The book world is full of compendiums

 

                And yet a writers’ group to which I USED to belong refused to critique MINE. After that-- to prove a point to myself-- I searched for book collections of trivia, sayings, quizzes, quotations, etc. And I found many such volumes.

Lately, in Eureka Springs at Echo, a thrift store, I found two assemblages, The Most Brilliant Thoughts of All Time (in Two Lines or Less) edited by John M. Shanahan, and The 2548 Best Things Anybody Ever Said, selected and compiled by Robert Byrne. Both are more than an inch thick.

Let’s see how far down the alphabet we get with a sampling of Shanahan’s collection of brilliant thoughts.

 

A – Adversity introduces a man to himself. –Anonymous.

B—Better make a weak man your enemy than your friend. –Josh Billings [Henry Wheeler Shaw], 1818-1885.

C –Conscience is the inner voice that warns us somebody may be looking. –Henry Louis Mencken, 1880-1956.

D –Distrust all those who love you extremely upon a very slight acquaintance and without any visible reason. –Lord Philip Dormer Stanhope Chesterfield, 1694-1773.

E—Everybody wants to be somebody: Nobody wants to grow. –Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1749-1834.

F –Fortune does not change men; it unmasks them.—Suzanne Necker, 1739-1794.

G—Good families are generally worse than any others.—Anthony Hope [Anthony Hope Hawkins], 1863-1933.

H—He who is most creative conceals his sources the best.—Anonymous.

I – If you don’t bring Paris with you, you won’t find it there.—John M. Shanahan, 1939- ––.

J –Jesters do oft prove prophets. – William Shakespeare, 1564-1616.

K –Knowledge can be communicated but not wisdom. – Herman Hesse, 1877-1962.

L –Love of fame is the last thing even learned men can bear to be parted from. –Cornelius Tacitus, c.56-120.

M – Men are not hanged for stealing horses, but that horses may not be stolen. – George Savile, Marquess de Halifax, 1633-1695.

N—Nobody forgets where he buried the hatchet. –Frank McKinney “Kin” Hubbard, 1868-1930.

O – One can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing. –Oscar Wilde, 1854-1900.

P –People hate those who make them feel their own inferiority.—Lord Philip Dormer Stanhope Chesterfield, 1694-1773.

Q—Quarrels would not last long if the fault were only on one side.—Francois, Duc de La Rochefoucauld, 1613-1680.

R—Rudeness is the weak man’s imitation of strength. – Eric Hoffer, 1902-1983.

S—Some circumstantial evidence is very strong, as when you find a trout in the milk.—Henry David Thoreau, 1817-1862.

T—That all men are equal is a proposition to which, at ordinary times, no sane individual has ever given his assent. –Aldous Leonard Huxley, 1894-1963.

U—Upper Classes are a nation’s past; the middle class is its future.—Ayn Rand, 1905-1982.

V—Vows begin when hope dies.—Leonardo da Vinci, 1452-1519.

W—Wit makes its own welcome and levels all distinctions. –Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1803-1882.

X—Experience is not what happens to a man. It is what a man does with what happens to him.—Aldous Huxley (see T above).

Y—You cannot have power for good without having power for evil too. Even mother’s milk nourishes murderers as well as heroes.—George Bernard Shaw, 1856-1950.

Z—Zest for living is an antidote to dying.—Pat Laster, after searching in vain for a Z word, 1936-––.

Preparing for winter—and Wynter

 

 

        Time to bring the plants in, says Ms. Janet Carson, the horticulturist. Where do I put them? I ask myself. By windows, I answer.

 

        Now, I have plenty of windows but not all of them will host a plant--be it small, tall, narrow, H-UG-E, like the schefflera that's 3-feet wide and 2-feet tall. OK, narrow it down to possibilities: the breakfast room/green room on the southwest corner. Three windows, two doors.

        First, take down the pear-motifed curtains to let in more light. Wash, dry and fold.

Second, wash the exposed windows. Done. Now, how to hide the upper window where sash meets frame? Think, girl, think. You are creative. Aha! Take the clean curtain panels one at a time. Fold them into 4ths. With white thread strung through a teeny-eyed needle, baste a place for the curtain rod. Hang, Voila!

 

         Another possibility for those of us who have our mother's and grandmother's crocheted lace from worn-out pillowcases or the embroidered part WITH the lace still attached. Do the same--perhaps on the door. Now, you have a reminder of the dear ones who've preceded you and helped make you what you are and who you are still becoming.

 

        Since this is an old house with thin-paned windows, time and weather have messed with the casings, etc. If air can get in anywhere around, lay lace into the flat loose places, then arrange clear or colored glass pieces on top. One winter, I used fake snow fabric. That way, I could imagine an inside, but never-melting, snow scene.

 

         But I digress. At the south windows, on a two-by-twelve, hand-built-by-Dad, bench we used to sit on at breakfast (yea, many years ago), I arranged pots of jade plant, a dish garden, a drunkard’s dream plant, then placed the huge schefflera at the end.

 

        At the west window, I stood a fern in a tall metal plant holder. Perfect. On the table are two African violets, one that needs dividing, and one that had been divided and is having a hard time recuperating.

 

         But that left two tall angel wing begonias, another fern, a mother-in-law’s tongue, a split-leafed philodendron, a large container of peace lilies, a corn plant and the infamous Norfolk Pine that finally recovered from serving as last year’s Christmas tree. Oh, yes, the money plant the church gave me when I retired.

 

         All are now positioned in front of windows—some in the living room, more in the office/sunroom, and the latter, in the west window of the guest room.

 

            But that was just the beginning of readying the house for winter. Now, Wynter was arriving soon. That visit required sweeping, dusting, cleaning off and redressing the dining table, cleaning (and decorating-for-autumn) the bathroom, mopping the kitchen floor, shaking the rugs and sweeping off the front porch.

          Just in time, too. “Hello, friend Wynter! How was your trip?”

More than you ever wanted to know about October

From Wikipedia:

 In common years, January starts on the same day of the week as October, but no other month starts on the same day of the week as October in leap years.

October ends on the same day of the week as February every year and January in common years only.

 In common years, October starts on the same day of the week as May of the previous year while in leap years, October starts on the same day of the week as August of the previous year.

 In common years, October ends on the same day of the week as May of the previous year while in leap years, October ends on the same day of the week as August and November of the previous year.

 In years immediately before common years, October starts on the same day as April and July of the following year while in years immediately before leap years, October starts on the same day of the week as September and December of the following year.

 In years immediately before common years, October ends on the same day of the week as July of the previous year while years immediately before leap years, October ends on the same day of the week as April and December of the following year.

Got that? Ready for more?

The last week in October is the only time of the year when all four major North American Sports leagues schedule games. The National Hockey League is about one month into its 6½ month regular season.

The National Football League is either exactly halfway through its season or within a week of being exactly halfway, the National Basketball Association (?) generally begins its regular season this week.

 Major League Baseball concludes its postseason with the World Series, which last from about a week up to nine days.

Can you stand more?

 The month of October is dedicated to the devotion of the rosary in the Roman Catholic church.

Eric Whitacre composed a piece based on this month, titled “October.” Neil Gaiman wrote a story personifying the month in his collection Fragile Things entitled “October in the Chair.” Ray Bradbury published a collection of short stories titled The October Country in 1955.

          October's birthstones are pink tourmaline and opal. Its birth flower is the calendula.  Zodiac signs for October are Libra (until October 22) or Scorpio (October 23 onwards).

           And finally, a poem: “It Was One of Those Fine October Days” -- It was one of those fine October days / free from summer’s heat and haze/ but not yet gripped by autumn chill. //
            It was one of those fine October days / when the sky’s so clear / you can see the moon /
through the atmosphere / at midday. //
             It was one of those fine October days / when the trees sport yellow and red / instead of everyday summer green. //
             It was one of those fine October days / when one draws a deep breath / and is grateful /
to be resident on Earth. --- Richard Greene (via poemhunter.com)

Mother Nature doesn’t always accede to our plans

Google image: Ozarks

            

                 BFF-Dot-from-Beebe and I have spent the past few days “on vacation.” Planned ‘way back in early August, Navarre Beach, Florida was to be our destination. An off-season, half-price rate made it ultra enticing.

 

               But as the time neared, Karen, the tropical storm, threatened. And came closer. Then closer. Predictions were dire.

 

                The condo owner called and cancelled us. With the rain they’d already had, he said, plus what would come with Karen, Navarre would flood and more than likely cause evacuations. Who wanted to spend an anticipated (Dot had never been to Florida) vacation holed up in some hotel with (possibly) the power off? Even if one’s son lived in the area?

 

              Dot was ready to go somewhere. We lobbed possibilities back and forth: Eureka Springs and Branson were two of them.

 

               “What about the Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow?” I asked her. She was accepted earlier through an application process that included ten pages of writing samples, a list of publications and two references.  But, because at that time they required a 2-week minimum stay, she backed out, not needing to leave her place for that long.

 

                I’m an alumna of the writers’ colony, so I said, “Let’s call Linda and see if perchance she has two suites unoccupied/unscheduled. SHE DID!  And for the entire time we intended to be away! Serendipity! The rooms were in separate-but adjacent buildings, which was fine with us.

 

                I boarded Greye and Boots at the animal clinic, and we Taurus-trekked northward to the Ozarks (4 hours) instead of southward (10 hours) to the Florida panhandle.

 

              Even with the next-day’s rain, we both were happily warm and dry in our suites, complete with writing space, wireless hookup, coffeepot, snacks, good lighting—everything a writer needs for a productive getaway. Oh, and our laptops.

 

              Dot slept longer than usual the first night due to the extra walking, climbing and descending stairs, excitement, etc. Plus, she didn’t need to get up for work or to get Son off to work with a lunch. I usually sleep as long as I can anyway, having nothing but cats to cater to.

 

            We wrote and read and emailed and Face-booked. At mealtimes during the weekend, we ate from the residents’ refrigerator that held culinary leftovers—cauliflower, rice, soup, pasta, dilled potato slices, white cake with a lemon curd layer—plus sandwich makings, juices and milks. Or from food we’d both brought along.

 

           By Sunday night, the Corvette Club members had returned to where they were from—or were on the way home. The previous day’s rain had cooled temps down to jacket weather. I’d packed shorts for the beach, but did have two pairs of jeans amongst them. A windbreaker and one long-sleeved blouse were my only warmish duds, so Dot loaned me a denim shirt.

 

          Six other residents have moved in since we came, so this week at the common dinner hour, there were 8 writers around the dining table. Such sessions of good food, fellowship and sharing added to the serendipity of the alternative vacation—

 

                                                    ---the mountains instead of the beach.



BLTs redux

 

                 As promised, here is more of John Kass, Chicago Tribune, on BLTs.

                He calls it the “classically American” sandwich. “Salty, meaty, crispy with lettuce, rich with mayonnaise on thick toasted white bread—salad and meat in one bite.”

                A cursory online search reveals much more than anyone needs/wants to know unless said person is doing a term paper or a “how-to” essay. Or if one is merely interested in the origins of things.

                Kass’s wife Betty grows the tomatoes, and when they’re gone, so is John’s taste for the BLT. Who wants to bite into “pink slabs of tasteless cellulose and pectin?”

                Well, moi, for one. With a dash of salt, they’ll do for us plebian, non-gourmets.

But beware. At Cheddar’s in Little Rock, if you order a double-decker half-sandwich with a side, you’ll get a fourth of a sandwich—hardly worth the trouble of getting it to your mouth. When I asked the waitperson why it was a fourth rather than the advertised half, he said, “because it’s a double decker-- a half of a regular sandwich.

Duh! I won’t be eating there again.

                John Kass cites Paul Virant, chef and restaurant owner, who allows as how the key to the bacon is the way it’s cooked. “Medium crisp is good because it’s contained better in the sandwich. If it’s too crispy, then one bite and you lose the bacon.”

                I disagree. Crisp, pre-cooked bacon is my choice. Break the pieces to fit the bread. Voila! No spilled bacon.

                Tomatoes? Chef Virant says, “The juicer, the better. Big, big tomatoes. Growing your own or buying from a nearby farmers’ market is your best bet.”

                And if you have—as I do—a loving Uncle John who gardens and a sharing Aunt Frances who had to prepare all the produce of said garden, you might be lucky enough to be given a sack of home grown orbs once or twice during the season. Otherwise, Harvest Foods suits me just fine—any time.

                John Kass tells about a food truck that appears frequently around the Chicago Tribune Tower. Their BLTs include bacon, arugula, tomato, avocado and truffle aioli on buttered Texas toast.

                Oh, not for me, please. No avocado. And what in the world is truffle aioli? I went online. Similar to mayonnaise, the ingredients are garlic, kosher salt, lemon juice, egg yolks, olive oil and truffle oil. And the cook needs several appliances, utensils and a goodly amount of time.

                Variations of the BLT exist to please any taste, from the epicurean to the plebian. Or you could “invent” a one-of-a-kind BLT yourself. Some folks, however, believe that recipes aren’t invented, they “evolve.”

                My version would also include cheese and sweet onion.

                John Kass says whatever your pleasure, “don’t skimp on the bacon.”

                That’s good for me. Just so it’s pre-cooked and then heated.