books — Page 165

Morning Ritual Redux

August 4, 2015 at 9:28 am by Claudia

I planted morning glory seeds a few months back. In this neck of the woods, we don’t see any blooms until sometime in August. There are about 6 or 7 leafy stems throughout the chicken wire fence garden. The one stem that seemed to be the most spindly, that probably wouldn’t amount to anything, surprised me this morning.

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Behold: the first morning glory of the summer. A thing of beauty. It rained a bit last night, so there’s an added bonus of water droplets. And, as you can see, there are more buds on this stem. Yay!

I love my morning glories.

It’s been fairly quiet around here. I read a lot yesterday. In the days before personal computers, I used to get up every morning, make some coffee, and read. Usually the reading matter was a novel of some sort, sometimes I thumbed through a magazine in the days when magazines were chock-full of information we had yet to be able to see online. Remember those days? Seems like ancient history now.

I’ve started reading with my first cup of coffee. Not blogs, not the latest headlines online, not my email – no, I’m reading a book. I’ve gone back to my life before my laptop. It’s so lovely. Simply lovely.

It’s quiet, the aroma of coffee is in the air, my book is in my hands. In the early morning, my sleepy brain is not distracted by a long list of things that must be done. Scout, who needs a lot of hands-on care, is usually sleeping. My mind is completely receptive to the words on the page; open, ready to soak up all the images and descriptions, ready to enter into the world of the imagination.

It’s so simple. I did it for years. But when I started blogging, I developed the habit of cracking open the laptop first thing in the morning. Had to go through my email. Had to check out other blogs. Had to immediately start in thinking about what I was going to blog about that day, and what photos I was going to use in the post. Had to edit the photos.

There’s nothing at all wrong with any of that.

But reading is one of my lifelong passions. I read a lot. I also review books and am committed to sharing my discoveries with you. Grabbing a half-hour to read before I go to sleep just doesn’t cut it. I have to carve out more time in the day to read. And that, really, is no sacrifice at all.

I’ve found it’s all too easy to let the online world take over. Though it’s wonderful and valuable and the source of a lot of information, and I, of course, use that world to write my blogs, it doesn’t hold a candle to being transported into a world made real by the words on a page.

So, I’m going back to my morning ritual pre-blogging, pre-convenient and nearby laptop. Coffee. A book. It’s a wonderful and peaceful way to start the day. I’m currently reading Murder in the Bastille by Cara Black, number 4 in the Aimée Leduc series – ordered though my local library. A great series by the way, with rich, vivid descriptions of Paris, both old and beautiful and gritty and urban Paris.

And see? I’m even finding time to write my daily blog post. Yesterday, even after taking an hour or so to read my book, I found the time to write two posts. Nothing lost, everything gained.

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Happy Tuesday.

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They’re Here. Hint: Starts with a P.

May 31, 2015 at 8:36 am by Claudia

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Stop. Breathe. Lean in. Take a whiff.

The first peony bloom appeared yesterday; a little earlier than usual, due, I suppose, to the unseasonably warm temperatures we’ve been having.

Be still my heart.

This particular bush (we have two) is under what used to be a small tree – a shag hickory – but is now, after several years, a much taller and bigger tree. The result is that for the last two summers, there have been only a few buds on this bush. Not enough sun. I could try moving the bush, but I don’t like to mess with peonies. This one has been in the same location for years and years.

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What a beauty. The scent is simply incredible, heady and more than a wee bit addictive.

I look forward to this small window of time in the spring when my favorite flower blooms. It’s going to rain for the next few days, and the buds on the other bush are about to open, so I have a feeling I’m going to be running outside to rescue them. Peonies are easily beaten down to the ground by heavy rain.

They’ll just have to come inside.

To Kill a Mockingbird was on TCM last night, but I didn’t watch it. I’d just seen it recently and I’m very careful about how much I watch it. I don’t want it to lose its magic and if I watch it too frequently it will become less powerful – at least, for me. Heck, I own two copies and I never watch them for the same reason. So, I opted out and we watched the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony on HBO. Quite a contrast, don’t you think?

We did watch another favorite, The Third Man, on Friday night. Beautifully directed, beautifully photographed. Black and white, highlights and shadows, dark and rainy streets. Orson Welles. Joseph Cotton, Trevor Howard. What else do I need to say? It’s a great movie. And the music, the theme! Played on a zither, the music is haunting and stays with you for days.

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Also blooming on the property: Rocket, or Dame’s Rocket, or Sweet Rocket. Rocket is a wildflower that springs up on the edges of the woods. It has a lovely scent. Some call it an invasive weed, but one man’s weed is another man’s flower. I love them. I haven’t found them invasive at all and their appearance is always welcome here at Mockingbird Hill Cottage.

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Usually purple or white, this is the first time I’ve seen this combination of the two.

It can be confused with wild phlox, but phlox has five petals and rocket has four. (I just learned that little bit of information yesterday.)

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Isn’t it pretty?

I’m finishing up The Whisperers by John Connolly (what a writer!) and will then tackle my next review book, Disclaimer by Renee Knight, which has been getting a lot of buzz. I look forward to it, but I wish those who write blurbs would not say things like “in the tradition of Gone Girl.”

I didn’t like Gone Girl, as you well know. As a matter of fact, I disliked it intensely.

So I just have to ignore those things and start the book with an open mind, erasing the words “Gone” and “Girl” from my brain.

There. It’s erased.

Happy Sunday.

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A Beautiful Gift from My Sister

April 26, 2015 at 8:18 am by Claudia

I’m writing to you from Hartford, where I’m ensconced in my hotel room. Soon, a day of rehearsal will begin and then I’ll head home around 7 tonight. By the way, since we’ve had the Keurig conversation in the past, I thought I would share that this room has a Keurig. So I decided I would try a K-cup, as you who are Keurig lovers suggested.

I’m sorry, my friends, but I didn’t like it. Now, maybe if it was a Peet’s French Roast K-cup, I’d like it better; nevertheless, it didn’t pass the Claudia test.

It’s now official. I’m sticking with my pour-over method for brewing.

About three weeks ago, a package arrived at my door in the pouring rain. The UPS guy, who wasn’t our regular delivery guy, decided to leave it by the kitchen door, where there is no cover, rather than on our porch, where there is. For some reason, I spied it on the cement and grabbed it. The bottom of the box had been soaked through. The box was from my sister and on it were the words, Do not open until April 24th, that date being the anniversary of our mother’s death.

I quickly made a decision to open the box. I went by feel. If it was unwrapped, I was going to have Don take it and hide the contents. Fortunately, I could tell there was wrapping around the package. Thank goodness I took it out of the box, or it would have been ruined and that would have been tragic. You’ll see why soon. I put the wrapped package away and dutifully waited until the 24th to open it.

This is what was inside:

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Meredith had read this post, where I spoke about the books my mom had as a young girl. Those books eventually made their way to the bookshelf that my sisters and I shared in our bedroom. Yes, for quite a while, all three of us shared one room. In that group of books were books by Louisa May Alcott, Lucy Maud Montgomery, Jean Webster and more. Years later, when I was visiting my middle sister (who is now estranged from the rest of the family) I saw all of them on her bookshelves. I didn’t say anything at the time, but I was surprised and, now that I think of it, some of those books were mine, given to me by my grandmother.

Don’t get me started.

Anyway, I spoke about my quest to find those books, or to be more accurate, find vintage editions of those books not unlike the ones my mom had, for my bookshelves. I wanted to see the books I grew up with, that reminded me of my mom, in my home.

Well, it turns out my middle sister didn’t have quite all of the books. Meredith had some, too. She looked at her shelves, found these, and decided to give them to me.

I was dumbfounded. When I opened the package, I had no idea where she had found them. Had my dad given them to her when Mom died? I couldn’t figure it out. But I knew that cover of Anne of Green Gables. I knew it as sure as I was sitting there. And I started to cry. It was the anniversary of my mother’s transition and here I was, looking at books I thought were long gone, holding them in my hands.

Can you imagine if they had been ruined by the rain?

We think that Meredith and my other sister ended up with the books because I was older than them and was off to college and then on my own while they were still living at home. ‘L,’ my other sister, has the bulk of them, that’s for sure – including, Meredith informed me, the Nancy Drew books accumulated by all three of us over the years.

Okay. I have to let that go. If L’s children enjoyed and read those books, then that’s a good thing.

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There she is.

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The dedication from my grandparents.

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There are illustrations throughout the book.

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I remember this book sitting on our bookshelf so vividly. I loved that romantic story so much.

This next book was a total surprise because I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before. It was my dad’s book.

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(Sorry – this is just a wee bit blurry, but I’m not at home and I can’t re-take the picture.)

Don’t you love that title? Part of the Dave Darrin series. I wonder how many books there were in the series?

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To my dad from his older brother Fred and his wife, Grace. My uncle Fred was a very sweet man.

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Priceless treasures. And all because my little sister has the most giving heart. Truth be told, she’s far more giving than me. She is my role model. And I love her dearly.

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On the shelf. I am unable to imagine a more perfect gift. Or a more perfect way to honor my mother on a sad anniversary.

Thank you, Meredith.

Happy Sunday.

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Morning Ritual Redux

They’re Here. Hint: Starts with a P.

A Beautiful Gift from My Sister

Lambs Like to Party

A Note

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