, which works very well; the receptionist point, as I thought of it, was certainly an oasis of cheer at the entry position. Many patients were in pain, some struggling with other problems added to their heart repairs but responded to any bit of sunshine sent their way. It’s encouraging. There were always bantering, merriment and joking going on in this area and I loved lying in my bed listening to the flow of playfulness going on. I felt it very important and encouragement in the middle of struggling back to normalcy.

I talked and listened to everyone. How did they choose the medical field, how long did they work here, who were they, what plans did they have for that night. I do admit to one noticeable difference. They all looked like they should be in high school!

A Dead Body For The Queen

Sounds like the title for a good mystery novel but in fact a dead body has been found in the garden on the Estate of Sandringham, the Norfolk retreat of Queen Elizabeth in England. The Queen and her entourage are there enjoying the season. At least they were until now.

So Agatha Christie, where are you? We need your expertise on the case! Morse is gone. Inspector Lewis and Detective Sergeant Hathaway won’t leave Oxford. The DCI Barnabys, both past and present along with DC Ben Jones are small village coppers. Mrs. Bradley can’t be found. Hercule Poirot is in Belgium and Zen is in Italy. Father Brown is in church.

Lord Peter Wimsey, Inspector Alleyn, or Inspector Lynley, the 8^th Earl of Asherton and his brilliant partner Barbara Havers could be called. They would fit right in. Wait a minute! Stop the clock, bring out the cell phones and call Rosemary and Thyme……they could solve the crime, catch the killer and then fix any damage done to the garden. Then all Brits can sleep safe in their beds again, even the Queen.

Recipes & Remembrances Cookbook

The Warrenton Woman’s Club Recipes & Remembrances Cookbook started out as a fund raiser for this all-volunteer community service group. We’re still working on raising those funds to benefit students with scholarships in our part of North Carolina. But, as so often happens along the way of doing one thing good; another pops-up. Several retail shops and restaurants in Warrenton agreed to place our cookbooks on their shelves to make buying them convenient for their customers. That means we now have the business district included in our volunteer project.

Families and friends have cheerfully jumped in to help us too, including sending us orders via email. Our WWC Recipes & Remembrances Cookbook is already in Colorado; Bordentown, New Jersey; Florida, and Texas offering little stories for the cook to read while the Sweet Potato Biscuits are baking. H-m-m-m. Can you smell them? Add the Creamy Squash & Red Lentil Stew to warm and comfort tummies this winter in your house.

Jane Austen Readers

Recently I finished reading A Truth Universally Acknowledged; 33 Great Writers on Why We Read Jane Austen, edited by Susannah Carson. I found it to be more thoughtful to read at leisure rather than trying to read straight through cover to cover, like a novel. Ideas and responses were varied. Since I have read the JA novels multiple times since I found her, I enjoyed seeing the impressions they made on famous writers.

A.S.Byatt discusses the different family structures of the Bertram, Price and Norris families in Mansfield Park. C.S. Lewis states that Mansfield Park and Persuasion are JA’s only two novels where the heroine does not deceive herself.

It is also interesting to read which writers preferred which of her novels. W. Somerset Maugham loved P & P; Emma offended him. Martin Amis remarked of “this tizzy of zealous suspense actually survives repeated readings” referring to P & P. Louis Auchincloss tells us that his favorites changed as he moved through different chapters of his own life. In his youth, Emma and P & P were the best; in middle age they were S & S and Mansfield Park; still later it was Persuasion. David Lodge implies that re-reading Emma is far superior to reading it the first time.

At sixty, Virginia Woolf discussed JA. This book is almost like having an intelligent discussion on a favorite subject. It may be one-sided but it sometimes brings new sight into familiar words. And, if you have only seen the movies made of her novels, do yourself a great favor and read them. You’ll not regret it.

Holiday Season

It’s been too long since I’ve written a word for the Blog or anything else. My mind has been on everything other than putting words together on a string to make sense and stir ideas in others. But that cannot last. My fingers crave the keyboard as much as my mouth craves the taste of good, dark chocolate after a stretch of doing without it.

I have read and returned a few emails with comments, quite unexpected from the senders, I’m sure. REALLY, why be offended when someone says Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas. Doesn’t our separation of church and state allow us plenty of room to include all the religions nestled in our country? Have we Christens become such elitists that we cannot be generous and include all others who celebrate their religious holidays on or near the same time as Christens do? Have we become so paranoid that we cannot share a happy comment with someone who worships differently than we do?

All the world religions have the word love in their fundamental teaching. It’s time we follow it and cease negative comments from those who have not studied religions other than the one they follow. It isn't them against us.......it is 'all of us'.

It’s time, now more than ever for all of us to be generous and loving to all peoples. Happy Holidays, whichever one your are celebrating.

Thanks for Books

There will be a lot of thanks given for the love of family, friends, food, and warm, dry shelter and I, too am thankful for those things. But I am also very thankful for books; for words that writers have put together on a string so that I may enjoy, learn and expand my field of compassion and understanding. I’m especially thankful for modern medical technology and medicine that has given me sight from Macular Degeneration Wet, when as recently as fifteen years ago, I would have had darkness.

I’ve just finished reading Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand. It’s the true story of Louie Zamperini, his unruly youth that led him to be a record-setting runner before joining up to fight in the Pacific in World War II. The story includes how he was adrift in the Pacific Ocean before being picked up by the Japanese and sent to POW camps. It also follows one particularly brutal war criminal Watanabe, after the war ended. As in Seabiscuit, Hillenbrand does a fine job of stringing her words together.

We, as Americans have much to be thankful for.

Readers & Writers

Books without readers would be useless. Which means that readers are just as important as writers. Yes, some writers make lots of money but most writers, I think, write because the words and thoughts are within them, bursting to get out. Writing in a journal can later recall a memory possibly forgotten; to write can be healing; to write and be read is very gratifying; to write and be remembered is a star to reach for.

Books shared stretch the written word to places they may not have gone. Now that I’ve learned about Bookcrossing.com, I’m spreading the written word around. My first book about pets, has gone to Texas and then to Florida. This week I’m sending one to the Cook Islands in the Pacific. Wow. Check the program out at: http://www.bookcrossing.com/about

Italian Hot Dogs

Wow! AOL featured Italian Hot Dogs on their newsfeed this week. They made the mistake of inserting onions in with the potatoes and peppers which is NOT how Tony Goes made them. And he made the best. The Casino restaurant was THE place to buy them in Trenton, New Jersey. The internet tells me the place is still there. Though I know Tony Goes must be gone or be the oldest man in the US of A.

Now that the Warrenton Woman’s Club Cookbook is available, you can find the recipe for Italian Hot Dogs in there, the way Tony Goes made them, complete on Torpedo rolls. If you can find those rolls anywhere. Remember them? H-m-m-m. The aroma floated through the air at the Italian People’s Bakery up the street from the Casino. The cookbook has 240 pages of some 400 and more recipes of various kinds from all over the States plus tips, helpful hints, quick fixes, basics, terms, and more. It sells for $15 plus $2 S/H per book.

The Italian Hot Dog has become the Jersey Dog, very different from Nathan’s, the Coney Island Hot Dog, the Michigan Dog steamed with a meat sauce on it, and Texas Weiners (my mom’s favorite) the list goes on and on. As American as apple pie? No, the hot dog!

Collecting Menus

It’s true. I like eating out, not every night and not just out, but in good restaurants. This doesn’t mean expensive, but eating from the hands of chefs that care, that take the time to use fresh ingredients wherever possible and use herbs instead of just adding more salt.

So I’m always trying new spots to add to my favorite places. Yesterday on the spur of the moment, I popped into the car and drove to Raleigh to take a few photos of haunted places that will be featured in my almost-ready-for-the-publisher book. I planned to just zip in, point & shoot and zip out again. Alas! I was denied entrance to the grounds until two hours later.

What to do, now? Well, why not have an early lunch. I headed for one of my favorites when I haven’t researched another restaurant, Vic’s Italian on Blake Street. Missing one parking spot, I drove around the two blocks to get back to it and whoa……….there sat a new place that the not-quite-good German place vacated. I checked a little closer before opening the door to Troy Mezze Lounge.

The walls are painted a quiet red (oxymoron) in the wrapped bar area where the bar stools stand on an angle, tilted a bit outward, which gives a very welcoming appearance. Four lamps hang on long chains over the bar, laced with fancy designed metal that gives off a cozy light. The dining room has a sponged wall that appears to be the same red. The décor is very tasteful and not overly intrusive.

Clay Pot of lamb and fresh vegetables in their own juices, with herbs and topped with just enough cheese are plated with rice or bulgar pilaf and a touch of red cabbage was my delicious choice. Their website is: http://www.troyml.com/index.htm

Jenna tendered me all the attention I needed and gave me a tub to take home half my Clay Pot so I could sample their delicious Figmusi-Samolina Pecan Fig cake topped with mascarpone & fresh strawberry slices. It was a generous slice, so I took half of that for later, too.

Book Collecting in Warrenton NC

Now that I’m on a fixed income with living costs rising (I remember Mom complaining about this and not paying attention) I have curbed my book collecting to only those I will use in research and of course, Jane Austen related books.

Soon after I arrived in North Carolina, I managed to pull out my credit card for a few at Oakley Hall Antiques. One of the books, a first edition of 1962, “The Way We Were” by Mary Polk was inscribed to Mary Jane from one of the book’s minor characters, Fairfax Polk Mitchell. A treasure, indeed, even though the cost was much higher than the original price. It was still reasonable. I justify this expenditure on my limited budget by telling myself that it’s important to learn the history of where I live.

Believing in continuing self-education, I also bought a 1953 first edition “Southern Accent” by Warrenton native, William T. Polk. Only the dust jacket is a bit worn, the book is in fine condition. A soft cover of “Poems of the Great South” edited by Jim Stratz and Jerry Medina went onto the pile also. Life without poetry is not a good life.

Another book or two finished out the purchase of the day. While Dot was tallying up and zipping my card, we began talking. She filled me in on some western North Carolina history where she was raised, then followed with some local history. From there we talked about books, business, fashion, people and movies. An hour later my head was filled with lots of good stuff, my bag with great treasures and my heart was full. I love shopping in places where the welcome is gracious and the personal touch is used generously.

Adventures in Book Collecting

Adventures have happened to me over the years, all in the quest of building my personal library. Nearly driving off the mountain above Bath, England comes to mind immediately. I had already bought a few books in Bath and decided that exploring the area around it, was a good idea. That was just before I found myself on a single lane dirt road that ran around the side of the mountain and a car came approaching me. I froze. To my right were trees, bushes and a drop down about 500 feet. I wasn’t about to move. The other driver, probably a resident and used to such moments, unkindly drove with a part of her car half way up the mountainside to get around me.

Who thinks of England being a mountainous country? Again I came close to falling off the mountain but this time I drove to a seaside town in Cornwall to see where Daphne Du Maurier lived after she became famous for her fiction. The coast of Cornwall is breathtakingly beautiful with areas of sheer rock jutting out over the smashing waves breaking on huge boulders below. The road I was on overlooked a village nestled on the shoreline, between rising rock on both sides.

The streets that led off my road ran down to the sea. Straight down. ‘Well, I thought, the townspeople must drive down those streets or they wouldn’t be there, right?’ I turned my English, gear-shift-on-the-left car into the street and thought I was going to fall end over front down the macadam! As the car sped on without my foot on the gas, I spotted a street to my right, made an instant decision and swerved the car around the corner, and around the next corner again heading back up off this damn mountain! Gears were grinding, the car screeching in protest, sweating more than I was. People passing by on the sidewalks raised their heads to look at me in wonder, eyes wide but not as wide as mine. I wasn’t sure my car couldn’t make it. I kept pressing on the accelerator, finally reaching the overlook road. Whew.

I found a spot to pull over, put the car in park, got out and kissed the ground while thanking the Angels in the same breath. Another quick decision made-I’d leave Du Maurier for another time.

BookCrossing

Examining each book as it came into my bookshop and before it went onto the shelf was part of my daily routine. I was always delighted to come across an inscription inside a book and surprised when some of the locations it came from were half way across country or further. So I was especially pleased when my writing friend Jyoti Wind sent me the web address of an article Pulp In The Wild: The BookCrossing Edition by Laura K. Curtis.
BookCrossing is the official/tracking way of leaving a book for someone to pick up, read and pass along. It’s your choice of book, your choice of where to leave it and fate for whoever picks it up. This is almost like playing hide and seek as a child. Such fun. For all the hows and whys and wherefores, check out the website at: http://www.bookcrossing.com/howto.

The Goats

Church Hill Road runs from NC Hwy 158 connecting to Hubquarter Road. Along the way is a fenced-in field with an old, old building shell (former house, maybe) weathered and falling down. This is where the goats live; all sizes and probably all ages. I love these goats! Driving by, seeing these goats wander in and out of that shell reassures me that peace can exist in the world, my world anyway.

On occasion these goats have gotten out of the fence. There are times when I must stop my car and wait patiently because they are crossing the road like school children getting to the other side where the grass or weeds are greener. Always, I think instantly of ‘stopping to smell the roses.’ It also reminds me of Cary Grant and Grace Kelly driving around France slowly falling in love with each other and the French countryside. But they were surrounded by sheep flooding the road.

Then there are the times when I suddenly slow my car down to a crawl because the goats are grazing roadside. Very peacefully, the daddy of them all with his horns and goatee (?) kind of looking over his herd is nibbling away. Not a care in the world. Lovely to see.

But recently I see the house that accompanies this field is vacated. Empty. Windows gone. The goats seemed to be gone, too. I miss them terribly. It’s another reminder of how we as a people depend on the acts of others, even those we don’t know to enlighten our lives and how we are affected when they are gone. Then a surprise! They aren’t gone after all! They must have been grazing in another field unseen from the road.

The Calendar

Any person who loses themselves in genealogy knows about the date 1752 as one that puts a kink in some research. Or at least draws their attention. It makes the researcher pay attention to birthdays and can confuse the issue.

It was this day, the 14th of September 1752, in Merrie Olde England that they began to adhere to the Gregorian Calendar leaving the Julian Calendar behind. In doing so, they lost 11 days. Just vanished. Don’t bother to look for them, ‘cause they aren’t there. January 1 also became New Year’s Day instead of the March 25 date they had used previously.

Think it doesn’t matter since a day lived is a day to remember? Not so. Many people rioted since they lost those 11 days with no pay for work not done but still had to pay a full month of rent. It was serious business that affected lots of people.

The quote, “Live a day at a time” takes on new meaning when you think of days disappearing.

Earthquake at Lake Gaston

The earthquake was really scary. I was on the computer. At first it sounded like the rumble of a heater, but I have electric and no heat on this time of year. I also thought of gas lines blowing up but there are no gas lines out here. No dishwasher was going or washer or dryer. I immediately went to the doorway, the strongest spot in the house, not knowing if that made a difference in a double-wide. The ENTIRE house rumbled and shook! The girls ran under the bed before it even started. I knew it was not a cyclone because it was bright and sunny outside. I thought maybe a great wind but the trees stood perfectly still. Whew! It lasted probably a few minutes. It seemed longer of course. Scary.

When it was over, it was over. Peace and tranquility stood outside my door. The forest was as lovely as usual. Nothing was amiss here along Lake Gaston. But one item had fallen from the bookshelves in the library. H-m-m. It was real.

A Writer's Vacation

Writer’s Market sent out an email asking what writer’s do for a vacation. I’m sure he will get a variety of answers. Mine is to do research, especially in reference to a particular manuscript I’m working on or plan to do in the near future.

A few months ago I was on Bald Head Island with my girlfriends, the Broad Strokes. We’re all artists and close friends, who planned this long, 5-day Thursday through Monday "weekend" for months. A week didn’t go past us all winter when we didn’t talk about it. What we were going to do, what foods we would bring and who was going to cook which meals and when, were discussed. Clothes. Bathing suits. Evening entertainments. People we would be meeting. Howling at the moon. Beach walks and golf cart rides. We had our time fully packed, no time would be wasted. Every moment counted. Our female bonding would strengthen.

Ten days before we were to leave, I received a notice about a Landmarks Conference of the Revolutionary War being held Thursday through Saturday in Walterboro, South Carolina relating to my guy, Major Thomas Fraser. It included where he walked, rode, and fought. Yikes! What a dilemma.

I pleaded with my girlfriends to not be angry with me. I HAD to go. I’m a writer. I HAD to be there, to see Major Fraser charging down the dirt road in battle. I HAD to hear the whinny of the horses, the clanging of the swords clashing against each other in life claiming battle.

Because they are true friends, they released me for Friday and Saturday; sent me on my way to do what I HAD to do. A writer’s vacation.