Happy Labor Day

Willow and Auntie Dee, Labor Day Picnic 1958

Hmm, I'm starting to get these same

pudgy things above my knees!

Hope you and yours are enjoying the holiday weekend!

Relish the potato salad and ice cream!!

Greek Archaeological Find

Another cool archaeological find!

Did you see this in the news today?

ATHENS, Greece - A priceless gold wreath has been unearthed in
an ancient city in northern Greece, buried with human bones in a
large copper vase that workers initially took for a land mine. The
University of Thessaloniki said in a statement Friday that the
"astonishing" discovery was made during its excavations this week
in the ruins of ancient Aigai. The city was the first capital of ancient
Macedonia, where King Philip II, father of Alexander the Great, was
assassinated. Gold wreaths are rare and were buried with ancient
nobles or royalty. But the find is also highly unusual as the artifacts
appear to have been removed from a grave during ancient times and,
for reasons that are unclear, reburied in the city's marketplace near
the theater where Philip was stabbed to death.
By NICHOLAS PAPHITIS, Associated Press Writer Fri Aug 29
AP Photos

I can't wait to see what it looks like after it's cleaned!

History Detectives

Do any of you out there enjoy watching the History Detectives on PBS
as much as I do? Most Monday nights at 9:00 I am glued to this
program! It's a solid hour, with no commercial interruptions, of glorious
historical detective work! A talented team of researchers, Wes Cowan,
Elyse Luray, Gwen Wright and Tukufu Zuberi solve historical mysteries
usually centered around a family heirloom, old house or historical
structure by scouring historical archives, libraries and consulting other
professionals. Elvis Costello's "Watching the Detectives", from his
1977 album My Aim is True, is the show's catchy theme song. And
it's drum sequences serve as fun segues between each of the three
segments of an episode. I am totally in my element here; I absolutely
love history, research and antiques. I have thoroughly enjoyed the new
episodes, which are only aired in the summer months. I do hate to see
this part of summer coming to and end!

I Feel Fat

I would venture to say that most find it easier to eat sensibly and stay
active during the summer. Not me. Summer months are my fat
months. For one thing, I hate the heat and humidity of the midwest
and most times stay inside to escape. Then, the house must be
stocked with plenty of food for all the meat and potato eating guys
and their friends who are ravenous at all times of the day and night.
Picnics. Potato salad. I cook. I eat. I eat ice cream. I feel fat. I relish
the beginning of September with cool temps for walking, less cooking
and fewer people around to feed. I love fall.

Speaking of the end of the picnic season, I watched an interesting little
film directed by Peter Weir the other night, Picnic at Hanging Rock,
an adaptation of the novel by the Australian author, Joan Lindsay. It's
about an excursion by a party of girls from an exclusive private school,
who travel to Hanging Rock, in Victoria's Mount Macedon for a picnic
on St. Valentine's Day, 1900. The picnic ends in tragedy when three
girls and a teacher mysteriously vanish after climbing the rock.

Weir masterfully creates a beautiful film with a mystical dreamlike
aura and marvelous cinematography. It evokes a feel similar to
E.M. Forster's novel A Passage to India with strange cave echoes
and sexual hysteria. Compounding the film's dreamlike quality is the
intriguing dialogue peppered with quotes from Edgar Allan Poe,
among others. This film, made in 1975, is a tad dated by Zamfir
panpipe music and a few women's hairstyles, but all in all is well
worth watching!

artwork: Picnic in the Mountains, Fernando Botero, 1966

Willow's Weekly Word

Dandelions were a sweet part of my life when I was a girl. I loved
being close to the earth, the soft warm grass and gathering huge
bouquets of dandelions. Do you remember holding a fresh bright
bloom beneath a friend’s chin, to determine their fondness for butter?
We were princesses donned with crowns of woven dandelion chains,
the milky white sap dripping from the stems. But it was most thrilling
to lie in the grass, blow the fluffy seeds in just one breath, and watch
them float to the sky. I have fond memories of going out in the
country with my grandmother to pick dandelion greens for supper.
Did the leaves grow larger then, or was I was just smaller? The word
dandelion comes from the jagged edges of its green leaves, which
resemble a lion's teeth. The French form of the word is dent de lion,
which translates "tooth of the lion". So, there you have it!

The Kingfisher

I watched a jewel of a film last night, The Kingfisher, and it was

absolutely wonderful. It stars one of my very favorites, the brilliant

and beautiful Wendy Hiller, who plays the newly widowed Lady

Evelyn, wooed by the impetuous Sir Cecil, with whom she shared a

brief romantic moment some five decades earlier, played by the

charming Rex Harrison. This is a 1982 made for TV film, an

adaptation of the William Douglas Home play. It is short--only 77

minutes, quiet, elegant, literate and very funny. I must watch it

again to catch all the witty nuances. These two veteran actors go

head to head with their remarkable talents. Treat yourself with

this delicious little film!

The Kingfisher

IT was the Rainbow gave thee birth,
And left thee all her lovely hues;
And, as her mother's name was Tears,
So runs it in my blood to choose
For haunts the lonely pools, and keep
In company with trees that weep.
Go you and, with such glorious hues,
Live with proud peacocks in green parks;
On lawns as smooth as shining glass,
Let every feather show its marks;
Get thee on boughs and clap thy wings
Before the windows of proud kings.
Nay, lovely Bird, thou art not vain;
Thou hast no proud, ambitious mind;
I also love a quiet place
That's green, away from all mankind;
A lonely pool, and let a tree
Sigh with her bosom over me.

-----W. H. Davies

Haul your paper ships on the seared
shore, little captain,
and sleep, so you won't hear
the evil spirits setting sail in swarms.

In the kitchen garden the owl darts
and wet smoke hangs heavy on the roofs.
The moment that ruins the slow work of months
is here: now it cracks in secret, now shears with a gust.

The break is coming: maybe with no sound.
The builder knows his day of reckoning.
Only the grounded board is safe for now.
Tie up your flotilla in the canes.

Eugenio Montale
from Collected Poems 1920-1954
Bilingual Edition, translated by Jonathan Galassi


I have spent the weekend in the cool house, hiding from these last
few dog days of ninety degree temps, curled up in my recliner with
some of my brand new poetry books and a perfect tall glass of plain
iced tea with crushed ice. This Collected Poems, by Eugenio Montale
is especially nice and I have marked some of my favorites to share
with you in future posts. Like I mentioned the other day, I am
missing the brilliant beauty of the Italian lyrics, but his poetry is so
dense and deep it stands on it's own, even without the lovely rhythms.

~~photo by Benjamin Probanza, Flickr

Plum Crumble

This is one of my regular summer desserts and it is easy
and wonderful! Serve warm with a dip of vanilla ice cream
on top. This is not my picture, although it looks exactly like
this. We gobbled it up today before I could get a photo!

Plum Crumble

fruit filling:
2 pounds plums, halved, pitted, each cut into 6 wedges
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 tsp cinnamon

topping:
1 cup flour
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup old fashioned oats
1 stick unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1/4 cup sliced almonds, coarsely chopped (also good with walnuts)

Toss plums, sugar and cinnamon in baking dish.
Mix topping and sprinkle over top. Bake 30 minutes at
350 or until bubbly in center and lightly browned.

~photo borrowed from google images

Clue

I am going to miss stoic old Colonel Mustard and the mild mannered
Professor Plum. What's this world coming to? Did you hear that
Hasbro has recently updated the Clue game? What about those of
us who loved the classic charm of the colonels and professors
rambling around in grand old house like the one in Gosford Park in
the 1930's? The new version includes younger characters, more
weapons and a new modern mansion. Colonel Mustard is now Jack
Mustard, a former football player (Why does this bring to mind O.J.
Simpson? There's even a guest house--Kato Kaelin's place?) and
Professor Plum is a rich video game designer. Oy. I think I am going
to hang onto my vintage game. Call me old fashioned, but I'm not so
sure I like the idea of this newly made over "tabloid" Clue. I wasn't
too happy when they updated the lovely Morton Salt girl, Betty
Crocker and the Coumbia Pictures lady, either!

Willow's Weekly Word

Have you ever wondered why these hot summer days are called
the "dog days" of summer? I knew you were curious, so I'll tell you!
It's because the ancient Romans believed that the six or eight hottest
days of summer were caused by Sirius, the brightest visible star in the
earth's sky, called the Dog Star. They called these extra hot days
cuniculares dies, which translates "dog days". So, there you have it.

~~vintage French poster borrowed from google images~~

You elegant fowl, how charmingly sweet you sing! (Pussy-Cat to The Owl)

Marsillo and his Wife, Lorenzo Lotto, 1523

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat;
…They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the bong-tree grows;
…And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon.

from The Owl and The Pussy-Cat
by Edward Lear

Willow and WT, August 20, 1977

Passion has turned the lock, pride keeps the key.

from "The Anniversary", Sonnets from Captain Craig
Edwin Arlington Robinson

Just a quick note to tell you about a great blog that you might not
be familiar with. David, a very talented digital artist, creates some
wonderful pieces of art. Last week I sent him a Grace Kelly postage
stamp and he did a marvelous piece with it. Go take a peek at
David's Digital Art and be sure to say "hello"!

Lisbeth Zwerger

I first discovered the marvelous art of Lisbeth Zwerger in the 1980's, when I read to my young children. Her illustrations have a wonderfully soft, charming quality, like English illustrators of the 19th century. Zwerger, born and educated in Vienna, is the recipient of many awards, the most significant being the Hans Christian Anderson Medal for illustration, presented in 1990 to recognize her lifetime achievement and contribution to the field of children's literature.

The Joy of Seeing

Joy comes from seeing the beautiful.
A scarf, sweeping from the neck. A puffedout skirt with mysterious
draping. A wallpaper with an intricate pattern. Hats and furniture,
statues and inscriptions, graceful figures and dainty shoes.

Joy also comes from seeing the demonic, the ugly.
A man whose body looks like a fly. A fearsome witch. A ghost
holding his head in his hands. A black spectre, Mr. Knife and
Mrs. Fork, with blade and prong growing out of their heads. A
dancing camel. A boy climbing into a picture. A fish flying through
the air.

Joy comes from the humorous.
A mouse wearing a woolen cover around its long, thin tail. A little
man with a pillow on his head. A donkey and some scholars
wearing the same spectacles. Maids lifting their skirts to hide
their kissing princess.

Joy with the eyes emerges from stories.

---Lisbeth Zwerger, from The Art of Lisbeth Zwerger

Poppy Field, The Wizard of Oz

Jury, Alice in Wonderland

Our cutie was born 26 years ago today!

Happy Birthday, Lambchop! We love you!

In the Greenhouse by Eugenio Montale
translated by Charles Wright

The lemon bushes overflowed
with the patter of mole paws,
the scythe shined
in its rosary of cautious water drops.

A dot, a ladybug,
ignited above the quince berries
as the snort of a rearing pony broke through,
bored with his rub-down—then the dream took over.

Kidnapped, and weightless, I was drenched
with you, your outline
was my hidden breath, your face
merged with my face, and the dark

idea of God descended
upon the living few, amid heavenly
sounds, amid childish drums,
amid suspended globes of lightning

upon me, upon you, and over the lemons...



I was introduced to this poet, Eugenio Montale, last week
by Merisi, who posted a piece of his work on her blog.
Unfortunately, I don't speak Italian, the original language in
which he composed, so I lose some of the magic. But even
translated into English, his poetry is marvelous. I ordered a
book of his poetry last week and am looking forward to
enjoying it.

Photo borrowed from Flicker

This will bring you smiles and maybe even a tear!

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Willow's Weekly Word

Okie dokey, for me, brings to mind a creepy Hannibal Lecter. Or
maybe you remember that cute little Vietnamese kid from Indiana
Jones, called Short Round? The words "okie dokey" first appeared
around 1930 as a playful form of "okay" or "O.K.". And now we
even hear the combined form, "okiedok". But how in the world did
the original "O.K." get started? I am sooo glad you asked! It started
way back in the Presidential election of 1840, when the Democratic
candidate, Martin Van Buren, was nicknamed "The Wizard of
Kinderhook" after Old Kinderhook, the Hudson Valley village where
he was born. One of his support groups called themselves "The
Democratic O.K. Club". Other Van Buren supporters picked up
"O.K." as a slogan. The phrase caught on like wildfire and soon
established itself as a general term for "all right", just like their
opinion of the candidate. So, there you have it.

I do wish we could chat longer, but I'm having an
old friend for dinner. Bye. --Hannibal Lecter

Haircuts

The Haircut, Aaron Bohrod, 1936

~~~

When my boys were little, I invested in some electric clippers and
became fairly good at giving them haircuts. I even mastered a great
bowl cut...remember those? Now, they're grown and it's been a while
since I've played the role of barber. My oldest son loves to go to a chic
place up the street, called Modern Male, where they give a wonderful
head massage along with the shampoo and sell tiny pots of special

hair goo, equaling the price of the entire haircut. He tells me that the

girl who cuts his hair always gives him an extra long massage and

writes her cell phone number on her card for him as he leaves. I can

see why. He is pretty cute. WT has his favorite hair place and one

particular girl always gives him a great haircut. I've never seen her,

but he tells me that she has quite a few body piercings and odd

colored hair. That's fine, as long as she's not giving him her cell

number. I've never been able to give WT a descent haircut because

he has a massive mane of wavy hair that grows straight up, like a

shrubbery. Every once in a while, he'll be extra busy or traveling and

miss his regular trim. That's when I have to gently remind him that

he closely resembles Marge Simpson and it's time to get out the

hedge clippers. I could create some lovely topiary art.

Why don't you get a haircut? You look like a chrysanthemum.

P. G. Wodehouse

Lady of the Lake

One of Stevie's posts this week showed a lovely vintage photo of three

girls in their bathing suits. It reminded me of this one from my family

collection of my grandmother, Alice, taken in about 1933, leaning

against a bathhouse. I am not one hundred percent sure of the exact

location, but if I had to guess, I would say that it was taken at Shafer

Lake, near Monticello, Indiana, on a date with my grandfather, the

summer before they were married.

The weeping willow twig to rave,
And kiss, with whispering sound and slow,
The beach of pebbles bright as snow.
The boat had touched this silver strand
Just as the Hunter left his stand,
And stood concealed amid the brake,
To view this Lady of the Lake.

from The Lady of the Lake,

Walter Scott, 1810

The Scythers

The Scythers, N. C. Wyeth, 1908

I posted this beautiful Wyeth painting earlier, but it is one of my

very favorites and just had to show it again, before the summer is

over. You can feel the hot sun, the thirst of the workers and smell

the freshly cut field. I think it fits this poem by Robert Frost very

nicely.

Mowing

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,

And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.

What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;

Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,

Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound--

And that was why it whispered and did not speak.

It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,

Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:

Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak

To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,

Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers

(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.

The fact is the sweetest dream that labour knows.

My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.

~~~~~

It takes WT about three solid hours to cut our grass and that

is with a riding mower! And I'm all too happy to have him handle

it! I always get a good chuckle over Susan talking about dealing

with her mower, at 29 Blackstreet, fondly named "The Red

Beast". One thing I do enjoy about mowing, however, is the fresh

scent of newly cut grass! Pam posted on the subject of grass this

week and a poem by Walt Whitman which refers to grass as "the

handkerchief of the Lord". I love that.

Little Treasure

I picked up a lovely little treasure today. A leather bound first edition

of Renascence and Other Poems, 1917, by Edna St. Vincent Millay,

in one of the secondhand bookstores I frequently visit. It is extra

special because it is charmingly signed with the above romantic

inscription by "Ray", which I think is so beautiful. It brings to mind

Almasy's copy of Herodotus's The Histories in The English Patient.

Cheesy Corn Waffles

Okay, I don't usually post two recipes in a row, but I just had to share
this one! After I saw this recipe over at Stevie's blog, I picked up a box
of Bisquick, which I don't normally use. And yesterday, I stopped by
our local corn stand for some lovely fresh Ohio corn. These were a
heavenly treat this morning! Thanks, Stevie!

Stevie Wren's Cheesy Corn Waffles

2 cups of Bisquick
2 eggs beaten
8 oz. grated cheddar cheese
1 bag of white shoe peg corn (I used 3 large ears fresh corn)
1 tablespoon chopped jalapenos (I omitted)
1 cup buttermilk or more for right consistency (I used 1%)
2 tbs oil

I made them with a stove top Belgian waffler, left out the peppers and
served them with hot 100% pure maple syrup. They're the perfect
combination of crunchy on the outside and moist on the inside and the
fresh corn and maple complimented each other nicely.

Salsicce con Fagioli all'Uccelletto

When I was at the library last Friday, I also picked up several nice
books from the discard shelf. One of them was a copy of Savoring
Tuscany by Williams-Sonoma, in perfect condition for $2.00! I made
this recipe, from the book, last night. It's a tasty Italian version of our
old American standby, beans and hot dogs.

Salsicce con Fagioli all'Uccelletto

(fresh pork sausages with cannellini in herbed tomato sauce)

2 cups dried cannellini beans (I used navy)
4 cloves garlic
8 fresh sage leaves
1 tomato, cored and halved
salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
2 tbs extra virgin olive oil
8 fresh Italian sausages
2 cups crushed canned plum tomatoes with juice
pinch of ground red chile

Rinse beans well and place in a bowl. Add water to cover and let
soak overnight.

The next day, drain the beans and place in a large saucepan with
7 cups water. Bring to a boil and add 2 of the garlic cloves, 4 of the
sage leaves, and the tomato halves to the saucepan. Reduce the
heat to a very gentle simmer and cook, uncovered until the beans
are tender, 1 1/2 - 2 hours. Season with salt, then drain the beans.
Discard the garlic, sage and tomato.

Crush the remaining 2 garlic cloves. In a large frying pan, warm
together the olive oil, the remaining sages leaves, and the 2
crushed garlic cloves. Add the sausages and brown lightly on
all sides, about 10 minutes. Add the beans, crushed tomatoes
and ground chile. Simmer, uncovered, stirring gently every so
often, for about 15 minutes. Adjust the seasoning with salt and
pepper.

Spoon the beans onto a warmed oval platter, or individual dishes
and lay the sausages on top and serve.
~~photo by Willow~~

Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

Did you see this in the news today? I thought it

was absolutely fascinating!

.....

Archaeologists have unearthed a 1,900-year-old well-preserved
chariot at an ancient Thracian tomb in southeastern Bulgaria, the
head of the excavation said Thursday. Daniela Agre said her team
found the four-wheel chariot during excavations near the village of
Borisovo, around 180 miles east of the capital, Sofia. "This is the first
time that we have found a completely preserved chariot in Bulgaria",
said Agre, a senior archaeologist at the Bulgarian Academy of
Sciences. She said previous excavations had only unearthed single
parts of chariots — often because ancients sites had been looted. At
the funerary mound, the team also discovered table pottery, glass
vessels and other gifts for the funeral of a wealthy Thracian aristocrat.
In a separate pit, they unearthed skeletons of two riding horses
apparently sacrificed during the funeral of the nobleman, along with
well preserved bronze and leather objects, some believed to horse
harnesses. The Thracians were an ancient people that inhabited the
lands of present day Bulgaria and parts of modern Greece, Turkey,
Macedonia and Romania between 4,000 B.C. and the 6th century,
when they were assimilated by the invading Slavs. Some 10,000
Thracian mounds — some of them covering monumental stone
tombs — are scattered across Bulgaria.
By VESELIN TOSHKOV, APS, Reuters Photos

Eating Alone

Nighthawks, Edward Hopper, 1942

~~~

David posted a wonderful piece of his digital art today on Edward

Hopper. I love the strong simplicity of Hopper's work. It's so very

American and exudes a certain serenity. I've seen Nighthawks at

The Art Institute of Chicago and it brings to mind a poem I read

this week by Daniel Lusk.

~~~

Understudy

.

Old men who eat alone in small cafes

arrange the silver carefully

beside the plate.

.

It crawls inside their cuffs

and edges out again along their templates

and the gothic arches of their brows.

.

Arranging is the life

now

isn't it.

.

Old men check their watches

frequently,

lest the sand run out unnoticed

onto the table by the water glass.

.

Their hands flutter

over the fork and spoon again, the knife,

as if the knife were a lost opportunity

or a love that might be set to rights.

.

Attentive as they are to these

small handles,

I suspect if they let go

.

they'll belly up with loneliness

and float off toward the ceiling fans

in all these small cafes

.

where I sit watching, hours on end,

to learn their little order,

eating alone.

Reds

Friday I stopped by my library branch to pick up several ordered
books and took a look through the films, too, and ended up leaving
with a copy of Reds (1981) on the top of my book stack. I was
vaguely familiar with this movie; I knew it was written and directed
by Warren Beatty and that it was a period film, but had never seen it.
Well, we watched it Saturday night and I'll have to admit that I was
pleasantly surprised! It's a historical piece on the little known lives of
American journalist John Reed (Warren Beatty), his association with
the Russian Revolution and also with the writer Louise Bryant (Diane
Keaton). The brilliant screenplay, written by Beatty, is a marvelous
multi layering of the drama, interspersed with actual witnesses who
knew Reed and Bryant. Jack Nicholson does a wonderful job in the
serious role of the famed writer Eugene O'Neill and Maureen
Stapleton won the Oscar that year for her performance of the feisty
activist, Emma Goldman. Fabulous sets, fabulous costumes and
fabulous acting; it was nominated for a total of 12 Oscars and won
three, including best cinematography. Diane Keaton has always been
a favorite, but I came away with a completely new respect for her
sparkling talent. Now, be forewarned, this epic very much in the style
of David Lean, runs 195 minutes, but is worth every second. This
film is intelligent, sophisticated and historically accurate.

Oh, and one more note. Have you ever noticed that Diane Keaton
actually sings in many of her films? She sings a lovely little version
of I Don’t Want to Play in Your Yard which is incorporated into the
musical score throughout the film.

My Dryer Likes Mexican

I was taking the dry clothes out of the dryer the other day and noticed
that all the clothes were covered with a chartreuse colored crusty

gunk. Bewildered, I continued to take the clothes out, piece by piece.
Finally, I reached in and my hand felt something very warm and
squishy. I let out a little scream (just a small "yee-ow", like the time
I touched the snake in the mailbox) as I pulled out a dark rat sized
object. On closer inspection, I realized it was a whole avocado,
half baked from the heat of the dryer. The clothes and the entire
inside were smeared with warm guacamole! Don't even ask me how...

Arrrr...tengo hambre!

84, Charing Cross Road

I have seen this movie many times, and in fact, I own a copy, but just
this weekend borrowed the book, 84, Charing Cross Road, by
Helene Hanff, from the branch of my local library. It is a collection of
witty and touching letters between a charmingly sarcastic New Yorker
and a straight laced, proper London book shop proprietor from the
1940's to the 1960's. What starts as a quest for obscure classic books
develops into an intimate relationship in the lives of the bookshop's
staff. The film, one of my very favorites, stars the talented Anne
Bancroft as Hanff and fabulous Anthony Hopkins as Frank Doel.
If you are passionate about books, bookshops and correspondence
as I am, you will love this book and movie. Here is a sample letter
from the collection:

14 East 94th St.
New York City
November 3, 1949

Marks & Co.
84, Charing Cross Road
London, W.C.2
England

Gentlemen:

The books arrived safely, the Stevenson is so fine it
embarrasses my orange-crate bookshelves, I'm almost afraid to
handle such soft vellum and heavy cream-colored pages. Being
used to the dead-white paper and stiff cardboardy covers of
American books, I never knew a book could be such a joy to
the touch.

A Britisher whose girl lives upstairs translated the 1/17/6
for me and says I owe you $5.30 for the two books. I hope he
got it right. I enclose a $5 bill and a single, please use the .70
toward the price of the New Testament, both of which I want.

Will you please translate your prices hereafter? I don't
add too well in plain American, I haven't a prayer of ever
mastering bilingual arithmetic.

Yours,

Helene Hanff

I hope "madame" doesn't mean over there what it does here.

Willow's Weekly Word

New Television Antenna, Norman Rockwell, 1949

Why, you ask me, is the topmost part of something called its apex?

It all started way back when the ancient priests of Rome wore caps,

with pointy olive wood spikes, called apex. Since the apex was the

highest piece of the priest's garb, we call the highest spot of anything

the apex. So, there you have it.

Joan of Arc

Butterflies in clouds accompanied her standard;

Pigeons miraculously fluttered toward her;

Men fell into rivers and were drowned;

Dead babies yawned and came to life;

Flocks of little birds perched on bushes

to watch her making war.

--Vita Sackville-West
.....

Joan of Arc, painting by Harold H. Piffard, 1895

Back in my old swashbuckling days, when I wasn't Zorro, I always
wanted to be Joan of Arc. Boys were always much more interesting
to play with than girls, and in the role of Joan, I could still be a girl and
do my fair share of sword wielding. She was born to a French peasant
family in the seventy-fifth year of the Hundred Years War between
England and France, 1412. Leading the French army to several
important victories during this war and claiming divine guidance, she
was indirectly responsible for the coronation of King Charles the VII.
She was captured, tried and burned at the stake by the English, all
when she was just 19 years old. Twenty four years later, Joan was
declared innocent by the Holy See, beatified in 1909 and canonized in
1920. Joan of Arc has remained an important figure in Western culture,
with major writers, composers and filmmakers showing tribute.
Numerous movies have been made, including one starring the

wonderful Ingrid Bergman in 1949. My particular favorite Joan of Arc

film is The Messenger, 1999, starring beautiful Milla Jovovich as Joan,

with a stellar performance of Dustin Hoffman as her conscience. I

would also love to see Tchaikovsky's opera starring mezzo-soprano

Dolora Zajick!

.....

Farmer's Advice

My Grandpa, 1930's, Howard Co, IN

.....

An Old Farmer's Advice

.....

* Your fences need to be horse-high, pig-tight and bull-strong.

* Keep skunks, bankers and lawyers at a distance.

* Life is simpler when you plow around the stump.

* A bumble bee is considerably faster than a John Deere tractor.

* Words that soak into your ears are whispered...not yelled.

* Meanness don't jes' happen overnight.

* Forgive your enemies. It messes up their heads.

* Do not corner something that you know is meaner than you.

* It don't take a very big person to carry a grudge.

* You cannot unsay a cruel word.

* Every path has a few puddles.

* When you wallow with pigs, expect to get dirty.

* The best sermons are lived, not preached.

* Most of the stuff people worry about ain't never gonna happen

anyway.

* Don't judge folks by their relatives.

* Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.

* Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think

back, you'll enjoy it a second time.

* Don't interfere with somethin' that ain't botherin' you none.

* Timing has a lot to do with the outcome of a rain dance.

* If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'.

* Sometimes you get, and sometimes you get got.

* The biggest troublemaker you'll probably ever have to deal with,

watches you from the mirror every mornin'.

* Always drink upstream from the herd.

* Good judgment comes from experience, and a lotta that comes

from bad judgment.

* Lettin' the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier than puttin'

it back in.

* If you get to thinkin' you're a person of some influence, try

orderin' somebody else's dog around.

* Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly.

~~unknown