Under a Buttermilk Sky

I was out in the pasture - on the tractor - early this morning to help Jerry with the routine manure-moving detail.  The temperature was bearable, and we worked under a perfect buttermilk sky.  I'm not sure what a buttermilk sky means weatherwise, but I like the atmosphere that it gives to all outdoors - and it reminds me of that old cowboy song called "Buttermilk Sky."

Bathing the horses was next on our agenda.  The fungal and/or bacterial skin infection that Tesoro developed a few weeks ago is cleared up now, but it took several baths in an iodine shampoo and regular treatment with an anti-fungal spray.  Summer is the worst season for the horses when it comes to skin problems.  They do a lot of sweating as they graze under the hot summer sun.  The salty sweat attracts all kinds of biting insects, and that makes existing skin problems worse.  The best prevention is frequent bathing and daily spraying with fly spray.

We've purchased a new washer and dryer - catapulting ourselves into the world of 21st century laundry.  These appliances are a far cry from the ones they replaced.  They're computerized and are, no doubt, smarter than I am.  I was most surprised by the washer's repertoire of sounds - falling water, pounding surf, airplane sounds (taking off and landing), and various groans and moans.  None of these sounds are loud.  In fact, these machines are remarkably quiet.  They are big - the size of small automobiles.  Ok, I'm exaggerating, but the dryer door definitely has the feel of a car door when it closes.  Will they clean the laundry better than the old appliances?  Maybe.  We'll see.  I can certainly wash and dry more clothes at a time in these big high-capacity machines.  That means I finish the laundry in about half the time - and that's a good thing!

Activity in my Addis post office box has increased lately. I've managed to find the time to send a few letters and do a little paper crafting.  I recently sent this summery watermelon card off to California.  In the last two weeks I've received letters from Texas, England, Australia, and India - and posts cards from Indiana, California, and New Mexico.  I like hearing about the daily lives of my pen pals.  No matter the geographical and cultural differences, we have a great deal in common - children and grandchildren, as well as homes, pets, and gardens to care for.

 

The twins are doing well, and their sister, Ellie, is adjusting to having them at her house.  I guess she's decided it's sort of like day-care at home.  Wallace and Arabella have started school up in north Louisiana.  Arabella texted me yesterday that she has ten teachers this year!  Was that a typo?  Can she possibly have ten teachers?  I'll have to text and ask for more information.  Texting with my grandchildren!  What would my mother and grandmother think of this new technology!

My current sewing projects are burp cloths for the new twins and crocheted doll clothes.  The tiny burp cloth on the top of the stack is for Ellie and her dolls.  My mornings and evenings are spent in the barn, but the blazing mid-day is a good time to be inside - sewing or reading or writing letters.

I've joined an online book discussion group, sponsored by the Trollope Society.  It's called "Take a Trollope on Holiday." Ha! The assignment is Anthony Trollope's Phineas Phinn - one of the Palliser novels.  Trollope is one of my favorite authors, and I read The Palliser series years ago.  But a good book is always worth re-reading.

 

It's true that August is the middle of high summer, but - along with the heat and humidity - it always brings hints of fall.  The angle of the sun is noticeably different.  The pecan tree in the pasture is shedding leaves.  It's always the last to put out new growth in the spring, but the first to send fall leaves raining down.  This morning as I walked to the back of the barn, I saw a large flock of birds along the bayou bank.  I startled them, and they all took flight at once.  I don't know what kind of birds they were, but their lift-off was a beautiful sight.  Migrating birds - another hint of fall.

Busy Summer Days

Our semi-tropical Louisiana summer arrived while it was still spring in northern regions.  As usual, I was sick of summer before its first official day arrived.  I'm already fantasizing about crisp, fall weather.  There's nothing like fall days in the barn.

But for now we're on our summer heat survival schedule - up by 6:00 a.m., in the barn from 7:00 until 10:00 a.m.  When my head is where it should be, I pray and read the lectionary after coming in from the barn.  Then lunch (our big meal of the day) and a siesta.  The afternoon is spent in air-conditioning - doing housework, laundry, desk work, etc.  Back to the barn from 6:00 to 7:00 p.m.  Then a light supper followed by a desperate search for something to watch on TV.  I've started crocheting while I watch TV so it won't feel like a total waste of time.  But it's not easy because I have to crochet with Teche, the resident house cat, on my lap.

Our youngest daughter kick-started the summer by delivering twin baby boys.  Of course, we all knew that twins were on the way, but they weren't supposed to arrive until mid-July.  Operating on their own time table, they made their debut on June 13.  They are still in the hospital although they are healthy little tykes.  They will come home as soon as the feeding tubes can be discontinued. 

Arabella

Wallace

Life will change for the babies' 16 month old sister, Ellie Kay, who is used to being the one and only kid in her household.  But she's a happy little girl with a sweet disposition, so I'm sure she will adjust.  Our grandkids, Ellie's cousins, from Bossier City - 15 year old Wallace and 10 year old Arabella - just happened to be visiting when the twins were born.  They're looking forward to coming back when the twins are home from the hospital.   Arabella is especially looking forward to coming back since she hasn't seen the babies at all.  She wasn't allowed in the hospital since she's under 12 - an unhappy circumstance.  After all, she's a very grown-up 10 year old!  It's incredible to think that, in less than two years, we've gone from two grandchildren to five! 

The horses and I have joined Pat Parelli's Savvy Club online.  We're progressing through the levels of ground work.  Each horse has an online page with goals to be mastered.  When tasks are done, they are checked off on the horses' respective pages.  I'm enjoying it and I think the horses are, too.  It's good for them - having something to do besides eat.

I miss getting personal mail.  But you can't expect to get mail when you owe everybody in your correspondence world a letter or post card.  The days have been so busy, and I'm woefully behind.  I'll have to forsake my fountain pens and resort to the computer to catch up. 

I've managed to get some reading sandwiched in between everything else.  I read The Shoemaker's Wife by Adriana Trigiani.  This was my first experience with Ms. Trigiani, and I've added her to my list of favorite authors.  Her descriptive passages are pure poetry.  The Shoemaker's Wife evokes both tears and laughter.  She breathes life into her characters, and I hated to part with them when I finished the book.

The Soul of a Horse by Joe Camp, creator and director of the Benji movies, is an exceptionally good read.  Joe is a dog lover who didn't get involved with horses until he was 66 years old.  The book describes the experiences he and his wife had as new horse owners.  Mr. Camp refers to Monty Roberts throughout his book, so now I'm immersed in Monty's book, The Man Who Listens to Horses.  I have trouble putting it down.

I'll stop my ramble here since it's time to be off to the hospital to take a gander at the newest members of the family.  I hope to have some good twin photos for the next blog post.

An Island Away - A Novel

I've just finished reading An Island Away, one of Daniel Putkowski's novels set in Aruba.   My nose is usually in a nineteenth century English novel.  I thrive on Jane Austen, Anthony Trollope, and Arnold Bennet; so An Island Away is a departure from my usual reading fare.  I must warn those of you who are usually immersed in the classics like I am - there's a fair amount of graphic description in An Island Away that you may or may not like.  It's not what I'm used to, but the moral and theological implications of the story make it worthwhile.

The novel's main character is a Columbian girl named Luz.  Youth, beauty, a devotion to family, and dire financial circumstances all combine to send Luz to Aruba to work as a prostitute in the Zone of Tolerance where prostitution is legal.  Luz's acquaintances include American business men, oil refinery workers, and native Arubans, all of whom appreciate and enjoy the carefree Aruban lifestyle.  The town where Luz lives and works is home to numerous bars and houses of prostitution. 

Luz is not without religious principles.  At one point she returns home to Columbia, gets a job at a grocery store, and attempts to live a more conventional life.  But, as a single mother, she is financially responsible for her young son.  Her mother and sister also depend on her, and before long she makes the decision to go back to Aruba where she can make more money in the Zone of Tolerance than she can make at a grocery store.  When she gets back to Aruba, she keeps enough of what she earns to pay her expenses and sends the rest back to Columbia to her mother and sister who are caring for her little son. 

Luz's mother and sister don't know that she's engaged in prostitution.  Even so, they don't approval of her.  They're ungrateful and critical.  They imagine that she is leading a charmed existence in an island paradise.  But Luz continues to sacrifice herself for them even after she brings her son to live with her in Aruba. 

The novel is populated by good timing, devil-may-care types.  But they are a likable bunch.  They care about each other and look out for each other.  Christians could learn a thing or two from them about "bearing one another's burdens."

I can't figure out why Luz didn’t leave the world of prostitution behind when she had an opportunity to make a life with one of the honorable men in her life.  Although she loves her little boy, she sacrifices a relationship with him when she passes up this opportunity.  Has she become so accustomed to a life of prostitution that it's no longer distasteful to her?  Does she doubt the ability of an honorable man to forgive her past?  Does she think she's beyond redemption?  Is she confused enough to think she's done the one thing that even a loving God can't forgive?  She does a pretty good job of rationalizing her decision, but I don't think she's at peace with it.  She loves her little boy too much to be at peace with a decision that excludes him from her life.

 

It always happens to me when I read a good novel - I get attached to the characters and wonder what happens to them after the novel ends, as if they are real flesh and blood people whose lives continue on.  I wish Luz well because there's a great deal that I like and admire about her - her willingness to sacrifice for those she loves, her sense of justice, her ability to maneuver diplomatically in a difficult world.                                   

 

Of course, I suppose I can find the answers to some of these questions about Luz's future by reading Putkowski's sequel, Under a Blue Flag.   I plan to read it eventually, but I think I need a break.  I'm off to read something lighter and less thought provoking.  P. G. Wodehouse maybe.

Time Traveling

Some people live where their ancestral roots are deep, where they know everybody, and everybody knows them.  Others come from nomadic families, destined to live where they have no roots - destined to be outlanders.  Webster defines outlander as "someone from a different region or culture."  I have always been an outlander.  When I was an infant, my parents left southern West Virginia - where they had ancestral roots - and moved to the Florida panhandle.

We made yearly trips to West Virginia to visit relatives.  We always got a warm welcome from our relatives and enjoyed visiting with them.  But even there, where my parents were natives, I was an outlander.  I shared blood with these relatives, but I lived too far away from them to share the experience of daily life.  I was growing up in another world - a world of beaches and palm trees that contrasted sharply to the mountains of West Virginia.  To add to my sense of isolation, I was an only child so there were no brothers or sisters to share my outlander status.

I was an outlander in the Florida fishing village where I spent my childhood.  Most people who lived there fell into one of two categories.  They were either descendants of the original settlers of the county or they were in the Air Force, stationed at the nearby base.  I enjoyed neither the comraderie of the Air Force kids or the full acceptance of the settlers' children. 

 
I am an outlander here in southeastern Louisiana where my husband's roots run deep.  Cajuns are friendly people, but they hold blood and roots in high regard.  When you meet a Cajun for the first time, he's likely to ask who your parents are.  Sometimes you get the feeling that you're set on the sidelines when you say your parents are from another state.  If nothing else betrays my outlander status, my speech will.  I've lived here for 45 years, but often - as soon as I open my mouth - someone will say, "You're not from here, are you?"

I suppose life is easier for an outlander if he lives in a big city.  After all, cities are where outlanders collect.  There are so many outlanders from so many different places that outlander status is the norm.  But in small towns, the natives congregate and talk about their roots and their blood connections, and it's easy for an outlander to feel like a fifth wheel.

After a lifetime of being an outlander, it's no wonder that I was drawn to Diana Gabaldon's book, Outlander.  It's a time-traveling adventure.  I can relate to it because being a lifetime outlander is a little like time-traveling.  Not quite - but almost. 

Reading Preferences

Works of non-fiction are important.  Who can deny it?   They supply us with practical knowledge.   From time to time we all need to know how to do something - like fix a leaky pipe or plant a garden or repair a toilet. 

Non-fiction satisfies our curiosity.  Some people enjoy reading the latest scoop about their favorite celebrities.  Non-fiction feeds our intellect which is why some like to read historical works or the latest scientific discoveries. 

I'm addicted to reading all the latest books about current politics.  Apparently I like to scare myself - you know, the way some people like to scare themselves by watching horror movies or riding roller coasters.  The fact that flawed, fallible politicians make ill advised decisions that eventually effect the everyday lives of everybody in the country is heady stuff.

As important as non-fiction is, it seems to me that a reading life confined to non-fiction alone is like a desert where facts rise up like buttes in a wasteland without warmth or humanness or domesticity.   My mind may require non-fiction, but my soul and my imagination demand fiction. 

But fiction is a broad classification, and I like a certain kind of fiction.  I don't want to read disturbing, unnerving fiction.  Reality is disturbing and unnerving enough.  My soul wants to be soothed and consoled. 

I like books about big families whose members are good enough to be endearing, but imperfect enough to be real.   I like books that supply a lot of domestic details.  I'm not a bit bored when I read about how the dishes are stored in the kitchen, how the sun strikes the diningroom table at an odd angle, or how the linens in the closet smell like lavender.

I get attached to characters - so much so that sometimes when I finish a book, I feel something akin to grief at having to leave the characters who have become real friends to me. 

Two or three years ago I chose a book from the fiction shelves at Barnes & Noble because I loved the cover - a watercolor picture of a quaint village.  Yes, I am prone to judging books by their covers - a bad habit that can lead to disappointment. 

But this book - An Irish Country Doctor by Patrick Taylor - did not disappoint.  It's set in Northern Ireland in the 1960s.  I immediately felt a kinship to the characters - the well established Dr. O'Reilly with a personality like Rooster Cogburn (as portrayed by John Wayne in the movie by that name); Barry Laverty, Dr. O'Reilly's optimistic young assistant; Mrs. Kincaid, the bustling housekeeper; and a train of interesting patients from the village who show up with various ailments.  Dr. O'Reilly and Dr. Laverty make regular house calls to patients who live in the rural areas outside the village.  These travels are always interesting and often humorous.  Needless to say, it was sad to finish this book and leave all my friends in the village of Ballybucklebo behind.

Fast forward to yesterday.  I was at Barnes & Noble - in the fiction department again.  After reading two political books, one after the other, I needed some soul nourishment.   I was about to give up and leave empty handed when I saw what turned out to be a sequel to An Irish Country Doctor.  It's called An Irish Country Village.  I bought it, and I'm immersed once more in the life of Dr. O'Reilly and associates.  The best news of all is that there is a third book, An Irish Country Christmas.  So it looks like I'll be able to finish out the year with my Ballybucklebo friends.

A Conservative Reads Obama

I'm a conservative - a traditionalist - and so my political philosophy does not coincide with President Obama's.  But it never hurts to know something about the background of the man in the White House no matter who he is.

Most presidents write about themselves after they've left office.  Obama wrote of himself before taking office, giving us an opportunity to learn about his background early on. 

I was surprised at the size of Dreams From My Father - 400+ pages - since Obama was only in his thirties when he wrote it.  But I like thick books so I ploughed in.  It's well written and interesting, reading like a novel.

Shortly after Obama was born, his black Kenyan father had to choose between two college scholarships.  One was to Harvard, and one to another prestigious university.  The non-Harvard scholarship not only paid tuition, but would have paid living expenses for the family of three.  The Harvard scholarship only paid tuition.  Obama's white American mother was in favor of the one that paid living expenses as well as tuition.  As I read this, I sympathized with her.  That would seem to be the sensible choice for a family man.  But Obama's father told her he couldn't pass up a Harvard education, and so he abandoned her and the infant Barack so he could pursue this education without being burdened with a family.

Obama's early childhood was spent in Indonesia with his mother and Indonesian stepfather - she had remarried by this time.  The stepfather's religion was a mixture of Islam and local religious superstitution.  Eventually the marriage failed, and Obama, his mother, and his baby half-sister returned to Hawaii where Obama's maternal grandparents lived.

By this time Obama was ten or twelve years old.  His white grandfather sometimes took him along on visits to his favorite barroom that had pornographic posters on the wall and was frequented by pimps and prostitutes.  According to Obama, his grandfather was usually the only white man in the bar.

Obama's mother was a hard worker and - to her credit - did everything in her power to see that he got a good education.  I don't think she ever stopped loving Obama's father in spite of the fact that he had abandoned her and their baby.  She built him up to be a hero to the young Barack.

Obama's college days were spent in the company of "politically active blacks, foreign students, Chicanos, Marxist professors, structural feminists, and punk rock performance poets."  Socialism and black liberation theology were significant influences.  Since my knowledge of black liberation theology was scanty, I decided to do some research.  According to James Cone, a prominent black liberation theologian, this belief system includes - among other things - the belief that white people owe black people a lot; and if they (white people) want redemption, they must make material restitution.  This is a far cry from traditional Christianity.

Although Obama's community organizing in Chicago produced some small victories for the black community, I got the impression that the black communities in Chicago weren't much different after Obama left than they were before he arrived.  The people he dealt with while he was there were interesting.  They ranged from hard-working blacks with moderate views to radical black nationalists.  They all spent a lot of time discussing "black self-hatred," the unjust past, and their inability to move beyond it.  The idea that the answers to their problems lie in black unity seemed to prevail.  One of Obama's associates - a black teacher who led a mentorship program in Chicago's public schools said, "I teach them that Africans are a communal people."

Obama tells about his close friendship with Rev. Jeremiah Wright, a black liberation theologian; and he (Obama) praises the Black Value System that Rev. Wright's church adopted.  This value system is described as "articles of faith no less than belief in the Resurrection."

Obama traveled to Kenya and spent time getting to know his father's family.  His father is dead by this time.  His older sister, Auma, fills him in on the family history.  I thought this was the most interesting part of the book, and I found myself really liking some of Obama's Kenyan relatives.

Dreams From My Father was well worth reading.  It explains the development of Obama's collectivist, socialist views.  In light of the information he gives in this book, it is understandable that he wants to fundamentally transform America into a country that differs substantially from its roots of individual and personal liberty. 

The Shroud Codex

I just finished Jerome Corsi's novel, The Shroud Codex, about the Shroud of Turin - that fascinating relic that has been the subject of controversy for years and will probably continue to be that for many years to come.  It's the author's first venture into the world of fiction after becoming a best selling author of non-fiction.  I'm half inclined to wish he had written a non-fiction book about the Shroud of Turin. As a novel, Corsi's book leaves something to be desired.  The dialogue seems contrived and unnatural.  But maybe that's just me. 

On the positive side - there's a wealth of scientific information in Corsi's novel about the Shroud of Turin. The characters in The Shroud Codex spend most of their time in meetings, discussing the Shroud.  If you join them, you'll learn a lot.  If you think the status of the Shroud was settled a decade or so ago when the carbon-14 tests indicated that it was from the medieval period and thus could not have been the burial shroud of Jesus Christ - think again.  It is now known that the carbon-14 tests were done on a portion of the Shroud that was repaired in the medieval period and not on a portion of the original Shroud.

No matter what your opinion of the Shroud is, you'll find a kindred spirit among the novel's characters. They include atheists who think the Shroud is a hoax, religious people who are convinced it's the burial cloth of Christ, and others who can't make up their minds.  The characters' quest to find the truth about the Shroud takes them from New York City, to Rome and Turin, Italy - and to CERN, the European laboratory of particle physics in Geneva, Switzerland.

My favorite character is Pope John-Paul Peter I - a ficticious pope who succeeds the present Pope Benedict XVI.   He maneuvers with finesse and good sense among characters of widely differing opinions.

If you have even a passing interest in the Shroud of Turin, you will enjoy The Shroud Codex.

Alice in Wonderland

I saw the movie, Alice in Wonderland, yesterday. I'm glad I read the book last week. The book is full of light, humor, and nonsense. Yes, it's true that the Queen of Hearts is often getting annoyed with people and shouting "Off with her head!" or "Off with his head!" But in the book, the Queen's executioners never get around to carrying out her orders. And the Queen is either forgetful or forgiving because - when she encounters someone whose head she recently threatened to lop off - she doesn't seem to remember her sentence or care that the person still has his or her head. At any rate, the book is full of funny silliness and defies being taken seriously.

In the book, Alice is an endearing child.  In the movie, she comes off as a teenager with an attitude.  I have to give the movie maker a thumbs up for the White Rabbit though.  He was very much the White Rabbit of the book.

Compared to the light wholesome airiness of the book, I thought the movie was dark, ominous, and too serious.  I must confess - I was glad when it was over.   Now maybe I'll read Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll's sequel to Alice in Wonderland. I understand that it is a darker tale than Alice in Wonderland. Maybe it was the real inspiration for the movie.

Contemporary Fiction

I often have dismal experiences with contemporary fiction. My weakness for always judging a book by its cover doesn't help.

The most notable dismal experience recently was a novel from a bargain table at Barnes & Noble. I have happily forgotten the title. Its cover was a work of art - a pastoral scene viewed through an open window with curtains fluttering in the breeze. I bought it and looked forward to a relaxing evening with a good book. By the third chapter the main character, an English single mother, was making love - on the kitchen table - to a Muslim fellow she had just met . I'll never know how that book ended.

The book I'm reading now is only semi-dismal - A Beautiful Blue Death by Charles Finch. It's a murder mystery with a gorgeous cover - old-fashioned bottles on a shelf. The setting is Victorian England. The victim is poisoned with an exotic poison called "bella indigo" - or "beautiful blue." It's not a bad story, but the writing is a little amateurish, I think. I wonder how some people get published?

Ever the optimist, I bought another contemporary novel yesterday at the new Borders book store in Baton Rouge. It's entitled The Tale of Hill Top Farm - the first in a series of books called "The Cottage Tales of Beatrix Potter" by Susan Wittig Albert. Here's the description on the back of the book:

In this first of the Cottage Tales, animal lover and all-around Good Samaritan Beatrix Potter, author of Peter Rabbit, is ready to help solve local mysteries. And with her entourage of animal friends, she sets out to win over the human hearts of Sawrey . . .
I do believe this is my kind of book. The English village is masterfully described. The characters are quirky and the animals talk to each other. I'll keep you posted . . .