sound fruit

I am under the weather today, just a little touch of something, leaving just enough energy after hanging out the wash to choose a D.E. Stevenson novel from the book basket and retire to the couch. If you ever want and easy and interesting read, full of wholesome things like fresh-baked scones and country holidays and gentle romance, do find anything by D.E. Stevenson.

I am reading _Bel Lamington_ and took myself to the computer to share this interesting thought:

"It was surprising to find that Louise was so capable for Bel had always thought her a butterfly-she had seemed a butterfly at school-but Bel had a theory that people don't change, they merely develop. Who would think that the lovely fragile blossom upon an apple-tree would develop into apples? It was almost incredible when you thought about it-but so it was. The germ of the apple was there from the very beginning...and the same with Louise who had been fragile fairy-like blossom and was now sound fruit, sweet and juicy."

At Louise and Bel's age, I would have only wanted to be the "fairy-like blossom"...but at fifty-one, I am deeply happy to be "sound fruit-sweet and juicy".

hush

It has been a long time since I last posted here.....a few months of mostly reading
non-fiction to help me along my way with my mother. I have read a few very pleasant novels over March and April, but no lines or words begged to be captured here, so all has remained quiet.

But a few days ago, a rainy day I do believe, I was filled with an overwhelming urge to read
a good story. I didn't have any from the library and it was late at night, so I was in our temporary bedroom (my eldest son's-who is away at college). The bookshelves lining one wall are, therefore, filled with children's books....from picture books to Star Wars novels....all the years of his reading. My eyes were drawn to the top shelf and the little yellow spine of a book I bought to read myself many years ago, but that my sons also enjoyed.

Wise Child by Monica Furlong, has been the perfect companion for me over the past few days. Within its pages I found so much to share, mostly at The Bower, for the passages I marked are thought-provoking and perfect for musing upon. But one line I marked just because it made me smile with its beauty and perfection.

"It was very quiet in the wood, and the bright light of the sky filtered through the leaves and made patterns on the forest floor. We moved, slowly, silently as if the quiet of the place put a finger on our lips."

I hope it will not be so silent here in the months to come.

a glass of blessings

I scooped this book off the shelf during my last flying-visit to the library. I have always wanted to try Barbara Pym and this one had the prettiest cover, so....

It was a pleasant read and I found several lines that brought me here to set them down...but on the whole, I couldn't get close to it. The characters seemed so detached and sophisticated that I could never warm up to them.

But here are some delightful, sometimes picturesque snippets:



"...I came to the conclusion that people who went to evening classes were all more or less odd. It was unnatural to want to acquire knowledge after working hours."




"Some graves were very old, their headstones broken and overgrown with ivy, reminding me of tumbled unmade beds."




"I really cannot wait in the queue. I am Miss Daunt,' I heard her say in a loud ringing tone. 'My blood is Rhesus negative, the most valuable kind. I have a letter from the Regional Director. This precious blood,' she read,'that is the phrase used.'


'This precious blood,' she murmured, and began muttering to herself, first about her blood and then about irrelevant things which I could only half hear-a quarrel with somebody about a broken milk bottle and what they had said to each other. It seemed like a 'stream of consciousness' novel, but i was relieved when she stopped talking for I had been afraid that she might address me. Virginia Woolf might have brought something away from the experience, I thought; perhaps writers always do this, from situations that merely shock and embarrass ordinary people."

This scene caught my attention because I have Rh negative blood and then just made me laugh. Now when I give blood it will be hard not to dramatically refer to my "precious blood"!




"But in the meantime there was the excitement, which I still felt, of the Christmas post arriving two or three times a day in the week before Christmas Day."


*sigh* Imagine a world where that still happened!




"There is another little parcel you seem to have forgotten,' said Sybil, pointing to a little soft square package wrapped in holly paper. 'Oh dear, it's two handkerchiefs from Mary,' I said, 'and I didn't give her anything."


I liked this because I could imagine the soft little package with two hand-embroidered handkerchiefs inside, folded many times into a small bundle, something that seems a sweet and satisfying gift to make and give.




"But there was hardly time to consider whether we should ring or not, for the moment we set foot on the doorstep I noticed a curtain at the ground floor window being flicked aside and heard footsteps within. Evidently Mr. Bason had been watching for our arrival in a rather Cranfordian way.


I finally discovered Cranford this Winter (not the book yet, just the Masterpiece Theatre) so I could truly appreciate this.




'No, I despise women who are always knitting,' said Sybil. 'Buti it can be a useful occupation-the kind of thing one can do when talking.'

'I wonder if women brought their knitting when Oscar Wilde talked,' said Piers.

'I daresay not,' said Sybil calmly, 'but that doesn't mean they wouldn't have liked to.'

twosomes

....I read Maisie Dobbs a few weeks ago, and tho' it
interested me enough to finish it to the end, in the end,
I was not won over. How disappointing. I just didn't
believe in her or some of her actions. And the writing
didn't move or delight me. So I will not be putting the
rest of the series on hold at the library, but will soon
try another book on the list of possibilities.

In the meantime, I did glean these two two-somes
from my reading...


small hours

&

bed socks


The first is just so evocative and comforting, somehow.
And the second sparks my curiosity, for what, exactly,
are "bed socks"? I do often wear socks to bed in the cold
weather, but they are just everyday socks that I also wear
out of bed (and usually toe-off sometime in the night!).
Were bed socks kept specifically for that purpose and,
perhaps, thicker than socks one would wear with shoes?
Did women not really wear socks in the days of mostly
dresses? Mysterious...but a comforting twosome, as well.

julia

It is becoming a theme that I haven't much time for reading, but it remains sadly true. The last time I curled up with a book was on the train home from my art retreat in New Hampshire-Sept. 22! But on that peaceful train ride I spent a few hours with Julia Child, reading her book My Life in France-a perfectly delightful read.

Here are some of the words and passages that brought me pleasure or recognition...

p. 24

"We sat outside, on wicker seats, munching our croissants and watching the morning sun illuminate the chimney pots."

p. 32

"Yet she glistened like an old hand-polished copper fire-hood. It gave me great pleasure to see someone as fully mature and mellow but also as lively and aglow as she was. Madam Perrier became the model for how I wanted to look in my dotage." (Me, too.)

p. 33

"...and stored them in an empty room upstairs that we named the oubliette (forgettery)."

p. 104

"frigorification" (referring to her very cold apartment during a Paris winter)


....and that is all for the moment. I still have more than half the book to read, but am plunged into the making of things for shows and for the imminent re-opening of my online shop, and immersing myself in a book hasn't been happening-but I am every hopeful!

"live in ink"

Posts have been scarce here, as scarce as the moments I have spent reading novels this past month.

Most all of my reading time has been spent with books of a practical nature as I research various interests and endeavors....and tho' much of it has been helpful, it has not been exactly beautiful or noteworthy.

But I came across this in an old Williamsburg engagement calendar. It comes from a poem anonymously contributed to the Virginia Gazette in the mid 1700's in praise of the editor of the paper who had opened a paper mill.

"The Substances of what we think,
Tho' born in Thought, must live in Ink."

This will be the "motto" of the planner I am designing....for I have learned too late that

"Whilst willing Mem'ry lends her Aid,
She finds herself by Time betray'd"

Let us remember to give our valuable thoughts a chance to "live in ink" or, atleast, the virtual
ink of blog and web.

peaceful heart

I have been amongst my books for the past few days, sorting and dusting and making piles. It is grubby work, and rather melancholy, as I decide what to keep and what to give up.

This afternoon I came across a lovely (inside and out!) Henry Van Dyke book (have you met him yet?) called The Friendly Year. It has an excerpt from his writings, one for each day of the year, and my edition is from 1912. For today:


July 26th

"Do you suppose that this wondrous stage of earth was set, and all the myriad actors on it taught to play their parts, without a spectator in view? Do you think that there is anything better for you and me to do, now and then, than to sit down quietly in a humble seat, and watch a few scenes of the drama? Has it not something to say to us, and do we not understand it best when we have a peaceful heart and free from dolor? That is what in-dolence means, and there are no better teachers of it than light-hearted birds and untoiling flowers, commended by the wisest of all masters to our consideration; nor can we find a more pleasant pedagogue to lead us to their school than a small, merry brook."

A timely reminder in the fast-slipping summer days and also the gift of a new word to roll around my mouth.....dolor (meaning a state of sorrow or distress). And to find that the meaning I knew for "indolence" is only a recent one (18th century : ), and that it previously meant simply the absence of "dolor". Something I will be seeking as I remember to more often be a spectator of this world...with a peaceful heart.