Summer Reads Kitchen House and Burning Sea

I am remembering my summers of childhood and adolescence when I journeyed on foot up and down the hill to the town library for my week's stash of books  to read.  I would check out the limit and bring them home and start reading on the front porch.  I had extremely advanced reading skills and if left alone, not bothered for chores by Mom, I could  finish a book in a day or two.  We never bought books in my family, only the occasional comic book but the library was my resource and free.  Today I have a massive home library and  buy books here and there readily. One woman in my book club asked me what I did with all the books I buy and this does get to be a dilemma because I cannot keep them all; I donate to our local library book sales where we raise funds for the library, I pass along books to friends, and I donate to the library at the church where our book club meets. There is never a book sale to be passed by and there are many older books worth reading.  I still read rapidly but also can absorb the information rapidly and to scan over drivel. 

I am so into my summer reading swing once again and just finished two more books, both excellent stories, both novels.  While I prefer non fiction, I  do appreciate  a novel that teaches me something and both these books did; well if the research that goes into the book is good, there is often something to learn.  That is why James Michener is my all time favorite author.  It is unique today to find authors who research their subjects so thoroughly as both these authors did.

First "The Kitchen House" by Kathleen Grissom, published by Simon and Schuster in 2010, 377 pages, selected  by our book club, a story set in post colonial  (1790's) Virginia about Lavinia, an Irish orphan girl who becomes an indentured servant to the tobacco plantation owned by the captain of the ship on which she'd been migrating with her parents and brother.  When both parents die the children are separated and sold off.  A seven year old girl is alone, that is Lavinia who is sold to the captain.  Lavinia is raised with the black slaves particularly by Belle who runs the kitchen house where the meals are made for the family.  True to the history of the era, there was a separate house behind the plantation where meals were cooked.    The novel spans the life of the Captain, reaches back to the time of his parents and then forward to his son and is narrated alternately by Lavinia and Belle.  It is  a good tale with many intriguing characters, Mama Mae, Papa George, Uncle Jacob are all slaves to the household and compared to the field slaves, they are better off.  The captain's wife and mother of Marshall and Sally battles opium addiction and finally loses herself in it after Sally's tragic death.  The story calls attention to  some of our nation's history that I had forgotten, that of the indentured servants, mostly white Europeans, many Irish  who lived on the plantations and were part of the slave community despite their white skin.  This is not a pleasant story in many parts but it is well written and compelling reading.  The characters do not always do what the reader thinks they will and that draws us along.

Grissom is a new author to me, but I would read other of her books; she explains in her extensive Author's Notes and Conversation at the end of the book  that she felt guided by voices from the past to  develop this tale while she was researching the history of the area.  Pg. 368, " I tried on a number of occasions to change some of the events (those that I found profoundly disturbing) but the story would stop when I did that, so I forged ahead to write what was revealed.  I am forever grateful to the souls who gifted me with their sharing." She explains that she wrote the prologue in one sitting after being inspired by a map she found while renovating an old plantation tavern in Virginia.  When asked if she will write a sequel she says perhaps.  She took the names of the slaves found in her research for the numerous characters.  She offers advice to aspiring writers, first to read and to have an excellent foundation in reading and then to persist.  I am sorry that I will miss our book club  discussion about this  good read, but we will be gone.  I give this 4 ****

"Beside a Burning Sea" by John Shors, 429 pages, published in 2008 by the New American Library,  sat alongside my evening reading chair for a few months while I read other books; I'd start and then go onto another read for the book club or  another book I just had to read.  So I determined I would complete it soon and I am glad I did.  This is a World War II novel about the survivors of a hospital ship, Benevolence, that is torpedoed in the Pacific by the Japanese.  The survivors reach an island  and strive to stay alive.  Excellent characters are developed including the ship's Captain and  his nurse wife, Isabelle, her sister Annie another nurse, Jake, Ratu, a villain, the nefarious and traitorous Roger, and Akira,  a Japanese prisoner of war who bonds with his captors striving to survive on the island.  Akira is a poet who was conscripted for the Japanese army and the author weaves this theme through the tail by introducing each chapter with a haiku, such as this one for Day 11, The Island,                           "Man thinks himself strong,
                                             Until the sky reminds him.
                                              Ants explore green trees"
Annie is engaged to another back home but finds herself drawn to the quiet depth of Akira.  There is a reader's discussion guide at the end of this book making it useful for discussions.  Evidently Shors first wrote, "Beneath a Marble Sky" which I shall seek out at a sale and may have since released his third novel, "In the Footsteps of Dragons."

 He writes very descriptively,  pg. 237., " The rain came not long after dawn, dripping from a somber sky as if a trillion wet towels hung above.  A schizophrenic wind started and stopped and changed directions. The wind's uncertainty seemed to infect every creature on the island with a similar sense of bewilderment.  Birds flew toward distant horizons and then flew back. Frogs ceased to croak.  Insects were suddenly nowhere to be seen.  Even the fish that usually darted about the shallows sought deeper water."    On Friday evening we had tornado style winds at  60 mph, and then a power outage that lasted all  night  until Saturday at 8:30AM; it was a humdinger storm right about the time I was reading that paragraph.

Orange Blossom Special ??

We watched the Capitol 4th on PBS the night of July 4th; all the entertainment was top notch and this year seemed better than any we remembered with Josh Groban, Michael Morrison, Jordan Sparks, etc.  What was most surprising was Steve Martin playing a mean banjo  and his Blue Grass Band,  do they call themselves the Canyon Stampede?  Their fiddle player  did an excellent job with one of our all time favorites, Orange Blossom Special. 

And that reminded me of a photo taken by my Uncle Carl about 1989; I am guessing the date because while it was amongst others from 1989 he did not note it on the back where  he only wrote, "train up at the Marionville, Pa. Mts."  I think this photo is good enough to be a postcard or  enlarged and hung as artwork.   I don't know anything about Marionville, PA but will have to Google and check that out.  I wonder if it was a special steam train excursion such as we took a couple years ago  here in MN from Winona.  It does remind me of the old steam train that operated in the forests out of Ft. Bragg on the northern CA coast too.    

From the Folsom Prison song  by Johnny Cash "I hear the train a'comin, she's comin'round the bend....."

Uncle Carl's steam train

Well, this also gives me a break from indoor domestic chores which have taken my attention this afternoon, the downstairs study, TV room and all that floor is now vacuumed and dusted and  the ironing caught up.  We will head  out to PA on Sunday and the next couple days I will be busy getting my hair cut, lightened, pedicure and clothing out to the motor home for the trip.  But my grandma's spirit stays with me as I am compelled to have my house sparkling clean before we go.  We don't get that dirty here  but I do clean myself out the door much as she used to do on our way to church on Sunday mornings. 

Gulf Station Men Sepia Saturday week 81 (Click here to get to the Sepia Host site)

Not on theme and not on Independence Day either, instead sharing some  photos of unknown men, from Uncle Carl's collections of photos.  I can guess that  he had a new camera and was out  on the town taking photos.  These are all  tiny originals  two by  three inches.  All were taken in New Kensington, PA, our hometown, about 1939-1940 and apparently men Carl knew.  I have no idea where in the town this  was but back then there was the town itself  was concentrated along the river and the family lived on Second Avenue.  Wealthier folks, business owners and professional types  lived up above the railroad tracks on the hills.   At first glance, I thought these were local firemen colleagues and they may be but after scanning and enlarging I discovered they employees of  what was a Gulf Gasoline Station.  Here they hold cans of Gulf Pride!

Gulf Gas Station Men New Kensington, PA

Back then I understand it was common for people to buy one or two gallons of gasoline; these photos document its price range from 18 1/2 cents to 22 cents per gallon!  I wonder  what coin they used for the half cent?  Check out the thin man in the middle above with coin holder to make change. so    I don't know that I have ever seen one of those before. Comical and yet sad to consider that back then change was useful as items were so cheap and people treasured each coin.   This first photo has the gas at 18 1/2 cents,  but watch that sign....


Gulf Station men at play



Above the men are clowning around and enjoying themselves, but dressed warmer, longer sleeves and a sweater.  There is that coin changer again and the thin man smoking a cigarette.  Gas is  22 cents by the sign here.


In front of the old Coca Cola machine

I am amazed at the hats and full uniform worn by the men. This man may be the same one on the right in the first photo and is possibly a young Ed Saliba, SR. He was slightly younger than my Uncle Carl,  longtime fire chief and friend and still living in New Kensington.  He and the firemen came to Carl's funeral.  Gas above is 20 cents per gallon.

Gulf Station Gasoline 20cents per gallon

Above you can see the sign showing the breakdown on the price of gasoline, 15 cents for the  gas, 4 cents for Pennsylvania state tax and 1 penny for federal tax.  The taxes remain the same in all these photos.  It sure was a different world back then!     The sign above the window on the storefront, reads Association, but in none of the photos does it show Association of what....

Coca Cola machine for bottles
 Gulfpride  oil stand to the right

This photo is darker but the one where you can clearly read the sign, "That good gulf gas..."  The bell telephone sign to the far  left corner reminiscent of the time when folks went to the store to use the pay telephones. 

I will tie this post to my Facebook page and perhaps some from the home town can tell more about the men and the place.  And they will likely be interested in the photos.  As always, visit the Sepia Site where others share in our international community.  I am posting later today because we had one hellacious storm  with winds at  60 miles per hour and more, last night and power was off until an hour ago.  But all is well around our homesite and we hope around town. 

Aches, Medicare and 3 Books

Later today or this eve I will get to my Sepia Sat posts, but for now I need to cool off inside.  I am just in from my too late in the morning walk, because the morning  sun was hot and temperature was 83 at 8:00AM; nevertheless I sweated out my  nearly 45 minute  walk including uphills and came back beet red faced and sweaty.  So it is time to cool down inside before I clean up and attack the rest of the day. 

 

We have usually Chamber of Commerce summer weather here in  southeast MN,  80 degrees and clear blue skies (no smog or pollution) is just fine with me.  But today and tomorrow until a thunder storm approaches we face the 90's and that feels hot.  Jerry reminds me "no sun filter here."   I am not a fan of hot weather anyway which is one reason we left CA and the hot "but dry", they claim Sacramento area scorches of 100 degrees on up.  Don't kid me  dry or not, 100 is hot. 

 

I have been recovering from back strain or sprain  from excessive vigorous weeding and that  bothersome right Achilles tendon again, so  I have a couple ice bags to use across neck, shoulders, and down the back and then on the tendon.  Although this week's  annual  check up at the doctor finds me good to go, the aging parts act up and take their time to heal.  The Achilles tendon shall remain  one of those chronic troublesome aging things, treatment would be worse as it would involve wearing a destabilizing boot on that foot,  and as the song goes, "fuhgedaboutit!"  Spell check wants to correct that word to skateboard.:-)

 

This week I received a strange bill for $17 for the balance on  my mammogram  from the Mayo clinic where we get our health care.  That service has always been fully covered between Medicare and my  supplemental insurance so I thought this worth a phone call to the billing office.  I learned that  this was from 2010 which I had not noticed on the statement and that Medicare, despite all it does not do let alone efficiently, is going back and reprocessing claims from some time ago, making adjustments and causing general mayhem for doctor's billing offices and I suppose for the poor unaware folks  who are generally baffled by all medical paperwork.  The woman told me to disregard the bill that the computer sends these out and it needed to catch up to the prior payment by my  supplemental insurance.  She also warned me that I might receive other bills and to question or ignore them while Medicare churns the paper work.  What a waste of time, resources, and my taxpayer dollars yet still.  I recalled that a few weeks ago I had received a summary claim on Uncle Carl for services last November from the Home Health Agency after he'd been discharged back to the care facility from the hospital.  That one is stranger yet as Medicare had  previously paid the bill for $4200 and now was readjusting and paying $4600 to the provider!  I suspect that seldom happens and the provider is likely delighted.  But the question remains, "Why is Medicare mucking around like this?"  As if they do not have enough to do paying and processing current claims!  The woman I spoke to said they don't know how long this will go on or if Medicare is only doing this in certain regions or what to expect next.  Now isn't that just dandy, more government in action.  I do feel sorry for unsuspecting folks who will be stirred by this process and worry about paying some additional medical bill.  This is one benefit of my career in state government health care financing, I know what's weird when I see it and I am able to navigate billing systems, frustrating as it may be, such knowledge is power.

 

I finished reading a few more books to add to my side bar.  Just last night, I turned the last page 435 on one of my go to author's David Baldacci, an excellent story teller, "The Camel Club."  I have not ever had a disappointing read by him and in this book different yet again, I think he must be meeting with another of my favorite authors, Vince Flynn.  The Camel Club published in 2005 introduces Oliver Stone and his friends who exist on the fringes of Washington, DC to seek the truth about the country's business.  This is a mystery, thriller, terrorist, suspenseful novel at it's best.  Until I read this,  my  favorite Baldacci  read years ago was "Wish You Well."  Now it is a toss up.  Somehow I had jumped sequence because I first read the second in this venue,  which is not a series,  with the same four characters, charter members of the club, Oliver, Caleb Shaw, Reuben Rhodes, and Milton Farb but in this they join forces with Alex Ford, a secret service agent against a sinister plot of terrorists and ideologues that threaten the stability of the nation and the world.  I don't want to ruin the story for anyone, but this twister kept me glued to the pages and in today's topsy turvy  world with  repetitive crises in the Mid east, this work of fiction could be predictive.

 

Oliver, whose true identity is revealed in this book, claims they chose camel because camels have great stamina and never give up, but Reuben, reveals  page 432",, in the  1920's there was another Camel Club and at each meeting the members raised their glasses to oppose Prohibition to the last drop of whiskey."   As always Baldacci writes well and introduces spectacular characters. Besides the four, there are ever so many more characters such as Djamila,  a Muslim nanny, an Iranian posing as an Egyptian undercover of her peaceful job;  two sided  secret service agents who bring the country to the brink of the unthinkable; the ideologue Muslims who have infiltrated and settled into unsuspecting areas of employment waiting their moment; Brennan, the President of the United States, who is from a small town outside Pittsburgh, PA where terror manifest,  North Koreans, Carter Gray  the US Intelligence Czar appointed by the President  (this book was written before we had Czars...) and more officials and agents.  Camel Club is suspenseful and  kept me guessing to identify who are the villains and who are the champions and that suspense kept me reading.   Pg.154...."..he became Oliver Stone, a man of silent protest who watched and paid attention to important things...."  Pg. 40 describing the issues faced today, ..."not a war of professional armored battalions vs. turbanned rabble in the streets toting rifles and RPGs.  And it was not simply  a difference of religions.  It was a  battle against a mind-set of how people should conduct their lives, a battle that had political, social, and cultural facets melded together  into an exceedingly complex mosaic of humanity under enormous strain."    Pg. 69.."ignorance and intolerance, in pairs, never  one without its evil twin."  Pgs 100-101  well describe the history of the Muslim and  mideast turmoils  from the Syrians, Chechniyans, Mindanos, Kuwait, Lebanon,  Afghanistan, Morocco, Kurds, Iraquis, Baathists, Taliban, Mali and Senegal and more.   Baldacci has  summarized the escalation of problems the world faces today.   I fully recommend this thriller and as I said, I hope it is not predictive.    

Even though my book club  lately is choosing new best sellers, I  am plowing through my shelf of sale books picked up here and there proving that there are plenty of older books to read.  I read the 197pages of Mitch Albom's  "For One More Day"  from 2006  in an evening.  It is a decent read, nothing spectacular but Albom has established a niche for himself as a spiritual type writer, easy reading with fans who like this sort of book. I admit being intrigued by the story line of the relationship between a mother and son and "what would you do if you could spend one more day with a lost loved one?"  The story is told in  retrospect about Charles "Chick" Benetto  by his adult daughter who says, "because there was a ghost involved, you may call this a ghost story.  But what family isn't a ghost story?  Sharing tales of those we've lost is how we keep from really losing them. "    At one time I used to  save my first edition books, but this is one and not one I will keep.  I do think the old First editions have some value compared to these current quick prints.

And the last for this post, Helen Fielding's,   2003, "Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination" is a mystery with traces of comedy over 306 pages that I enjoyed .  I'd classify it as a chic read with Olivia's antics.  Olivia is a journalist with a reputation for excuses and  difficulties meeting deadlines who meets the handsome Pierre Ferramo, who may be an international playboy or a terrorist.  The cover describes this book  well, "stunning, sexy  and decidedly female a new player has entered the world of international espionage armed with her own pocket survival kit, her Rules for Living, her infamous overactive imagination and a very special underwire bra."     On page 30, we get a glimpse of how Olivia can crank it out when her deadlines loom, "In the capitol of England the worlds of fashion, music, TV, theater, movies, literature, newspapers and politics combine in one small city like a writhing knot of snakes.  In America these areas are separated out into capitals of their own..."  

Olivia's 16 rules for living offer  good advice to get all of them, read the book:

• #2 No one is thinking about you.  They're thinking about themselves, just like you. 
•  #10 Only buy clothes that make you feel like doing a small dance.
• #13 Don't expect the world to be safe or life to be fair. 
•  #15 Don't regret anything.  Remember there wasn't anything else that could have happened given who you were and the state of the world at that moment.  The only thing you can change is the present, so learn from the past.  

In Olivia the author may have a new sleuth to entertain women readers kind of a  comedic Nancy Drew for  grown ups.  I look forward to more antics and will pass this book along to a friend who will enjoy it. 

Firemen's Workshop Sepia Saturday Week 80 (Click here to go to Sepia Site)

Newspaper photo from May 6, 1940

I have been scanning  articles and photos from Uncle's collection so that I can send the originals to PA to the volunteer Fire Department to which he belonged for so many years.  They are hosting a statewide convention this August and will enjoy using  the materials for their exhibits.  As Uncle Carl had some interesting tidbits from their history over the years, I offer the above as my Sepia for the week.  The date of the newspaper is on the back side.  This must have been a nice workshop and quite the  place for it's time in that town.  Carl, 2nd from the left, who always was interested in tools and equipment looks very much up to whatever he was working on.  The other men look as though they might have been called in to pose for the photo as it appears to me they are not in work clothes.   All these men are gone. 

Many years later, after  he returned from the war and became established in the work world Carl would  amass his own work shop in his home, the entire basement level and would have at least three or five of most tools. He was a tool collector.   Everything would have a specific place and there it had to return. He had the original mancave where he enjoyed  spending time. 

Now that he is gone and we are left to dispose of the home it is a monumental task to clear it all out.  We will be returning to PA in July, hiring someone to  hold an estate sale and selling  off his lifetime accumulation of tools.  Jerry has  gleaned lots of treasures and  we have enticed another nephew to take some things, but there is too much left. At least he did not acquire massive equipment like this backhoe; he was always fond of those contraptions too.  This photo is from about 1970, at his work with the natural gas company.

About 1970  Carl and the backhoe

This last photo shows him in about 1989, we think when he was honored for 50 years with the Fire Department; he was president of the board for several terms and also very fond of that department.  Here he is, cleaned up and checking the guages on the truck, likely just stopped over the firehouse to see how the guys on duty were doing and to be sure all was as it should be.   

This has been my Sepia post for the week and as  always, click on the title to this post to go to the Sepia Host Site  to see what Alan posted this week and  to connect with other interesting  contributors.   We are on week 80, aging well, I think.

Moody, shoes and never say never

Dining room looking toward sun room

I have just finished dusting all the living and dining room furniture which took about an hour. I figured I'd best get a handle there as we prepare again to hit the road. Fortunately our home stays really clean, tightly and well built, little dust and no animals or smoke so this is not something I have to do weekly. Trouble is I hate domestic chores, and most of our furniture is antique and or antique like with curlicues, etc. Once in a great blue moon I don't mind, but generally I am not amused. It is then I consider hiring a house cleaner because there is so much else I would rather be doing...so I grumble along. Then I get back to my reality which is I would be very unhappy to have our treasures damaged, broken or nicked and I am fussy about having things done right...a genetic characteristic from my late aunt Jinx and late Uncle Carl. In CA when I worked, I always had house cleaners, some very good some not so and it did not matter if I used an agency or had a private individual everything was not always the way it  should have been in my eyes. When Jerry retired years before I could,  he volunteered to assume the dusting and vacuuming which is primarily what the paid help did and so he did. I ask him today what happened to that? He remarks that I am retired now too! This usually starts a conversation about how I did not retire to become a domestic goddess and we go on. He tells me to go ahead and hire someone and then I have to admit I can easily do this one room at a time when I choose, I just don't like to. Yesterday at my book club meeting one of the women said she and hubby were considering selling their home and moving into a condo because she was tired of house upkeep which led us into discussion about so many other things we prefer to do. At this point I shudder to even think of moving anywhere, just when we have the house the way we want it. Oh no, that is not in the imminent future, so I will likely continue to grumble. I  put on some Rod Stewar CD's on, turn up the surround sound, crank it up there and rock around with Rod.  

Florence, MIL in January at the SNF, her birthday celebration

Meantime thoughts about what I could be writing plague me. Lately I have been reminded yet again to not ever disdain anything I see in stores let alone saying, "well I'd never buy that or spend that much on that." I posted on Facebook these brief thoughts after taking 94 year old MIL shoe shopping Saturday, driving 30 some miles up the high way to Sparta, WI to Arenz shoe store where they specialize in the geriatric, hard to fit and all sorts of better shoes. I post one of her recent photos here as I  talk about her and so it may be of interest to see her.  Anyone who remarks that she appears to be a sweet old lady is reminded that appearances are deceiving  But I digress,  I have not been able to find shoes to fit this woman for the past several months because she has a small but very wide foot with bunions and arthritis; I have purchased and returned maybe 25 pairs of different shoes and nothing fits. I was dreading taking her as it is not a fun experience to spend time with her, but here I was driving up the highway with her, something I'd rather not do but no one else will and so here we go. No way could I persuade Jerry to go along and it is his mother, I remind him. Oh he had a handy excuse he had to haul two truckloads of cut down trees and shrubs to the dump which he can only do on Saturday afternoons. Fine.

Florence,MIL, among her other issues like dementia does not hear and so conversations are not possible. At least in the car I can turn on music which she can't hear whilst she continues to talk about whatever is going through her mind. Honestly I miss my relatives who though aged were pleasant company. Downtown Sparta is an interesting old dairy farmland town with several stores still operating.   I fantasized that after we bought shoes I could buzz by the Quilt Corner but that was not to be. Here is just one link to Sparta, WI if you are curious http://spartawisconsin.org/

Getting her fitted and convinced about the kind of shoe she needs took over two hours. We endured her ramblings about not being able to wear hose anymore, no kidding and now she doesn't go anywhere so she does not need to dress up and cannot wear dress shoes, etc..and of course she had to regale the sales lady with her  current bowel movements and lack there of.  Why does she  feel her bowels are of interest to everyone?  It has always puzzled me among other things why she would wear shoes that did not fit her feet, something I have never understood as foot pain is not tolerable to me. Once in CA during one of their frequent visits when FIL was alive, I had shoes  to donate to the thrift store because they hurt my feet , so they could not have a place in my closet. She was visiting at the time and took those shoes, despite that they did not fit her.  You get the idea I do not have fond memories of and with this woman and sympathize with all who endure MIL's.

The saleslady was very patient and assured me it was not a problem as she is used to this with the elderly, but even she was stretched to her limits. When we arrived I explained to the sales lady this would be difficult because MIL does not hear and so speak loudly and then her dementia is likely to result in any response.. related or not to the question.

Of course MIL, whose finances are managed by Jerry,  inquires as to the price of everything and her thrifty (aka cheap) side begins to surface. I personally do not care what the shoes cost so long as they fit and give her the support she needs; I am giving up my Saturday and we will get shoes for her else mayhem may emerge from me. I tell the saleslady to not divulge high prices because the old lady will balk like a mule and then I will have driven all this way for naught. I tell her to say everything cost $50 and even that is too high to MIL who still talks about and wears the one good pair of shoes she owns. That is a pair she bought with me five years ago and paid $100, she claims the only time in her life she spent so much on shoes, I have heard this story over and over and over. Besides I was there when we entered that last store in the mall that day after being in each store  that sold shoes and wasting three hours;the charming young man who waited on us convinced her to buy the shoes.  Hallelujah, I could have hugged him.  He flattered and appealed to her vanity somehow once again demonstrating that she is  susceptible to any man who talks a good line.  This is another strong  theme in her life story.

When Florence finally agreed to a decent shoe after trying on 18 different pairs (after which I  quit counting and sighing) and wandering around with her walker looking at every shoe including ones she never would have worn in the past let alone now I felt like celebrating! Not having a bottle of wine with me, I knew I'd have to wait till I returned home. Neither did I have a flask along to take a nip!

My new SAS golden sandals

But now I get to the never say never part of this post.  I admired the sandals the saleslady wore in black patent leather and asked what they were. Turned out they were SAS, a quality brand that used to be made in Maine but now are made in Texas. I see in the SAS display the sandals  in gold leather and know it is the shoe for me. If the shoe fits, go for it.   I have had a fascination with gold shoes all my life; recall my post about my first pair of "golden slippers" as a child, a present from Aunt Fran.  If you are curious, you can visit that post at    http://patonlinenewtime.blogspot.com/search/label/Fran%20Amerine

I ask for these sandals in my size and when I try them on I know this is heaven for my  feet and must have them.  The sole reminds me of the Birkenstocks I wore in CA as it molds to fit the foot.  There are two buckles, one adjusts the toe strap and one the side.  The sales lady and I have a good laugh reminiscing that these type of sandals were once known to us as thongs, but today we cannot say that in "polite company"  as thongs now are underwear. 

Well to wrap back to the title, just last week I was in a Herburger's department store and noticing that many  well known shoe brands including Clarks are offering flip flops,  rubber  like shoes that can be bought at WalMart for $15 tops but these major brands are priced at $40 on up.  I thought to myself, "who would pay that for rubber flip flops?"  I also felt smug that I would never do that.  But here I am on Saturday of the same week, forking over $139 for my new golden SAS.  Well at least my new shoes are not rubber and I am loving and living in them all summer.  After all, I deserve these and more for spending the day with MIL.  Back home, Jerry gasps at the price and shakes his head saying, "next time take along a flask and have a shot, it would be cheaper!"  He is amazed at so little leather for so much money and comments that his boots cost less and have easily  10 times more leather.  But I remind him, these were made in the USA, not China and  I deserve these and more!

Sepia Saturday Week 79 Water and Uncle Carl (Click here to the Sepia Site)

Ah it is this time of the week again and Alan afloat on the Atlantic suggests water....water water...I have been so busy this week on estate work  for Uncle Carl who if you know me and or follow my blog left us to go HOME in May at  93.  It has also been a hectic unpleasant week too in coping and dealing with things for  94 year old MIL here; Jerry says so often, "Wish that mother could be half as pleasant  or content or appreciative as Uncle Carl  was."  Carl and he became great friends often making us wonder how it could have been if we lived closer.  He loved Jerry and the feeling was so mutual.  Carl as you know had no children, but he was like a father to me much as my Mom allowed her brother to be and Jerry idolized him.  They could talk man things up till the end.  

One fun thing I am doing is scanning Uncle's photos on all things related to the fire department so that I can send originals on to his local Fire Department which is hosting a statewide annual convention in August.  The Firemen turned out in droves for his funeral. He loved the fire department and they loved him.

While scanning I found many other wonderful photos and I share a few of water poses from about 1940, showing Uncle Carl somewhere at a pool on the dive chair or the lifeguard seat....and one last one of a friend of his pondering.  I love these old photos, the reflections in the waters and my handsome  young uncle before I even made it to this planet.   Here we go



Appx 1940 Uncle Carl

 

1940 Uncle Carl....

 I have no idea where these were taken but it is at a swimming pool of some sort; perhaps he was working as a lifeguard.  I love these old photos which were  only about  2 by 3 inches....that they survived so clearly all these years endears them...and check out the reflections in the waters....check out the dive chair, what  is he doing, showing off??

Unknown relative or friend  1940

This last photo may be a cousin, a relative or a friend of Uncle Carl's....same time appx. 1940, same scene.  Thinking of what?

Were they two young guys out for fun or were they on the watch?  Who took the photos and why did Carl save them all these years with no information?  Actually I take that back, these photos were in an album my grandmother and aunt (Carl's mother and sister) had.  Unanswered questions.  But this is my contribution to this week's water on Sepia. 

Wonderful old black and whites, wonderful reflections in the waters, wonderfully handsome young men. 

As usual click on the title to this post to go to the Sepia International Site and see the marvelous offerings by so many others.

Another good read, Ann Best's "In the Mirror."

In only two nights I read blog friend, Ann Best's just published memoir,  "In the Mirror, A Memoir o Shattered Secrets."  I met Ann here in the blog world when she was nearly at the end of the journey and about to be published so as soon as  I could I linked  from her blog to her publisher and  purchased a copy  which I began reading the very night it arrived.  You can go to Ann's blog here http://annbest-jen.blogspot.com/ and perhaps you too will purchase her  memoir.  I like to support other writers and have an unquenchable curiosity of their journeys.  Because I so prefer reading non-fiction to fiction, I was curious about another comment that this memoir read like fiction,  but  it does.  It reads like a very good to the point story.  Ann writes clearly and directly about her marriage and it's strange and tragic withering, her struggles,  her journey cross country from Utah to Virginia to start a new life and to care for her children as a single mother, her  Mormon faith, her through the wringer experience when  both daughters are in a dreadful auto accident, her holding on and moving forward barely an inch at a time and her survival.  I was touched by the fast reading of such a shattering experience because Ann covers the lifetime so quickly.  I can see why she plans to write more memoirs because she has hit the high  points, to stretch the word high and there are so many things she could have covered in greater depth.

 I  knew several Mormons when we lived in CA but  I learned more about their faith in this memoir by observing Ann, and her  perseverance; Ann does not delve into how it upheld her, but I feel it did.  The title of the book comes from the mirrors at Mormon weddings where reflections of the happy couple are to represent eternity, a hereafter together.  But it would not be for Ann.

I don't know that I could have been as tolerant and downright gracious as Ann  was through the separation and divorce from Larry, after a 19 year marriage which had trials along the way. It was a heavy cross to bear amidst putting the best face on a family life.  Ann writes about Larry in a soft way, almost endearing him.  I do not believe I  could  have accepted his repetitive  homosexual preferences nor tried to recall  marriage vows when he could not refrain from being with the men. My first thought was Aids!  But back at that time Aids was not  familiar.   I seriously doubt I'd have had it in me to offer him comfort as she does on Page 134 when their daughter is in the intensive care unit in Virginia  after the accident, "But in the quiet hospital room, I looked at his pleading eyes....". Don't  get the wrong idea, Ann has her foibles too, but what woman would not.  As I read about the marriage and Larry's "issues" I felt deep empathy and yet affirmation of my career path resulting from  a vow I had made to myself at age 20 to never be in a position where I would not be able to support myself or my child; I learned  from observing the trials of women in midlife whose marriages failed, or the husband died or some tragedy resulted in their being catapulted into the workforce about which they knew nothing.  I heard their stories of what they endured because they had no means of support and so I never ever became the dependent wife.  I could not help but think Ann might have dealt with this  so differently had she been able to easily enter the workforce.  But I digress.....    

Ann  mentions  mixed blessings and priesthood blessings from the Mormon leaders who upheld her and  reinforced her along the way.  Pg. 142, one blessing "You will probably have some pain for the rest of your life, but you can learn how to  endure it.  Trials are given to perfect us.  In the Spirit World we didn't know what pain was.  We had to come to earth to experience it. "   That is quite a thought to consider for those of us with faith,  why ever do we have to experience pain?  How does that perfect us or enrich us? 

When divorced Ann meets Tom, a "recovering alcoholic" my antenna twitched and as I feared,  and against warnings of friends and others she does marry him.  This becomes a sad mistake but Ann again tries to honor the marriage despite his relapses and amidst her caring for her disabled daughter.  Perseverance and pulling through could be her theme.  None of this is written in a pity party manner, it is simply the life path she followed, portrayed to encourage anyone who is struggling.   I was so touched when Ann leaves Virginia to return to Nevada, leaving the  home she had come to love in an area she had chosen.  Pgs. 199-200 describe  leaving what became home for the old home.  For anyone who has moved and uprooted and then settled in and then uprooted again, this is inspirational.  But Ann does return to Virginia ultimately, proving that the home we create never really leaves us and indeed we can go home again.  Over only 215 pages, Ann has a compelling tale to share.  There is more in the memoir about other incidents but you have to buy it and read it. 

I believe it is the testament to a tale well told that Ann skimmed over her life when so much more could be written.  It leaves me wanting to know more and I will look forward to her next writings.  I will recommend this to my book club next week.   I recommend this book to non-fiction memoir readers and to fiction readers because I understand the comment now.  It reads like a good story or a good story about a bad time. 

Click on the title to this post to go to Ann's blog and read more.