Sunday, June 29, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Books: Atonement
Atonement
By Ian McEwan
351 pages
Copyright 2001
My book club read this book for May; I am just now getting around to writing about it.
In 1935, Briony Tallis is growing up. She wants to be a writer. She sees a flirtation between her older sister and Robbie, a neighbor boy, and imagines all sorts of things.
Her cousin Lola is visiting along with her two brothers. The brothers run away. Lola, during the night search, is raped.
Briony blames Robbie.
The war comes. Robbie goes to war. Cecilia, the sister, becomes nurse. Robbie makes it home, Briony tries to make amends.
Only... not. It turns out this story is the story Briony has written, and it is to be published after every one dies.
I hate an unreliable narrator. I liked the story up until I realized it was all a lie.
2 stars
By Ian McEwan
351 pages
Copyright 2001
My book club read this book for May; I am just now getting around to writing about it.
In 1935, Briony Tallis is growing up. She wants to be a writer. She sees a flirtation between her older sister and Robbie, a neighbor boy, and imagines all sorts of things.
Her cousin Lola is visiting along with her two brothers. The brothers run away. Lola, during the night search, is raped.
Briony blames Robbie.
The war comes. Robbie goes to war. Cecilia, the sister, becomes nurse. Robbie makes it home, Briony tries to make amends.
Only... not. It turns out this story is the story Briony has written, and it is to be published after every one dies.
I hate an unreliable narrator. I liked the story up until I realized it was all a lie.
2 stars
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Winkin' is Dead
I'm sad to report that my baby fawn was hit by a car about 100 yards from my driveway.
I know there may be many other fawns roaming around here, and it may not actually have been Winkin' (as I named her). But it sure felt like Winkin' in my heart when I saw that little body laying in the road. Since I couldn't tell the fawns apart anyway I will never know.
I really have to stop naming these deer. Every time I do they get me on the inside.
Rest well, little Winkin'. I'm sorry your time was so short on this good Earth.
I know there may be many other fawns roaming around here, and it may not actually have been Winkin' (as I named her). But it sure felt like Winkin' in my heart when I saw that little body laying in the road. Since I couldn't tell the fawns apart anyway I will never know.
I really have to stop naming these deer. Every time I do they get me on the inside.
Rest well, little Winkin'. I'm sorry your time was so short on this good Earth.
Thursday Thirteen
1. We have a small garden, about 10 x 10. It is a summer garden only; there isn't enough room there to plant enough for canning or freezing.
2. This year we planted radishes, kale, green beans, peas, tomatoes, peppers, yellow squash, zucchini, cucumbers and marigolds.
3. The marigolds help keep away bugs.
4. The plot is very full, with only room for a hoe between rows.
4. The layout is thus: Row 1: radishes and peppers, Row 2: cucumbers, yellow squash, zucchini (in hills, actually), Row 3: tomatoes, Row 4: Peas, Row 5: kale, Row 6: marigolds, and down the side in a vertical, green beans.
6. I wanted to make notes so I can have a better crop next year.
7. The marigolds work well next to the kale, and kale works better in rows than it did last year in hills.
8. Don't plant peas in such a small area. They are too much work for too little return. Plant more green beans instead.
9. The radishes did not come up at all and I believe birds ate the seeds. Next year, consider netting not only 8 feet high around the perimeter to keep out deer but also across the top to keep out birds.
10. Begin using Miracle Grow sooner in the year.
11. Make sure to fertilize extensively this fall with natural fertilizer from the pasture (cow poop!)
12. Consider planting broccoli next year instead of radishes.
13. Next year, try watermelon, too, if there is space! (They are $6 in the store!)
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
2. This year we planted radishes, kale, green beans, peas, tomatoes, peppers, yellow squash, zucchini, cucumbers and marigolds.
3. The marigolds help keep away bugs.
4. The plot is very full, with only room for a hoe between rows.
4. The layout is thus: Row 1: radishes and peppers, Row 2: cucumbers, yellow squash, zucchini (in hills, actually), Row 3: tomatoes, Row 4: Peas, Row 5: kale, Row 6: marigolds, and down the side in a vertical, green beans.
6. I wanted to make notes so I can have a better crop next year.
7. The marigolds work well next to the kale, and kale works better in rows than it did last year in hills.
8. Don't plant peas in such a small area. They are too much work for too little return. Plant more green beans instead.
9. The radishes did not come up at all and I believe birds ate the seeds. Next year, consider netting not only 8 feet high around the perimeter to keep out deer but also across the top to keep out birds.
10. Begin using Miracle Grow sooner in the year.
11. Make sure to fertilize extensively this fall with natural fertilizer from the pasture (cow poop!)
12. Consider planting broccoli next year instead of radishes.
13. Next year, try watermelon, too, if there is space! (They are $6 in the store!)
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Books: The Touch
The Touch
By Colleen McCullough
Copyright 2003
Audiobook
Read by Jenny Sterlin
Alexander Kinross, a nobody from Scotland, hits it big in Australia in the mining industry. He sends home for a wife and receives Elizabeth, a 16-year old distant cousin.
She hates him on site and love never blossom. Kinross is old fashioned and wants an heir. His wife has two difficult pregnancies and is advised to never have a third.
Both children are girls; the first, Nell, is learned and headstrong and exactly like her father, and the second, Anna, is brain damaged from a traumatic birth.
Elizabeth is not a very depth-filled character. She chooses to live out her unhappy lot as best she can. Life is difficult for her in spite of Alexander's unlimited wealth.
Alexander has a mistress, Ruby, whom Elizabeth grows fond of. This unnatural friendship keeps the book interesting.
Ruby has a son, Lee, whom Alexander hopes will take over his enterprise. Lee only has eyes for Elizabeth, however.
I'll leave you to guess what direction that takes.
The book is well-read, although it took a while to get used to the accent.
By Colleen McCullough
Copyright 2003
Audiobook
Read by Jenny Sterlin
Alexander Kinross, a nobody from Scotland, hits it big in Australia in the mining industry. He sends home for a wife and receives Elizabeth, a 16-year old distant cousin.
She hates him on site and love never blossom. Kinross is old fashioned and wants an heir. His wife has two difficult pregnancies and is advised to never have a third.
Both children are girls; the first, Nell, is learned and headstrong and exactly like her father, and the second, Anna, is brain damaged from a traumatic birth.
Elizabeth is not a very depth-filled character. She chooses to live out her unhappy lot as best she can. Life is difficult for her in spite of Alexander's unlimited wealth.
Alexander has a mistress, Ruby, whom Elizabeth grows fond of. This unnatural friendship keeps the book interesting.
Ruby has a son, Lee, whom Alexander hopes will take over his enterprise. Lee only has eyes for Elizabeth, however.
I'll leave you to guess what direction that takes.
The book is well-read, although it took a while to get used to the accent.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
A Phone Call
Here is something funny. Yesterday morning my brother called from his cell phone. He is in Myrtle Beach on vacation. After talking a few minutes, he tells me he is on the pier fishing.
"Is your husband's sister down here, by any chance?" he asks.
"Yes, she's there on vacation, too, but I don't know where."
"I thought that was her," he said. He went on to describe her and the boys. He hasn't seen my sister-in-law in about eight years.
"That's them," I said. "How far away from you are they?"
"About 20 feet," he said. "They're on the pier fishing, too."
"Take her the telephone and hand it to her and tell she has a call," I said. "See what she says."
In hardly a breath I heard my brother say, "Excuse me, I have a phone call for you."
"What?" I heard my sister-in-law, Jennifer, say. I was relieved it was actually her and not some stranger. "Who?"
"It's your sister-in-law," my brother said.
"What?" Jennifer said again, then, "Loren!" she exclaimed, which is my brother's name.
I was laughing so hard I could hardly answer when she took the phone. "I didn't recognize him," she said. I tried to stop laughing long enough to tell her everything was fine. My brother came back on the line and said goodbye; I suppose they chatted briefly then.
I thought it was hilarious. And it was so good to laugh that hard.
"Is your husband's sister down here, by any chance?" he asks.
"Yes, she's there on vacation, too, but I don't know where."
"I thought that was her," he said. He went on to describe her and the boys. He hasn't seen my sister-in-law in about eight years.
"That's them," I said. "How far away from you are they?"
"About 20 feet," he said. "They're on the pier fishing, too."
"Take her the telephone and hand it to her and tell she has a call," I said. "See what she says."
In hardly a breath I heard my brother say, "Excuse me, I have a phone call for you."
"What?" I heard my sister-in-law, Jennifer, say. I was relieved it was actually her and not some stranger. "Who?"
"It's your sister-in-law," my brother said.
"What?" Jennifer said again, then, "Loren!" she exclaimed, which is my brother's name.
I was laughing so hard I could hardly answer when she took the phone. "I didn't recognize him," she said. I tried to stop laughing long enough to tell her everything was fine. My brother came back on the line and said goodbye; I suppose they chatted briefly then.
I thought it was hilarious. And it was so good to laugh that hard.
Monday, June 23, 2008
These Trees Were Our Friends
Even though I have known since early May that loggers were coming to cut down the forest behind me, I was unprepared.
The loggers had been on the far side of the farm for about 10 days. I saw their trucks lumbering across the fields as they moved through gates.
Last week they moved their set-up next door. I look out my bedroom window, and this is what I see:
I was not prepared to feel the trees as they crashed. But the first morning, the vibration came up through my sneakers into my feet. My soul felt sick as I realized what it was.
My friends were dying.
With morbid curiosity, I sat on the deck and watched the trees crash to the ground. The noise was thunderous. First a chainsaw, an engine rev, a mighty crack! And the tree toppled. It's leaves swooshed and the final bang shook the earth.
For 25 years I have haunted these woods. The forest was old, with trees stretched to the sky as high as I could see. I walked these woods when I needed time to think or a moment's meditation. I listened to them sigh in the wind and sing when the rain came down and pelted their leaves. I watched them stretch and bend in windstorms and saw a few break during winter ice.
It is perhaps more difficult for my husband. He has played among these trees since childhood. The woodcutter's machines now sit in the spot where he and a friend built a "log cabin." It had walls about four feet high. It's mostly rotted now, but the memories he retains are definitely good.
He also loves to hunt and these woods have brought him many a deer in years past.
Above you can see my husband as he looks at the tall trees that have not yet fallen to the axe. He estimates that 200 trees will be taken from this patch of wood before the logger leaves.
Below is a road they cut in so they could get into the forest.
Apparently they cut the "pulp" wood from the area first. That goes to Covington to West Vaco, where it is made into things like paper and press board. Other logs go to the sawmill, where they will be turned into lumber. Maybe your house will be built from these trees.
I do not dislike logging. I think it has its place in the system and can work well on managed land. When a wood is timbered and a management plan is in place, then I have no problem with it.
But the loggers leave a lot of mess:
If this is cleaned up and the land restored to something - a field, a new wood - this will not be so bad. If this is being logged just for greed - that I object to. It's not my property so I don't know the motive. We only had permission to walk and hunt on it; we had no say in this.
As you can see below, the trees were quite large. I expect many were at least a 100 years old. Some were probably older.
"These trees were my friends," said the Ent in Lord of the Rings. "You would think a wizard would know better."
Alas, age does not always wisdom bring. Farewell to you, my speechless friends. Thank you for shading me and offering me shelter in my time of need.
I am sorry I am not able to do the same for you.
The loggers had been on the far side of the farm for about 10 days. I saw their trucks lumbering across the fields as they moved through gates.
Last week they moved their set-up next door. I look out my bedroom window, and this is what I see:
I was not prepared to feel the trees as they crashed. But the first morning, the vibration came up through my sneakers into my feet. My soul felt sick as I realized what it was.
My friends were dying.
With morbid curiosity, I sat on the deck and watched the trees crash to the ground. The noise was thunderous. First a chainsaw, an engine rev, a mighty crack! And the tree toppled. It's leaves swooshed and the final bang shook the earth.
For 25 years I have haunted these woods. The forest was old, with trees stretched to the sky as high as I could see. I walked these woods when I needed time to think or a moment's meditation. I listened to them sigh in the wind and sing when the rain came down and pelted their leaves. I watched them stretch and bend in windstorms and saw a few break during winter ice.
It is perhaps more difficult for my husband. He has played among these trees since childhood. The woodcutter's machines now sit in the spot where he and a friend built a "log cabin." It had walls about four feet high. It's mostly rotted now, but the memories he retains are definitely good.
He also loves to hunt and these woods have brought him many a deer in years past.
Above you can see my husband as he looks at the tall trees that have not yet fallen to the axe. He estimates that 200 trees will be taken from this patch of wood before the logger leaves.
Below is a road they cut in so they could get into the forest.
Apparently they cut the "pulp" wood from the area first. That goes to Covington to West Vaco, where it is made into things like paper and press board. Other logs go to the sawmill, where they will be turned into lumber. Maybe your house will be built from these trees.
I do not dislike logging. I think it has its place in the system and can work well on managed land. When a wood is timbered and a management plan is in place, then I have no problem with it.
But the loggers leave a lot of mess:
If this is cleaned up and the land restored to something - a field, a new wood - this will not be so bad. If this is being logged just for greed - that I object to. It's not my property so I don't know the motive. We only had permission to walk and hunt on it; we had no say in this.
As you can see below, the trees were quite large. I expect many were at least a 100 years old. Some were probably older.
"These trees were my friends," said the Ent in Lord of the Rings. "You would think a wizard would know better."
Alas, age does not always wisdom bring. Farewell to you, my speechless friends. Thank you for shading me and offering me shelter in my time of need.
I am sorry I am not able to do the same for you.
Mountain Fire Update
The fire on Caldwell Mountain, also known as the Stone Coal Gap fire, appears to be out.
The Forest Service is saying about 820 acres burned. Rainstorms yesterday helped put out the flames.
The Forest Service is saying about 820 acres burned. Rainstorms yesterday helped put out the flames.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Asheville v. Roanoke
For many years, I have heard Asheville compared to Roanoke, with Roanoke on the lower end in the favorable column.
Indeed, Asheville does look a lot like Roanoke. The elevation is similar.
The mountains are similar.
The trees are similar.
Asheville is older than Roanoke, though. Asheville was established in the late 1700s. Big Lick's history doesn't go back that far.
The one thing Asheville has that Roanoke does not is a tourist attraction. When you have 1.4 million people trudging through Biltmore Estate, you are bound to have more money to do things with.
Roanoke, bless her little heart, hasn't anything to draw in the tourists. After all, no one says "I'm going to Roanoke to see the Mill Mountain Star!" when they live in New York City.
Maybe if Vanderbilt had come to Roanoke first, he'd have built here. Who knows?
In any event, Asheville has a thriving creative population that I practically drooled over. It is obviously a very progressive city and based on the revitalization of Grove Arcade in downtown I would say it does its work very well. That old building is now a major shopping attraction in its own right, I understand, although we did not make it there this trip.
I felt like plopping down somewhere and reading poetry. The only other place that has ever happened to me has been on the Hollins University campus. The whole city has that kind of atmosphere.
I also noticed a lack of church steeples. Unlike Roanoke, which boasts a symbol of the devout nearly on every city block, churches were remarkably absent. Or at least for someone who is used to seeing church steeples rising above the horizon in all directions it so appeared.
That is not to say there weren't churches - there were. Several large ones, in fact. But they weren't splashed all over the place like they are around here.
Another thing I found interesting was that the stores, from clothing outlets to restuarants, played oldies music. We went into two malls and not once did I hear that loud hippity-hop garbage spewing forth from the speakers. There were plenty of teenagers roaming about so I don't think it made a whole lot of difference in terms of attracting shoppers, either.
It was a lot easier on the nerves, anyway.
I think Roanoke is too uptight and too wrapped up in itself to ever have a bustling downtown like I saw in Asheville.
Even so, I like this area and it suits me fine. I am a seventh generation settler here so it's pretty much in my bones. But if I ever want to move, I might just have to take another look at Asheville.
Indeed, Asheville does look a lot like Roanoke. The elevation is similar.
The mountains are similar.
The trees are similar.
Asheville is older than Roanoke, though. Asheville was established in the late 1700s. Big Lick's history doesn't go back that far.
The one thing Asheville has that Roanoke does not is a tourist attraction. When you have 1.4 million people trudging through Biltmore Estate, you are bound to have more money to do things with.
Roanoke, bless her little heart, hasn't anything to draw in the tourists. After all, no one says "I'm going to Roanoke to see the Mill Mountain Star!" when they live in New York City.
Maybe if Vanderbilt had come to Roanoke first, he'd have built here. Who knows?
In any event, Asheville has a thriving creative population that I practically drooled over. It is obviously a very progressive city and based on the revitalization of Grove Arcade in downtown I would say it does its work very well. That old building is now a major shopping attraction in its own right, I understand, although we did not make it there this trip.
I felt like plopping down somewhere and reading poetry. The only other place that has ever happened to me has been on the Hollins University campus. The whole city has that kind of atmosphere.
I also noticed a lack of church steeples. Unlike Roanoke, which boasts a symbol of the devout nearly on every city block, churches were remarkably absent. Or at least for someone who is used to seeing church steeples rising above the horizon in all directions it so appeared.
That is not to say there weren't churches - there were. Several large ones, in fact. But they weren't splashed all over the place like they are around here.
Another thing I found interesting was that the stores, from clothing outlets to restuarants, played oldies music. We went into two malls and not once did I hear that loud hippity-hop garbage spewing forth from the speakers. There were plenty of teenagers roaming about so I don't think it made a whole lot of difference in terms of attracting shoppers, either.
It was a lot easier on the nerves, anyway.
I think Roanoke is too uptight and too wrapped up in itself to ever have a bustling downtown like I saw in Asheville.
Even so, I like this area and it suits me fine. I am a seventh generation settler here so it's pretty much in my bones. But if I ever want to move, I might just have to take another look at Asheville.
Biltmore Village and Trolley
After the WNC Farmer's Market, we headed to Biltmore Village.
Here we have the most expensively built fast food restaurants in America. We ate at the Hardee's. It is very nice inside, too.
(I made sure I took pictures so I can send them to the local zoning people so they can see what actually can be done with good zoning.)
Biltmore Village was built in the late 1890s as the Biltmore home was being constructed. If you guessed that it sprang up as a result of the construction, you would be correct in part. Apparently it was designed to be a prelude to the Estate.
It is full of shops now. We bought some chili bowls.
At 2:10 p.m., we boarded the white trolley for a historical tour of the entire area.
It lasted two hours.
This is downtown Asheville from the interstate.
Asheville has a thriving creative community. Lots of potters and artists there. I remembered that Colleen over at Loose Leaf has a son living there. I even thought of looking him up but then felt too much like a stalker for even thinking it, so I did not.
We left on Sunday. I'm going to write one more entry about this trip - a comparison of Asheville to Roanoke - and then I'll be done.
Here we have the most expensively built fast food restaurants in America. We ate at the Hardee's. It is very nice inside, too.
(I made sure I took pictures so I can send them to the local zoning people so they can see what actually can be done with good zoning.)
Biltmore Village was built in the late 1890s as the Biltmore home was being constructed. If you guessed that it sprang up as a result of the construction, you would be correct in part. Apparently it was designed to be a prelude to the Estate.
It is full of shops now. We bought some chili bowls.
At 2:10 p.m., we boarded the white trolley for a historical tour of the entire area.
It lasted two hours.
This is downtown Asheville from the interstate.
Asheville has a thriving creative community. Lots of potters and artists there. I remembered that Colleen over at Loose Leaf has a son living there. I even thought of looking him up but then felt too much like a stalker for even thinking it, so I did not.
We left on Sunday. I'm going to write one more entry about this trip - a comparison of Asheville to Roanoke - and then I'll be done.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
WNC Farmer's Market
After we left the NC Arboretum, we headed to the WNC Farmer's Market.
Wow.
Now this is a farmer's market!
Apparently about 2 million people shop in this 36-acre market. Most of it is under cover.
The only thing I didn't like was I couldn't tell if the food was locally grown or if it was imported in. Apparently the first truck shed is supposed to harbor only certified farmers, but I sure did see a lot of McCutcheon's jams and jellies there which I know is not grown on all these local farms.
In any event, I don't believe I have ever seen so much produce in one place in my life. It made me hungry just to walk through it.
Wow.
Now this is a farmer's market!
Apparently about 2 million people shop in this 36-acre market. Most of it is under cover.
The only thing I didn't like was I couldn't tell if the food was locally grown or if it was imported in. Apparently the first truck shed is supposed to harbor only certified farmers, but I sure did see a lot of McCutcheon's jams and jellies there which I know is not grown on all these local farms.
In any event, I don't believe I have ever seen so much produce in one place in my life. It made me hungry just to walk through it.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Mountain Fire II
The fire on Caldwell Mountain in front of me continues to burn.
Estimates have been 100 acres but I think that laughable. Several hundred acres would be more like it. It's burned most of the mountainside.
Above is where the fire was yesterday afternoon as seen from Blacksburg Road.
This is around 8 p.m. on Breckinridge Mill Road.
Yesterday evening, Breckinridge Mill Road (above).
The above is the view out my front door as of this morning.
The fire has burned down the mountain, moving towards civilization. This shot was taken around 12:15 today from Stevens Road, which is about 1/4 mile from my house. The fire has burned so low down the mountain I can no longer see the fire line from my house because of the trees.
The fire has burned unchecked since Wednesday. Reports are a hot shot crew is scheduled to begin work on it today.
Estimates have been 100 acres but I think that laughable. Several hundred acres would be more like it. It's burned most of the mountainside.
Above is where the fire was yesterday afternoon as seen from Blacksburg Road.
This is around 8 p.m. on Breckinridge Mill Road.
Yesterday evening, Breckinridge Mill Road (above).
The above is the view out my front door as of this morning.
The fire has burned down the mountain, moving towards civilization. This shot was taken around 12:15 today from Stevens Road, which is about 1/4 mile from my house. The fire has burned so low down the mountain I can no longer see the fire line from my house because of the trees.
The fire has burned unchecked since Wednesday. Reports are a hot shot crew is scheduled to begin work on it today.
NC Arboretum
Saturday morning it was off to the North Carolina Arboretum, located just off the Blue Ridge Parkway and not far from our hotel.
Inside there was an art show of NC farms.
This is James enjoying the art. On the wall, it says, that the number of WNC farms in 1970 was 76,065. By 2002, that number was 12,212.
Outside, we found all kinds of flowers. This is quilt garden. Isn't it lovely?
This is not a moonshine still! This is a raincatcher on the side of the gazebo/entrance structure. The water comes from the guttering and is used on the flowers.
My favorite was the Bonsai garden.
I thought this was a lovely piece of artwork:
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Mountain Fire
I had planned to give a daily travelogue of last week's trip to Asheville with no interruptions, but I hadn't planned on the mountain in front of my house catching fire.
The above is what I saw around 2 p.m. yesterday when I went after the mail. Alarmed, I called the sheriff's office and was informed that they were aware there was a small fire on the mountain.
By 6:30 p.m., the fire was no longer small. It had grown quite a bit.
This is what it looked like an hour or so ago. I daresay I will be watching this fire burn for some time.
The mountain is Caldwell Mountain. I have not yet received a report on the acreage burned.
The above is what I saw around 2 p.m. yesterday when I went after the mail. Alarmed, I called the sheriff's office and was informed that they were aware there was a small fire on the mountain.
By 6:30 p.m., the fire was no longer small. It had grown quite a bit.
This is what it looked like an hour or so ago. I daresay I will be watching this fire burn for some time.
The mountain is Caldwell Mountain. I have not yet received a report on the acreage burned.
Biltmore Estate
The point of our recent trip was to see the Biltmore Estate.
Neither of us had ever been there.
The Biltmore is said to be America's largest house and I daresay it is. I suppose it is our only palace.
We ventured forth on Friday morning, after having breakfast at Shoney's.
This is a view of Biltmore house from the side:
Biltmore was opened in 1895 after six years of construction. It was built by George Vanderbilt, who died in 1914. He was the grandson of Cornelius Vanderbilt, who made his fortune in shipping and railroads.
We were told the grandfather had $100 million when he died, and George's father doubled that in 10 years. That is something like $46 billion in today's dollars.
The Biltmore has acres of gardens:
By the time we spent two-plus hours in the house, which has no air conditioning and thousands of people walking through it, we were too hot to really take in the gardens well.
This is the front door to the estate:
I could not take pictures inside, but the exterior was fair game. I was completely entranced by some of the stone work. Take a look at the detail on this carving:
Inside we saw a couple of Renoir paintings, 400-year-old tapestries, oodles of antique furnishings, and lots of extravagances. In the basement, there is a bowling alley - the servants set the pins up back then - an indoor swimming pool and a gym room. The other half of the basement housed the kitchen, pantry, related rooms and small bedrooms for the help.
The library was several stories and packed full of books. The guide said George Vanderbilt read 3,013 books in his lifetime. He kept a list.
The Vanderbilts had separate his and her bedrooms. In all there are 65 bedrooms and 43 bathrooms.
It took about 35 servants to keep the place up.
The house is about 395 feet by 195 feet, I think we were told. You could put our house in one of the sitting rooms.
The house sits on 8,000 acres, which is what remains of the original 125,000 acres. Mrs. Vanderbilt sold the property to the federal government for $5 an acre and it is now the Pisagh National Forest.
The tour involved a lot of steps (five flights) and I did not see elevators, so I am not at all convinced it is handicapped accessible.
The estate is still in the Vanderbilt family. It has been open to the public since 1930.
After we left the house, we drove to the winery on the property. After a tour there, we ended our day.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Asheville, NC
Last Thursday, June 12, my husband and I headed out for four days in Asheville, NC.
This was our birthday present, a short trip to see something we had never seen.
Thanks to Blogger's new "scheduling" feature, you never missed me, did you? I wrote those book reviews weeks ago!
Anyway, we left around 10 a.m., since hubby had worked the previous day at the fire station. We zipped down Interstate 81 and when the time came to exit to Interstate 77, hubby decided to take I-81 to I-26 in Johnson, TN, instead.
We climbed up, up into the mountains.
I worried mostly about my ear, which regular readers will recall troubles me on occasion. This was the first time I'd been on a mountain elevation in nearly two years because in the past it has caused pain and nausea.
Thankfully, aside from feeling very full for a few hours, my ear passed this test. Whew.
We stopped at this rest center in North Carolina. It was on a very high mountain on I-26:
The rest areas and Welcome Centers in adjoining states make Virginia's efforts at the same look terrible. Probably because they are.
Finally we ventured down into Asheville.
This city is ringed by interstates and bypasses. I suppose you would never have to go into the city proper if you didn't want to.
We stayed at a Fairfield Inn off Exit 33, wherever that is.
This is the room:
We arrived around 3 p.m. Then, despite having been in the car for hours, we drove around to orient ourselves to the area.
We ate at Harbor Inn. There is a similiar restuarant in Roanoke and it has much better food. My whiting was so dry I had to send it back as it was inedible. They made it good with shrimp, so that was okay.
We had an early night.
Next up: Biltmore Estate
This was our birthday present, a short trip to see something we had never seen.
Thanks to Blogger's new "scheduling" feature, you never missed me, did you? I wrote those book reviews weeks ago!
Anyway, we left around 10 a.m., since hubby had worked the previous day at the fire station. We zipped down Interstate 81 and when the time came to exit to Interstate 77, hubby decided to take I-81 to I-26 in Johnson, TN, instead.
We climbed up, up into the mountains.
I worried mostly about my ear, which regular readers will recall troubles me on occasion. This was the first time I'd been on a mountain elevation in nearly two years because in the past it has caused pain and nausea.
Thankfully, aside from feeling very full for a few hours, my ear passed this test. Whew.
We stopped at this rest center in North Carolina. It was on a very high mountain on I-26:
The rest areas and Welcome Centers in adjoining states make Virginia's efforts at the same look terrible. Probably because they are.
Finally we ventured down into Asheville.
This city is ringed by interstates and bypasses. I suppose you would never have to go into the city proper if you didn't want to.
We stayed at a Fairfield Inn off Exit 33, wherever that is.
This is the room:
We arrived around 3 p.m. Then, despite having been in the car for hours, we drove around to orient ourselves to the area.
We ate at Harbor Inn. There is a similiar restuarant in Roanoke and it has much better food. My whiting was so dry I had to send it back as it was inedible. They made it good with shrimp, so that was okay.
We had an early night.
Next up: Biltmore Estate
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Gestapo Land
I feel like I have fallen into Gestapo Land.
Just a few more hours and you'll have to salute simply to cross various borders.
Papers please.
Just a few more hours and you'll have to salute simply to cross various borders.
Papers please.
Wasteland of the Free
Donna at Just Me has posted the words to a song that I found very powerful (the words, not necessary the singing of it).
It's called Wasteland of the Free by Iris Dement and it is a good reflection of how I feel about things in the U.S. much of the time.
Take a look.
It's called Wasteland of the Free by Iris Dement and it is a good reflection of how I feel about things in the U.S. much of the time.
Take a look.
Winkin' Update
Yesterday as I headed out in the afternoon for a meeting at the courthouse, a deer bounded from behind the pine tree and through the field next door.
Little Winkin' raced along behind her mother, tearing up the ground at an amazing pace. She looked like a little racing dog zipping up the the track.
She made me laugh. I had my camera but I could not get it out fast enough for a picture.
Little Winkin' raced along behind her mother, tearing up the ground at an amazing pace. She looked like a little racing dog zipping up the the track.
She made me laugh. I had my camera but I could not get it out fast enough for a picture.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Books of Fiction
Playing with the Grown Ups
By Sophie Dahl
270 pages
Copyright 2007
3.5 stars
Souvenir,
By Theresa Fowler
363 pages
Copyright 2008
4.5 stars
The House on Fortune Street
By Margaret Fowler
315 pages
Copyright 2008
3 stars
By Sophie Dahl
270 pages
Copyright 2007
3.5 stars
Souvenir,
By Theresa Fowler
363 pages
Copyright 2008
4.5 stars
The House on Fortune Street
By Margaret Fowler
315 pages
Copyright 2008
3 stars
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Books: Summer Island
Summer Island
By Kristin Hannah
Read by Joyce Bean
Audiobook: Abridged
Copyright 2001
Nora Bridge left her two daughters, Ruby and Caroline, ostensibly to seek her fortune. Caroline forgave her; Ruby did not.
Events bring the mother and hard-hearted daughter together for a week, where truths are revealed, lessons are learned, and love and family reach their epoch.
Nice story about forgiveness, which is surely something the world needs more of
3 stars
By Kristin Hannah
Read by Joyce Bean
Audiobook: Abridged
Copyright 2001
Nora Bridge left her two daughters, Ruby and Caroline, ostensibly to seek her fortune. Caroline forgave her; Ruby did not.
Events bring the mother and hard-hearted daughter together for a week, where truths are revealed, lessons are learned, and love and family reach their epoch.
Nice story about forgiveness, which is surely something the world needs more of
3 stars
Friday, June 13, 2008
Books: Flirting With Pete
Flirting With Pete
By Barbara Delinsky
Read by Linda Emond
Audiobook
Copyright 2003
Delinsky serves up a bit of a psychological thriller in this one. Jenny is a lonely girl with a very evil father; Casey is a therapist who doesn't know her own father at all. As the story progresses, their paths cross in interesting ways.
The reader did a nice job, too.
3 stars
By Barbara Delinsky
Read by Linda Emond
Audiobook
Copyright 2003
Delinsky serves up a bit of a psychological thriller in this one. Jenny is a lonely girl with a very evil father; Casey is a therapist who doesn't know her own father at all. As the story progresses, their paths cross in interesting ways.
The reader did a nice job, too.
3 stars
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Books: On Agate Hill
On Agate Hill
By Lee Smith
384 pages
Copyright 2006
An interesting look at life after the Civil War in the southern state. Smith begins with the premise that a graduate student has come across an old journal and other historic papers relating to Molly Petree. Then the reader sees the journal.
Molly, a young orphan, is being cared for at her uncle's plantation. She keeps a journal, and this is what we read. His fortunes change with the war, and then his health fails. Molly has a benefactor, an old flame of her mother's, who sends her off to a girl's school in Virginia.
The story picks up with letters from one of her teachers, and then ends with Molly's journal.
Interesting reading, particularly if you like historical fiction.
4 stars
By Lee Smith
384 pages
Copyright 2006
An interesting look at life after the Civil War in the southern state. Smith begins with the premise that a graduate student has come across an old journal and other historic papers relating to Molly Petree. Then the reader sees the journal.
Molly, a young orphan, is being cared for at her uncle's plantation. She keeps a journal, and this is what we read. His fortunes change with the war, and then his health fails. Molly has a benefactor, an old flame of her mother's, who sends her off to a girl's school in Virginia.
The story picks up with letters from one of her teachers, and then ends with Molly's journal.
Interesting reading, particularly if you like historical fiction.
4 stars
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Happy Birthday Grandma and Grandpa
Today is my maternal grandmother's birthday. She would have been 85. She died last June 28.
My last visit with my grandmother while she had consciousness was on this day last year. My aunt, my cousin and his wife, and I went to celebrate her 84th birthday.
In the waning days of her life, Grandma's mind wandered. When we walked in she greeted us but in the latter days of her life she stopped using names. For the last six months of her life I wasn't sure she knew who I was.
On this day she knew me because she told me my mother had been in earlier to see her.
My mother passed away in 2000.
Mom had fluffed her pillows and checked her pulse and then left. But she said she would be back, Grandma said.
A little later, Grandma asked, "What happened to your father?" She looked at my aunt, who said, "He isn't here."
Grandma looked very indignant. "He was here a while ago. He came in with you. That's just like him to leave before the party starts."
My grandfather died in 1976.
Shortly thereafter, perhaps the very next day, my grandmother lapsed into what I called a coma although I don't know if that is the proper word for it. I never saw her conscious again though I visited every few days. She had always been a little fey and I think she was seeing ghosts of people she loved as she prepared for her final journey on her last birthday.
Yesterday, June 10, would have been my Grandpa Joe's birthday, my father's father. Joe would have been close to 90 had he lived. He died in 1989 from lung problems caused by smoking and working in the West Virginia coal mines when he was young.
Grandpa Joe and Grandma Toots moved to California when I was a few months old. I seldom saw them; the first time I met them in person was in 1972, I think, when I was nine.
My grandfather and I hit it off immediately, apparently fashioned from the same cloth. Over the years we developed a letter correspondence and I learned more about him. He would have loved email had it been available to the public then.
He always teased me and said I was two days older than he was. Same joke every year. I never tired of it.
I knew the moment my grandfather died that October; I felt him pass even though he left us from the other side of the nation.
Grandpa left me a legacy of love of history, writing and music. Grandma left me a legacy of love of family. Between them I think I did alright.
My last visit with my grandmother while she had consciousness was on this day last year. My aunt, my cousin and his wife, and I went to celebrate her 84th birthday.
In the waning days of her life, Grandma's mind wandered. When we walked in she greeted us but in the latter days of her life she stopped using names. For the last six months of her life I wasn't sure she knew who I was.
On this day she knew me because she told me my mother had been in earlier to see her.
My mother passed away in 2000.
Mom had fluffed her pillows and checked her pulse and then left. But she said she would be back, Grandma said.
A little later, Grandma asked, "What happened to your father?" She looked at my aunt, who said, "He isn't here."
Grandma looked very indignant. "He was here a while ago. He came in with you. That's just like him to leave before the party starts."
My grandfather died in 1976.
Shortly thereafter, perhaps the very next day, my grandmother lapsed into what I called a coma although I don't know if that is the proper word for it. I never saw her conscious again though I visited every few days. She had always been a little fey and I think she was seeing ghosts of people she loved as she prepared for her final journey on her last birthday.
Yesterday, June 10, would have been my Grandpa Joe's birthday, my father's father. Joe would have been close to 90 had he lived. He died in 1989 from lung problems caused by smoking and working in the West Virginia coal mines when he was young.
Grandpa Joe and Grandma Toots moved to California when I was a few months old. I seldom saw them; the first time I met them in person was in 1972, I think, when I was nine.
My grandfather and I hit it off immediately, apparently fashioned from the same cloth. Over the years we developed a letter correspondence and I learned more about him. He would have loved email had it been available to the public then.
He always teased me and said I was two days older than he was. Same joke every year. I never tired of it.
I knew the moment my grandfather died that October; I felt him pass even though he left us from the other side of the nation.
Grandpa left me a legacy of love of history, writing and music. Grandma left me a legacy of love of family. Between them I think I did alright.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Yum
My husband was cutting hay last week and drove past the cherry tree planted by his aunt and uncle.
Every time he made a circle, he swiped cherries as he passed by.
A day later we asked if we could pluck a few of the berries and since the aunt and uncle are elderly and weren't going to pick them anyway, they didn't mind.
We picked five gallons. We gave the aunt and uncle a gallon, the in-laws a gallon, the neighbors a gallon.
Cherries are very good for you. They cure gout. Not that I have gout but my husband on occasion has had it. Cherry juice clears it up. Eating cherries is a good way to keep it away.
According to this website, cherries also help with arthritis, heart disease and inflammation. This website says they can help with weight loss.
Eat more cherries. You'll be glad you did.
Monday, June 09, 2008
A Wild Night
Yesterday to celebrate my birthday, we went to the Big City.
James needed chewing tobacco and we had to return the shirts he bought me as a present to exchange them for the right size. Then he took me to dinner at O'Charlie's.
I normally eat only a salad, but James insisted on an onion ring appetizer and a meal. I ordered the Caribbean shrimp, which came with a salad and a side order of veggies.
By the time I had eaten a few of the onion rings and the salad, I was about done. The main meal hadn't even arrived yet.
During a lull the waiter came over and was very chatty. I told him we were there to celebrate my husband's birthday, which was last Monday.
James told him no, we were celebrating my birthday. When we finished our meal, the waiter brought us each enormous slices of some kind of caramel pie, on the house.
I could not eat all of mine.
We went to bed at our usual 10 p.m. Not long after, I woke with my ear bothering me. My ear is weird in that it is super-sensitive to low frequencies, like when a truck growls. It vibrates deep in my ear and makes it itch and hurt. It was something like this. I finally decided it was a helicopter flying over.
I guess I went back to sleep. Suddenly I sat up and called out James' name. He woke immediately. He usually does not wake up if I'm just asking him to roll over to stop his snoring. I must have startled him with the urgency in my voice.
I was half asleep myself, but I told him to go get a Benedryl because my tongue was swelling. I felt like I was choking on something.
He looked at my tongue. "It isn't swelling," he said. "It looks normal to me." But he gave me a Benedryl anyway. He probably figured it would put me to sleep, which it did. They make me drowsy.
This has never happened before, by the way. I don't make a habit of waking him in the night asking for Benedryl.
The Dream
Then I dreamed my mother and I were on some kind of holiday at the beach. It was flooding and we couldn't find a hotel. Finally we wound up at this dumpy place and we settled into a room. My mother was on the phone with ... somebody, not sure who, and I realized I hadn't brought any clothes with me. My mother said she did not have her clothes, either.
I wanted to go to Walmart to buy clothes, but I ended up wandering around the streets. I saw that just down the road there was a motel called the Priscilla Grande and it looked a lot nicer than were we were staying. I went back to the room to find that my mother had had her clothes shipped to her overnight; there was about 100 bags.
I told her we should check out of the dumpy hotel and go to the really nice one. So we did, but when we got to the Priscilla Grande, we discovered it cost $46,000 a night for a room!
I think I must've had too much caramel pie even though I didn't eat but half of it.
James needed chewing tobacco and we had to return the shirts he bought me as a present to exchange them for the right size. Then he took me to dinner at O'Charlie's.
I normally eat only a salad, but James insisted on an onion ring appetizer and a meal. I ordered the Caribbean shrimp, which came with a salad and a side order of veggies.
By the time I had eaten a few of the onion rings and the salad, I was about done. The main meal hadn't even arrived yet.
During a lull the waiter came over and was very chatty. I told him we were there to celebrate my husband's birthday, which was last Monday.
James told him no, we were celebrating my birthday. When we finished our meal, the waiter brought us each enormous slices of some kind of caramel pie, on the house.
I could not eat all of mine.
We went to bed at our usual 10 p.m. Not long after, I woke with my ear bothering me. My ear is weird in that it is super-sensitive to low frequencies, like when a truck growls. It vibrates deep in my ear and makes it itch and hurt. It was something like this. I finally decided it was a helicopter flying over.
I guess I went back to sleep. Suddenly I sat up and called out James' name. He woke immediately. He usually does not wake up if I'm just asking him to roll over to stop his snoring. I must have startled him with the urgency in my voice.
I was half asleep myself, but I told him to go get a Benedryl because my tongue was swelling. I felt like I was choking on something.
He looked at my tongue. "It isn't swelling," he said. "It looks normal to me." But he gave me a Benedryl anyway. He probably figured it would put me to sleep, which it did. They make me drowsy.
This has never happened before, by the way. I don't make a habit of waking him in the night asking for Benedryl.
The Dream
Then I dreamed my mother and I were on some kind of holiday at the beach. It was flooding and we couldn't find a hotel. Finally we wound up at this dumpy place and we settled into a room. My mother was on the phone with ... somebody, not sure who, and I realized I hadn't brought any clothes with me. My mother said she did not have her clothes, either.
I wanted to go to Walmart to buy clothes, but I ended up wandering around the streets. I saw that just down the road there was a motel called the Priscilla Grande and it looked a lot nicer than were we were staying. I went back to the room to find that my mother had had her clothes shipped to her overnight; there was about 100 bags.
I told her we should check out of the dumpy hotel and go to the really nice one. So we did, but when we got to the Priscilla Grande, we discovered it cost $46,000 a night for a room!
I think I must've had too much caramel pie even though I didn't eat but half of it.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Gemini, Gemini
I started blogging about five years ago, although this incarnation goes back only to 2006.
Few people knew about the first blog and I abandoned it after a year. I switched to AOL Journals but dumped that after two years.
Anonymity has always been a preference, and when I switched to Blue Country Magic I thought I would remain anonymous and no one would be the wiser.
However, I am too honest a person to maintain any semblance of self-secrecy for long. Once I linked to a couple of my articles the secret was out. And while you can't easily find this blog as being mine, once you've found the blog you can easily find out it belongs to me, if you can follow that.
I like to read local blogs, which were few in 2003 but are now prolific. And often when I comment it is obvious I am local because I know the local things. (Of course I read non-local blogs, too.)
Today is my birthday. Monday, June 2, was my husband's birthday.
We are both Gemini. He is the steady side of this astrological sign. His is a firefighter, a farmer, and a septic tank installer. He believes in hard work. At this very moment is he mowing the yard.
He likes NASCAR racing, getting dirty, tractors, cows and other manly things.
I'm the, um, not so steady one. I am a writer, a thinker, a reader and a creator (photographer). At various times I have also been a legal secretary, a paralegal, and a machine parts salesperson. I like poetry, good books, mild weather, learning about almost anything and watching people and animals.
I try not to use names on this blog, not my own or my friends. I still value anonymity and privacy and all of that. Today, though I will make an exception.
This is James. Happy 49th Birthday, my love.
This is Anita. Happy 45th Birthday to me.
Few people knew about the first blog and I abandoned it after a year. I switched to AOL Journals but dumped that after two years.
Anonymity has always been a preference, and when I switched to Blue Country Magic I thought I would remain anonymous and no one would be the wiser.
However, I am too honest a person to maintain any semblance of self-secrecy for long. Once I linked to a couple of my articles the secret was out. And while you can't easily find this blog as being mine, once you've found the blog you can easily find out it belongs to me, if you can follow that.
I like to read local blogs, which were few in 2003 but are now prolific. And often when I comment it is obvious I am local because I know the local things. (Of course I read non-local blogs, too.)
Today is my birthday. Monday, June 2, was my husband's birthday.
We are both Gemini. He is the steady side of this astrological sign. His is a firefighter, a farmer, and a septic tank installer. He believes in hard work. At this very moment is he mowing the yard.
He likes NASCAR racing, getting dirty, tractors, cows and other manly things.
I'm the, um, not so steady one. I am a writer, a thinker, a reader and a creator (photographer). At various times I have also been a legal secretary, a paralegal, and a machine parts salesperson. I like poetry, good books, mild weather, learning about almost anything and watching people and animals.
I try not to use names on this blog, not my own or my friends. I still value anonymity and privacy and all of that. Today, though I will make an exception.
This is James. Happy 49th Birthday, my love.
This is Anita. Happy 45th Birthday to me.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
I Supported Hillary
Stay with me, dear readers, especially those of you who I know supported Obama. I read your missives; surely you can deal with this singular post of mine.
Don't worry; I'm still on the moderate-to-left side of the political spectrum. My vote will reflect that, regardless of candidate.
However, if your must comment and it as hate-filled as your own posts about your distaste of the female population have often been, don't waste your time here. A few of you, whom I used to read regularly but don't visit so often now because of your obvious distaste for your mothers, wives, sisters and daughters as portrayed in your venomous diatribes against the woman who would be president, can just go on about your day elsewhere. Come back tomorrow for the un-political me.
First, I will say why I supported Hillary. She had substance. Here are the points she made that I appreciated:
She noticed that there is a class war going on and that the middle class is under siege.
I liked her health care plan better than anyone else's, although I don't think it goes far enough. Our health care, to put it simply, is terrible. It needs a complete overhaul. We'd be better off bartering for chickens.
I appreciated her willingness to confront the Iraq issue. Yes, I know she voted for the war. I also think that she and the majority of Congress were spoon fed the BS that the Bush Administration put forth to get this war started so the good ol' boys at Halliburton could have their fun. I give her the benefit of the doubt on this issue because I think she voted based on the misinformation that was available at that time. And as for Obama, well, he wasn't in the senate when the vote took place, so you can pretty much say whatever you want after the fact when you're not there in the hot seat.
I felt like Hillary Clinton would take a lead on women's issues, which have been seriously neglected and indeed stomped on and shoved beneath the table by the Bush Administration.
Which brings me to the main reason for this post. I have been utterly appalled at the media sexism in this primary season. The lack of respect for Hillary portrayed by the media, and by various bloggers, has shown me that many men out there still believe they should be king of the castle, without a queen, and are badly in want of only a scullery maid to wash their clothes and soothe their poor little minnow-sized manhood.
I am not sure what to think about the women who bashed the first potential female candidate for president. I think perhaps they feared the loss of their position as scullery maid because they weren't ready for the promotion to queen. Maybe they like it down on their knees.
Please note that I am referring only to Hillary-bashers of both sexes. If you didn't support her because you disagreed with her issues or whatever, but still managed to respect her run for office, that's something else again. I have no quarrel with you; that is your right.
But the bashing was intense. Many men in particular and this mostly-male driven media, should be ashamed of themselves. I daresay they hold their chin up and go on about their day because they think they have won. Well, they may have gotten their candidate but they have certainly lost a great deal of respect not only from me but from a good portion of the population - the female side, that is.
I know we don't count, of course. We are, after all, the inferior sex in your mind.
If this primary has shown anything, it is that the women of my generation failed miserably by not picking up the reigns on the issues of women's equality. Obviously lip service only has been paid to this idea for the last 30 years.
True equality among the sexes in this country has been shown for what it is - a farce. The glass ceiling is as solid as it was in 1950. For every instance you can give me of a woman at the top, I can give you 1,000 of a place where she is not.
Sexual discrimination is a very real issue. White males in particular have never experienced this and so are clueless as to the very real pain this can cause.
I have experienced it and continue to experience it nearly every day of my life, and let me tell you, it is incredibly frustrating and demoralizing to be held back simply because you're female.
And it is humiliating to be grabbed up and fondled by the computer repairman just because he thinks he has that right. (Yes, that happened, and yes, I attempted to prosecute; he fled the state.)
To be dismissed simply because you can have a baby is extremely discouraging. It does nothing for your self esteem, let me tell you. It's not like we can change it.
The treatment men have given Hillary - calling her names, telling her to go home and iron their shirts - has only brought all of this sexual discrimination home. I see it everywhere, from the way I am treated by my physician to the way I am dismissed when I have a complaint at the supermarket.
It has not been pleasant to be reminded so constantly and consistently by the media that all I apparently am good for is doing the laundry.
It is not okay for the media to be so sexist. It's not okay to joke about pantsuits or how a woman laughs or to make fun of the women who so passionately supported Hillary Clinton for president.
I don't need a daddy to take care of me. I need a strong and powerful leader who would champion the people, not just their rich and powerful friends.
For me, that was Hillary Clinton.
As far as I'm concerned, the Democratic party has been completely disrespectful to women, and frankly, it owes us all, everyone of us, and in particular Hillary Clinton, a very big and heartfelt apology.
Don't worry; I'm still on the moderate-to-left side of the political spectrum. My vote will reflect that, regardless of candidate.
However, if your must comment and it as hate-filled as your own posts about your distaste of the female population have often been, don't waste your time here. A few of you, whom I used to read regularly but don't visit so often now because of your obvious distaste for your mothers, wives, sisters and daughters as portrayed in your venomous diatribes against the woman who would be president, can just go on about your day elsewhere. Come back tomorrow for the un-political me.
First, I will say why I supported Hillary. She had substance. Here are the points she made that I appreciated:
She noticed that there is a class war going on and that the middle class is under siege.
I liked her health care plan better than anyone else's, although I don't think it goes far enough. Our health care, to put it simply, is terrible. It needs a complete overhaul. We'd be better off bartering for chickens.
I appreciated her willingness to confront the Iraq issue. Yes, I know she voted for the war. I also think that she and the majority of Congress were spoon fed the BS that the Bush Administration put forth to get this war started so the good ol' boys at Halliburton could have their fun. I give her the benefit of the doubt on this issue because I think she voted based on the misinformation that was available at that time. And as for Obama, well, he wasn't in the senate when the vote took place, so you can pretty much say whatever you want after the fact when you're not there in the hot seat.
I felt like Hillary Clinton would take a lead on women's issues, which have been seriously neglected and indeed stomped on and shoved beneath the table by the Bush Administration.
Which brings me to the main reason for this post. I have been utterly appalled at the media sexism in this primary season. The lack of respect for Hillary portrayed by the media, and by various bloggers, has shown me that many men out there still believe they should be king of the castle, without a queen, and are badly in want of only a scullery maid to wash their clothes and soothe their poor little minnow-sized manhood.
I am not sure what to think about the women who bashed the first potential female candidate for president. I think perhaps they feared the loss of their position as scullery maid because they weren't ready for the promotion to queen. Maybe they like it down on their knees.
Please note that I am referring only to Hillary-bashers of both sexes. If you didn't support her because you disagreed with her issues or whatever, but still managed to respect her run for office, that's something else again. I have no quarrel with you; that is your right.
But the bashing was intense. Many men in particular and this mostly-male driven media, should be ashamed of themselves. I daresay they hold their chin up and go on about their day because they think they have won. Well, they may have gotten their candidate but they have certainly lost a great deal of respect not only from me but from a good portion of the population - the female side, that is.
I know we don't count, of course. We are, after all, the inferior sex in your mind.
If this primary has shown anything, it is that the women of my generation failed miserably by not picking up the reigns on the issues of women's equality. Obviously lip service only has been paid to this idea for the last 30 years.
True equality among the sexes in this country has been shown for what it is - a farce. The glass ceiling is as solid as it was in 1950. For every instance you can give me of a woman at the top, I can give you 1,000 of a place where she is not.
Sexual discrimination is a very real issue. White males in particular have never experienced this and so are clueless as to the very real pain this can cause.
I have experienced it and continue to experience it nearly every day of my life, and let me tell you, it is incredibly frustrating and demoralizing to be held back simply because you're female.
And it is humiliating to be grabbed up and fondled by the computer repairman just because he thinks he has that right. (Yes, that happened, and yes, I attempted to prosecute; he fled the state.)
To be dismissed simply because you can have a baby is extremely discouraging. It does nothing for your self esteem, let me tell you. It's not like we can change it.
The treatment men have given Hillary - calling her names, telling her to go home and iron their shirts - has only brought all of this sexual discrimination home. I see it everywhere, from the way I am treated by my physician to the way I am dismissed when I have a complaint at the supermarket.
It has not been pleasant to be reminded so constantly and consistently by the media that all I apparently am good for is doing the laundry.
It is not okay for the media to be so sexist. It's not okay to joke about pantsuits or how a woman laughs or to make fun of the women who so passionately supported Hillary Clinton for president.
I don't need a daddy to take care of me. I need a strong and powerful leader who would champion the people, not just their rich and powerful friends.
For me, that was Hillary Clinton.
As far as I'm concerned, the Democratic party has been completely disrespectful to women, and frankly, it owes us all, everyone of us, and in particular Hillary Clinton, a very big and heartfelt apology.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Seeing Spots
Wednesday late as we returned home from a visit with the in-laws, we saw a little fawn.
From my position in the driver's seat, I watched the little one creep under the fence. Her mother was quite a distance aways (or so it seemed to me) but she was watching.
The baby crept along on the opposite side of Mama, and then attempted to worm through the wire. The first legs went over the bottom strand okay, but her last two legs didn't want to follow.
She stopped to rest, half on one side, half on the other.
For a moment I thought my husband would have to help the little thing over the fence. By this time I had stopped the car and we were watching. I was trying not to wreck havoc by driving the car by the baby.
I was also really fretting because I did not have my camera.
Finally the little one slipped through the fence and into the weeds. I drove home and grabbed the camera and hoofed it down the hill a ways to where the baby last was.
These are the best shots I could get in the dying light.
I have named her Winkin' (as in Winkin', Blinkin' and Nod) and I hope to see her again soon.
From my position in the driver's seat, I watched the little one creep under the fence. Her mother was quite a distance aways (or so it seemed to me) but she was watching.
The baby crept along on the opposite side of Mama, and then attempted to worm through the wire. The first legs went over the bottom strand okay, but her last two legs didn't want to follow.
She stopped to rest, half on one side, half on the other.
For a moment I thought my husband would have to help the little thing over the fence. By this time I had stopped the car and we were watching. I was trying not to wreck havoc by driving the car by the baby.
I was also really fretting because I did not have my camera.
Finally the little one slipped through the fence and into the weeds. I drove home and grabbed the camera and hoofed it down the hill a ways to where the baby last was.
These are the best shots I could get in the dying light.
I have named her Winkin' (as in Winkin', Blinkin' and Nod) and I hope to see her again soon.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Thursday Thirteen: Happy Things
I am looking for happy-making things today:
1. A little fawn in the meadow
2. Rain on the garden
3. A bluebird on the fence outside the window
4. A phone call from a friend
5. A hug from the husband
6. The roses in full bloom
7. A good cup of tea
8. A chocolate bar
9. A clean house
10. A good story to work on
11. A good book to read
12. Air conditioning on a 90 degree day
13. A good night's sleep
**Happy Birthday to my brother, who as far as I know doesn't read blogs, and certainly not this one. He will be 42.**
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
1. A little fawn in the meadow
2. Rain on the garden
The garden has grown since this photo was taken.
3. A bluebird on the fence outside the window
This is not a bluebird.
4. A phone call from a friend
5. A hug from the husband
6. The roses in full bloom
This was in the back yard in May. There are more blooming right now.
7. A good cup of tea
8. A chocolate bar
9. A clean house
10. A good story to work on
11. A good book to read
12. Air conditioning on a 90 degree day
13. A good night's sleep
**Happy Birthday to my brother, who as far as I know doesn't read blogs, and certainly not this one. He will be 42.**
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Monday, June 02, 2008
Books: Home to Big Stone Gap
Home to Big Stone Gap
By Adriana Trigiani
Copyright 2007
Audiobook
Read by ???
This fourth book in the Big Stone Gap series does not disappoint.
Ava Maria must resign herself now to empty nest syndrome, since Etta is married and living in Italy. She turns her attention to her husband Jack, only to find that things aren't so well with him. He is getting older.
She also learns her best friend has kept an important secret from her. Ava Maria continues to grow as a person and as a character, and the book will make you smile and shed a tear, maybe at the same time.
I greatly recommend this entire to southwestern Virginia readers. You'll feel right at home.
I am not sure who read the library version of this audiobook, and I turned it in without writing down the name. However, unlike the first three I listened to, this narrator was not Trigiani herself. This was disappointing because the author has a familiar southwestern Virginia drawl that I enjoy listening to. However, whoever read what I listened to did not do a bad job. She just didn't have the accent.
4 stars
By Adriana Trigiani
Copyright 2007
Audiobook
Read by ???
This fourth book in the Big Stone Gap series does not disappoint.
Ava Maria must resign herself now to empty nest syndrome, since Etta is married and living in Italy. She turns her attention to her husband Jack, only to find that things aren't so well with him. He is getting older.
She also learns her best friend has kept an important secret from her. Ava Maria continues to grow as a person and as a character, and the book will make you smile and shed a tear, maybe at the same time.
I greatly recommend this entire to southwestern Virginia readers. You'll feel right at home.
I am not sure who read the library version of this audiobook, and I turned it in without writing down the name. However, unlike the first three I listened to, this narrator was not Trigiani herself. This was disappointing because the author has a familiar southwestern Virginia drawl that I enjoy listening to. However, whoever read what I listened to did not do a bad job. She just didn't have the accent.
4 stars
Sunday, June 01, 2008
The Love Tap
Yesterday I headed to the far side of the city to shop in a few stores I seldom visit. I also was scheduled to meet my aunt, Carolyn, so we could go to the funeral home, as one my great-aunts passed away. Now there is only one great-aunt left.
It was busy day for my aunt. She moved Friday from Georgia back to her hometown, which is to say, here. She's been away for eight years. And she returned only to have to go to the funeral home. Yikes.
Anyway, I spent the afternoon tooling around town purchasing birthday presents for my husband, who has his big day tomorrow. Then I stopped at Nature's Outlet for aloe juice and a Vitamin E stick.
I caught a light at the intersection of 419 and Colonial as I left the health food store. As I idled at the light, the car jumped.
I'd been tapped in the rear. A little love bump from the vehicle behind. I opened my door and got out of the car just as the light turned green.
The car that bumped me back up and sped around me. "Sorry!" someone shouted as they drove past.
Of course that happened so quickly I couldn't even tell what kind of car it was, let alone the plate number or anything else (except I think it was a man driving, but I am not even sure of that). I glanced at my bumper, which looked fine, then pulled into a parking lot to better check.
Even though everything seemed okay, I was a bit unnerved. And even though the little jolt was minimal, I was concerned about my neck, because I had many problems with it last fall and continue to have some soreness and stiffness.
After looking over the car and calling my husband to let him know to check the vehicle over later (boy, was he angry), I went to meet my aunt and to visit with family at the funeral home. When I returned to my house, I immediately applied liniment I have from my acupuncturist. I also took an anti-inflammatory.
This morning, knock wood, things seem no worse for the love tap. But I am still surprised the other person didn't stop to see what kind of damage was done to his car.
It was busy day for my aunt. She moved Friday from Georgia back to her hometown, which is to say, here. She's been away for eight years. And she returned only to have to go to the funeral home. Yikes.
Anyway, I spent the afternoon tooling around town purchasing birthday presents for my husband, who has his big day tomorrow. Then I stopped at Nature's Outlet for aloe juice and a Vitamin E stick.
I caught a light at the intersection of 419 and Colonial as I left the health food store. As I idled at the light, the car jumped.
I'd been tapped in the rear. A little love bump from the vehicle behind. I opened my door and got out of the car just as the light turned green.
The car that bumped me back up and sped around me. "Sorry!" someone shouted as they drove past.
Of course that happened so quickly I couldn't even tell what kind of car it was, let alone the plate number or anything else (except I think it was a man driving, but I am not even sure of that). I glanced at my bumper, which looked fine, then pulled into a parking lot to better check.
Even though everything seemed okay, I was a bit unnerved. And even though the little jolt was minimal, I was concerned about my neck, because I had many problems with it last fall and continue to have some soreness and stiffness.
After looking over the car and calling my husband to let him know to check the vehicle over later (boy, was he angry), I went to meet my aunt and to visit with family at the funeral home. When I returned to my house, I immediately applied liniment I have from my acupuncturist. I also took an anti-inflammatory.
This morning, knock wood, things seem no worse for the love tap. But I am still surprised the other person didn't stop to see what kind of damage was done to his car.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
The Word is "Joint"
Last night while watching a Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers concert on TV, I noticed the interesting censorship that is going on this silly country.
In the song You Don't Know How It Feels, they messed with this line:
Let's get to the point. Let's roll another ????
WTF? (They do it on the video I linked to above, also.
Here's an uncensored version of the song.)
The censured word is joint. As in a marijuana cigarette. I am about 1000 percent sure that when this song was released in 1994 that the word joint was NOT censured. I wonder if it's censured these days on the radio, too. Maybe they just don't play it anymore.
Let's get to the point. Let's roll another joint.
And what doesn't get censured? What objectionable things did I hear Tom Petty sing about last night that wasn't bleeped out?
How about ... drinking booze and getting into a woman's jeans? It's not okay to roll a joint ... but it's okay to mess around and possibly impregnate a woman. And it's okay to get drunk.
I am so glad we have our priorities straight in this country. (That was sarcasm in case you missed it.)
I suppose this is part of the war on drugs. Another government initiative that has never made sense to me.
No, I don't use drugs but I think the policy of locking up someone for smoking MJ is ridiculous. Europe treats drugs as a health issue, not a criminal one, and I think that is the better way to go about this.
Obviously our way isn't working, so it's time to look to something that seems to be modestly successful.
In the meantime, government and TV and everyone else who thinks they know what is good for me, stop censuring my art. And everything else. What are we, a bunch of wilted flowers?
I hate censorship.
In the song You Don't Know How It Feels, they messed with this line:
Let's get to the point. Let's roll another ????
WTF? (They do it on the video I linked to above, also.
Here's an uncensored version of the song.)
The censured word is joint. As in a marijuana cigarette. I am about 1000 percent sure that when this song was released in 1994 that the word joint was NOT censured. I wonder if it's censured these days on the radio, too. Maybe they just don't play it anymore.
Let's get to the point. Let's roll another joint.
And what doesn't get censured? What objectionable things did I hear Tom Petty sing about last night that wasn't bleeped out?
How about ... drinking booze and getting into a woman's jeans? It's not okay to roll a joint ... but it's okay to mess around and possibly impregnate a woman. And it's okay to get drunk.
I am so glad we have our priorities straight in this country. (That was sarcasm in case you missed it.)
I suppose this is part of the war on drugs. Another government initiative that has never made sense to me.
No, I don't use drugs but I think the policy of locking up someone for smoking MJ is ridiculous. Europe treats drugs as a health issue, not a criminal one, and I think that is the better way to go about this.
Obviously our way isn't working, so it's time to look to something that seems to be modestly successful.
In the meantime, government and TV and everyone else who thinks they know what is good for me, stop censuring my art. And everything else. What are we, a bunch of wilted flowers?
I hate censorship.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
1. The fourth Tuesday of every month is usually spent in an all-day meeting.
2. This most recent Tuesday, the meeting only lasted 45 minutes!
3. I had a free day!
4. I spent it cleaning up the storage room, where I have files, suitcases, Christmas tree decorations and other items that I don't want to stick in the attic.
5. It's a catch-all room that sometimes overflows with items we no longer use that we want to take to Goodwill.
6. So that same day I made a trip to Goodwill to hand off items I hoped might be useful to someone else.
7. Wednesday I had a session with my acupuncturist.
8. She stuck needles EVERYWHERE. Or so it seemed. In my head, in my neck, in my stomach, in my knees, in my ankles and feet and in my hands and elbows.
9. After a while, she set the needles on fire by holding a moxibustion stick to them. The one in the top of my head was particularly hot!
10. She also placed heat directly on the bottom of my foot for my plantar fasciitis. When she does that it feels like my toes are curling all the way down to my heel even though in reality they aren't moving at all.
11. Acupuncture makes me feel much better all over. I highly recommend it.
12. This is a weird Thursday Thirteen, even for me.
13. Go see Colleen; she probably has something great up for Thursday Thirteen even though I haven't yet looked!
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Memorial Day 2008
This is a day to honor the war dead in the United States.
My paternal grandfather, who died in 1989, served in World War II. In November I shared a war story he wrote.
Today, in his memory and to honor the members of the Armed Forces, I will share a poem penned by my grandfather:
My paternal grandfather, who died in 1989, served in World War II. In November I shared a war story he wrote.
Today, in his memory and to honor the members of the Armed Forces, I will share a poem penned by my grandfather:
Take Me Back to Shenandoah
By Joe B.
Take me back to Shenandoah
where the wild red roses grow.
To my Blue Ridge Mountain home
To my Blue Ridge Mountain home
and old friends I used to know.
When the shades of night roll back
When the shades of night roll back
or the sun sinks in the west
I feel the touch of the Master's hand
I feel the touch of the Master's hand
and Love burns in my breast.
I've heard the children laughing.
I've heard the children laughing.
They sound so bright and gay.
Like the tinkle of the banjo
Like the tinkle of the banjo
in the valley, far away.
I've heard the cattle lowing
I've heard the cattle lowing
high up on a hill.
And in the valley far below
And in the valley far below
cried a whippoorwill.
Now I hear the bubbling brook
Now I hear the bubbling brook
as it makes its way to the sea.
I realize that it's part of God,
I realize that it's part of God,
and God's a part of me.
I have stood the test of life
I have stood the test of life
that God had made for me.
And I know with joyful heart
And I know with joyful heart
that God is a part of me.
Comes the rise of the evening star
Comes the rise of the evening star
as it climbs up over the hill.
I know that night is on its way
I know that night is on its way
for I hear the whippoorwill.
And as my path grows dark and long
And as my path grows dark and long
and I no longer see,
I remember I'm a part of God
I remember I'm a part of God
and He's a part of me.
And when at last He calls me home
And when at last He calls me home
to Heaven's golden shore
I'll see old friends I used to know,
I'll see old friends I used to know,
and visit Shenandoah.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Referrals
I was taking a look at referrals to my blog to see what brings people to these pages.
One of the most-looked at entries is this one written December 28, 2006 about my fingernails. It is the photo which comes up in people's searches. I have visions of images of my hands in the windows of nail salons the world over. "If your fingers look like this, come in, we can help!"
Just for the record, I have stopped biting my nails. However, they don't really look a lot better. It takes a long time for nails to grow out when you've been rough on them.
I also get hits on entries about the Kodak Z710 camera I once owned and then got rid of because I disliked it. I switched to a Canon and about six months later bought a Nikon. I use the Canon with my newspaper work a lot; the Nikon I tend to use around the farm. I think the Nikon has richer colors.
Other interesting searches include "kill chicken with a knife" and "problem finding Drixoral in stores." The chicken thing referred to an entry I made about how easy it is to buy a chicken in the store.
The Drixoral reference is to a recent post I made about my husband's inability to find this over-the-counter drug. Amy at Virginia Scribe writes that she went so far as to call the drug maker. She learned the drug will be off the market for a year.
My husband is now using a generic of Zyrtec D for his sinus issues. It's a more expensive drug but it seems to be working.
Other hits include "3 Little Pigs Restaurant Botetourt" which I mentioned in a post about non-smoking restaurants, floaters and flashers in your eyes, and cupping (a procedure performed by my acupuncturist).
And several come to me through links from other webpages; thanks to you have me bookmarked on your sites. I hope I have reciprocated; I try to.
Of my last 100 readers, most are from the United States, with an abundance along the eastern seaboard, and a few in California (none in the Midwest); a number are from the United Kingdom and Canada. There are also a few hits from Russia, India, Romania and Malaysia.
It's interesting to look at these stats. But unless I want to drive up traffic by writing with keywords, I guess my traffic will stay about where it is. That's good enough for me!
One of the most-looked at entries is this one written December 28, 2006 about my fingernails. It is the photo which comes up in people's searches. I have visions of images of my hands in the windows of nail salons the world over. "If your fingers look like this, come in, we can help!"
Just for the record, I have stopped biting my nails. However, they don't really look a lot better. It takes a long time for nails to grow out when you've been rough on them.
I also get hits on entries about the Kodak Z710 camera I once owned and then got rid of because I disliked it. I switched to a Canon and about six months later bought a Nikon. I use the Canon with my newspaper work a lot; the Nikon I tend to use around the farm. I think the Nikon has richer colors.
Other interesting searches include "kill chicken with a knife" and "problem finding Drixoral in stores." The chicken thing referred to an entry I made about how easy it is to buy a chicken in the store.
The Drixoral reference is to a recent post I made about my husband's inability to find this over-the-counter drug. Amy at Virginia Scribe writes that she went so far as to call the drug maker. She learned the drug will be off the market for a year.
My husband is now using a generic of Zyrtec D for his sinus issues. It's a more expensive drug but it seems to be working.
Other hits include "3 Little Pigs Restaurant Botetourt" which I mentioned in a post about non-smoking restaurants, floaters and flashers in your eyes, and cupping (a procedure performed by my acupuncturist).
And several come to me through links from other webpages; thanks to you have me bookmarked on your sites. I hope I have reciprocated; I try to.
Of my last 100 readers, most are from the United States, with an abundance along the eastern seaboard, and a few in California (none in the Midwest); a number are from the United Kingdom and Canada. There are also a few hits from Russia, India, Romania and Malaysia.
It's interesting to look at these stats. But unless I want to drive up traffic by writing with keywords, I guess my traffic will stay about where it is. That's good enough for me!
Saturday, May 24, 2008
The Morning
The day stretched before me like a long shadow when I stepped outside around 6:30 this morning.
My feet were shod in a pair of Crocs, while my robe kept the rest of me, except my shins, fairly warm in spite of the early time. My hair fairly stood on end, I'm sure.
A brief rain last night had washed the dust from the leaves and grass, leaving everything pristine. It was a rain like a heavy dew, enough to do a bit of good without damaging the hay which lay in the fields awaiting attention.
My roses were damp and water droplets caught the rising sun as rays slithered through the tree limbs. The dappled effect of light and shade upon the delicate red petals brought a smile to my sleepy eyes.
Off in the distance, that crusty old tom turkey let out an echoing gobble. I craned my neck but could not see him; he must have been strutting his stuff on the over side of the ridge.
The rata-tat of a woodpecker next perked up my ears. I could not spy him, either, but his reverberation of the woods certainly let me know he was there.
Listening, I heard the caw of a murder of crows, far away, and the blaring honk of a Canadian goose from the neighbor's pond caused me to tilt my head hoping to hear more.
As I watched, a titmouse raced from spruce to spruce, its tiny body apparently pouncing on a branch long enough to make it bounce before it took flight again.
By the fence a squirrel stopped and peered back at me with tiny black eyes as if to say, "What's she doing here?" before skittering up a tree.
In a few weeks, I will be 45 years old. When I was 14, I couldn't even imagine what 45 felt like. At 14, you are going to live forever.
At 45, I know my time is limited. I am only 11 years younger than my mother when she died. I wonder, what would she have done differently had she known at 45 that she would be gone at 56?
I thought about that while I stood listening to the world, being in the moment, taking in the clear, crisp air. The world will go on without me, I mused. It is I who will have stopped, whether that's today, 11 years from now, or in another 45 years.
There are millions of things left to do. Places to go - Egypt, for one, and Scotland, for another - and things to learn. I want to know everything about everything, for I am curious like those deer, the ones that peer in my windows sometimes. I want to understand astronomy and astrology, and go on an archaeological dig and discover something fantastic, like a clay pot made by some new civilization.
Philosophy should be my second nature, and I would like to be able to hold intelligent conversation with anyone in the world, and not look like an idiot while we speak.
I wish to read every book, and hear and laugh at every joke. I want to understand why some people are mean and others are so nice they make you cry just to look at them.
And I want to write books and stories and poems, to leave a mark on this world before I go. So that maybe one day I will be remembered as having lived.
There is not enough time in any lifetime, no matter how long, to do all that I would like to do, to know, to feel. Already I have missed out on the experience of giving birth, of holding my own child and feeling the curl of little fists around my finger as someone once inside me holds me tightly.
A million things to be doing, but not for a one would I have traded such a morning. For this morning, too, was an experience of a lifetime.
As the sun rose on this gorgeous day, I watched the progression of sunbeams as they went from low in the trees to the tree tops. In a few minutes, brilliant light broke the shadows cast by those trees and spread sunshine all around. The vivid blue sky looked like a caress, and I thought the birds were calling and singing especially for me.
It's a new day, they chirped. Go on now, go on and live. Go on, child, and just be.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Thursday Thirteen: The Sound of Music
1. This morning I have songs running through my head.
2. The first one was "I Guess He'd Rather Be in Colorado," as sung by John Denver. He passed away at a young age.
3. You can see him perform this song on youtube here. The lyrics are here. It is one of my favorite songs.
4. The next song to run through my head came from Dr. Seuss and How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It was the Whos down in Whoville singing the "Welcome Christmas" song. You can see that on youtube here.
5. I have no idea what those two songs have in common, but it probably is a good indicator of how my brain races from one thing to another. It's like a discordant orchestra in there sometimes.
6. Sometimes songs get stuck in my brain and simply refuse to go away.
7. Don't Forget the Lyrics is a show about remembering the words to songs.
8. A game is on the website. Can you put in the missing words?
9. I don't think this show is on this week, though.
10. I would be hard-pressed to name a favorite song.
11. I can say that I am not fond of some of the stuff the young(er) people listen to these days, although there are contemporary adult songs I enjoy, like that Bubbly song.
12. My husband and I had this song played at our wedding.
13. I think if you sing a song every day it makes you feel better. Maybe we could teach the world to sing...
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
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