book reveiw: "In Sunlight or in Shadow"...

... randomly taken off the shelf at the local library. Edited by Lawrence Block, copyright 2016. A collection of short stories written by well known American authors, based on paintings by Edward Hopper. Block reported he has long been an admirer of Hopper's art, and requested a number of writers use specific pieces of Hopper's work as inspiration to provide an accompanying tale to be included in the collection.

The authors of the words in the collection have some standing in American literature, and will be household names. Including people like Stephen King, Joyce Carol Oates, Jeffery Deaver, and a dozen others. I am not a fan of King's style/subject matter, and not even aware of some of the others. We should assume they are all successful writers, in the sense of well paid for their efforts in popular literature. Some of the stories were better than others, and a couple I merely skimmed, in order to move on to the next.

Hopper's works often have a moody, melodramatic feel. Most depict people as if caught in a snapshot, but the lighting is somehow subdued, to give a feel of impending storm or awaiting some unexpected disaster. There is an edginess, a sense of doom, when viewing many of his carefully planned, meticulously arranged paintings. Each short story from the successful professionals, invited to pen words to accompany the illustrations is well-suited to the preceding painting.  The tales from these wordsmiths, using their imaginations to generate stories, are as often as unsettling as the scenes Hopper's brushed portrayed.

I have long been an admirer of Hopper's style, and think the idea of dreaming up a 'back story' for a particular piece of art work a great way to develop appreciation for art. Something that would be useful for a teacher in a classroom, as a way to generate interest in fine art and hone writing skills.

book reveiw: "The Orphan Mother"...

...written by Robert Hicks, a resident of Tennessee. The story takes place shortly after the Civil War, in Franklin, a small town in TN. The character referred to in the title is Mariah Reddick, who is a mid-wife, respected for her birthing skills by all the women in the community, and thoroughly disliked by the white doctor practicing 'modern' medicine in that post-war village. Mariah has one son, who is a cobbler, self-employed maker of shoes. The son desires to give a speech at a political rally, and is beset by angry white men when he begins to speak. Theo. is severely beaten, then killed, so the story tells of the efforts of Mariah to find the truth: who killed her son, and why it happened.

Before the war, Mariah as a young girl, was given as a wedding gift to Carrie, who appears in this book, and is the subject of another book by the same author: "The Widow of the South." Mariah came with Carrie when she married and moved to her husband's home near Franklin, and was thus freed after the end of the war. She continued to live there, and provide birthing services to any who needed her help.

No happy ending here. Just some things to ponder. Think about how life was like for Negroes, after they were uprooted from their culture in Africa,forcibly brought to the US, living in subservience, both before and after the divisive war. Consider the monumental hardships they faced, when they were suddenly 'freed', and had few skills for survival in the society they entered post-war.

The author lives in TN, and apparently does a great deal of research for his books. Another tome, based on the life of Gen. Hood after the war, set in New Orleans is also based on some degree of factual southern history. Titled "A Separate Country", it tells of Hood's struggles to adjust and accept the circumstances of his military failures when the conflict ended.

the other reason for going...

... to Valdosta last week: check on the auntie's car and find someone to jump off a dead battery. It has not been started in months, and does not need to sit and sit and sit without being driven occasionally. I was pretty sure the basic problem would not be complicated, not need any more assistance than someone with a charger to give some juice to get it going. Wrong.

I tried to find that person who would come and plug it in, to get it started, but my few scattered contacts were not helpful. Then I had a light bulb moment: The auntie has a membership in AAA , which is the perfect source for 'roadside service' (or residential, as the case may be.) Then I thought: not only does she pay for membership in Triple A, but she has emergency service with her car insurance. Good ole' State Farm Auto.

I called the toll free number on the insurance card, and the people who have the response contract were very helpful, taking my info. and asking for the best time to come and facilitate starting. I thought it was going to be pretty simple and straight forward. Murphy's Law was invoked instead.

The guy driving the tow truck showed up on time, and tried his best, but it would not start. Using a charger, then with the charger plugged into household current, then trying to jump it with cables attached to his truck: nothing. Not even a peep. I said: Just tow it in to the dealer. He loaded it up and hauled it across town.

I went to the Toyota dealer and gave them my contact info., so they could call me and I could pay for whatever it takes to get it running. Assuming it would include a new starter battery, as I suspect the one under the hood is original, and needs replacing due to age. I went by to see the auntie, then left town.

Before I could get twenty miles away, the service department guy, Roy (more commonly known as Bubba) called. Reporting the 'chip' in the key did not work, so the diagnostics could not be run. Their computer could not read the chip, meaning there is no way to tell what the problem is, and therefore offer no solution. Bubba said the service guys could reprogram the chip in the key for a mere $147. I said: 'Oh? Hmmmm.... I thought she bought the replacement key you have there with the car, from the parts department, so it should be already programmed?' He said: 'Oh,.hmmmm... Yes, you are right. Do you want me to reprogram it for $147?' I said: 'No'.

I think I know where one of the original keys can be found. I told him I would get the key that came with the vehicle to the dealership and see if that will solve the communication problem. Why would I pay them to do something  again that they should have already done?

the reason for going...

... to Valdosta last week. There were actually two, other than to go and check on the auntie. Who was packed up and ready to go. Where? Any place but there. She did not know where she wanted to go, only that she was ready to leave. Sadly, I did not 'spring' her from the Big House, only offered to look at my work schedule, and get back with her later.

I have been concerned about the fact that the front door on her house would not lock properly. In reality, it has not worked like it should in all the time she has owned and lived in that house. There are, as with most exterior doors, two locks: one on the door knob, and then a dead bolt. The dead bolt does not align with the small hole cut in the wooden door frame, and surrounded by a little brass plate (that I am sure has a name?), designed to cover the edges of the wee rectangle cut out of the wood. It never has worked properly. And has always bothered me. But apparently not enough to get it fixed.

I am sure it concerned my auntie, but like me, she did not resolve the problem. Well, it has been squared away. I called a friend, who is very handy, and told him what I needed, thinking it would be about a ten minute project. I was right, he got it done and was on his way in no time at all. He said he had to get a little device to grind down the edge of the metal plate to make the dead bolt seat properly into the door frame. In reality, I know that having that additional lock will not keep the house secure. If someone wants in, they will gain entry. Locks only stop honest people, right?

But I do feel better about her house, without someone living there, now that I know the door is really locked. Those flimsy little locks that operated with a button on the inside of the door knob are only a slight improvement over the latch on a screen door. Hardly worth installing, and certainly nothing that would keep anyone interested in entering out. A couple of friends have keys, and will hopefully take the time to occasionally check to be sure the property has not been looted. Doing the best I can.

if it is not yet...

...included someplace in all the mishaps that are part of Murphey's Law, it should be. Came in the mail on a newsletter from an organization I occasionally volunteer with. It was so true and applicable to how life goes, I thought it was worth sharing.

"The shortest measurable interval of time is the time between the moment I put a little extra aside for  sudden emergency and the arrival of that emergency."

Like the old joke about the thermos. When the guys were talking about what they thought was the most remarkable invention, one said microwaves, one said automobiles and the third said 'thermos bottles.' When asked what was so special about a thermos, he said: It keeps hot things hot and cold things cold. How do it know?'

So when I have squirreled away some extra funds, there always seems to be an unexpected crisis that will rear it's ugly head. How do it know?

one hatched...

... but not while I was paying attention, so I missed seeing the butterfly come out of the tidy little house it made on the parsley plant. I noticed yesterday that one of the two chrysalis had come open. Looked like a paper thin little scrap, sort of tube-shaped with a small hole on one end where the new creation escaped the confines of the temporary shelter. You can see the two tiny filaments that hold the little sack to the twig of the parsley (leafless as they devoured all the leaves on the plant.)

It is so interesting to look at. I've seen empty cocoons over the years, found on the ground, with a small aperture in one end, where the hatchling came out. They sort of look like felt, a non-woven type of cloth, but appear to be made of some fiber, which could easily just be webbing wound round and round and round, as in rolling a skein of yarn into a ball. But the thing here, on the parsley twig, gives the appearance of a husk, thin like tissue paper, but does not look like fiber as does other cocoons found in the woods.

The second one, that is still intact, seems to be lighter in color than it was originally when first noticed. And might be thinner, with the tissue-like covering not as thick as it was when the caterpillar first made it. I noticed them at the same time, when there were still fat, yellow and black striped worms on the plant, industriously munching along. I am guessing that in the next day or so the chrysalis not yet hatched will produce another butterfly.  Hopefully I will witness the birth.

wishing for....

...a bumper sticker that has the wording: "I brake for Boiled Peanuts". Daughter who loves them was laughing when she told me she would happily attach a sticker with those words on the back of her car. Accompanying the dozen or so others that express her philosophy/opinions as she travels. She reports often seeing perplexed expressions on faces of people behind her, when she looks in the rear view mirror as people ponder the hatchback of her car.

My dad taught my daughter to love boiled peanuts. He also took them out in the field, and showed them how the grow, pulled some up (with permission) that belonged to a friend and brought the plants home. Taught them how to sit on the tailgate of the pickup truck and pull the little goobers off the roots of the plant. When your bucket gets full, then you go in the house and wash them in the kitchen sink. Put them in a pot, with water and salt, and wait. When they are done, you drain the dirty, salty water off and sit in the back yard and eat, eat, eat. Where you can throw all the shells on the ground and no one cares.

I guess it is a 'southern thing?' My brother recently emailed to say he had been on a Saturday to a farmers market and bought a bag of goodness, enjoyed every one. I clearly remember one summer when I was in my early teens and ate so many my mom made me go on a diet. I believe the weight gain was due to consumption of the wonderfully fatty, high sodium peanuts, but it lazy could have been a contributing factor. I just recall my mom as the enforcer for some weeks applying discipline to my eating habits. And you know how whine-y a teen can be when pushed into doing some activity not of her choosing... I probably made everyone in the house miserable as I begrudged every ounce.

Yes, they are good. Especially when fresh, cooked in a big pot, under a little shelter on the edge of the road. Where the guy who runs the farm stand also has fresh local peaches, and maybe some home grown tomatoes to sell. But be prepared to pack on the pounds if you get addicted.