you say kebab, I say kabob

Last week I made the best kebabs ever. Apparently, I am the only
one on the planet who spells it "kabob". Anyway, I served them
with chili-lime corn on the cob and grilled pita bread with roasted
pepper and walnut spread. You guessed it. Yum-o. In fact, I'm
picking up some more flat iron steak and pitas to make them again
this weekend. Huge, huge hit at the manor.

Cumin-Scented Beef Kebabs

1/4 cup olive oil
2 Tbsp finely chopped oregano
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
1/4 tsp cayenne
2 lb sirloin flap steak or flatiron steak, cut into 1 1/2 inch pieces

Mix all ingredients, add meat and marinate, chilled, at least 2 hours.
Thread on skewers and grill. Easy peasy.

Chili-Lime Corn on the Cob

Cook fresh corn in boiling water for 5 minutes. Pour off water and
add butter to hot pot. Return corn and coat. Sprinkle with salt,
pepper, chili powder and a squeeze of fresh lime. HEAVEN!!


Roasted Red Pepper and Walnut Spread

2 8 oz jars roasted red peppers, drained (okay, my sauce is yellow
since I only had roasted yellow peppers on hand)
1 cup coarse fresh bread crumbs (from baguette)
1 cup walnuts
1 tbsp red wine vinegar
1/2 tsp cumin
1/8 tsp cayenne
1/4 olive oil

Puree all except oil in food processor until almost smooth.
With motor running, add oil in a slow stream until incorporated.

Can be made ahead and refrigerated. In fact, I thought it was
even better the next day. Fabulous with the kebabs, as well as
grilled garlic and oregano pita breads.

Theme Thursday - Button

Have you noticed lately that the old metal political style buttons have
been replaced with the ubiquitous awareness ribbon? Awareness
ribbons are the new buttons. They're literally everywhere. In fact,
instead of wearing them on our lapels, like the old style buttons, our
cars wear them, our blogs wear them. Soccer mom minivans look
naked without a magnetic awareness ribbon stuck to the back.

There is a whole rainbow of colors symbolizing various concerns.
Yellow ribbons, for instance, in the United States, are used to show
a close family member is abroad in military service. The first ribbon
that was represented as a meaningful object in history was the
yellow ribbon mentioned in a marching song, which was sung by the
military in the United States. In 1917 George A. Norton copyrighted
"Round Her Neck She Wears a Yeller Ribbon", which was rewritten
by several musicians during WWII.

The yellow ribbon song, most of us remember, is from the early
1970's, "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" recorded by Tony Orlando and Dawn.
In 1979, Penney Laingen, the wife of an American hostage in Iran,
inspired by the song, tied yellow ribbons around trees in her front
yard as a sign of hope in her husband's safe return. Her friends and
family followed the trend and soon the use of the ribbon spread like
wildfire, becoming a popular medium to convey a cause. The New
York Times declared 1992 as "The Year of the Ribbon".

I'm certainly all for making concerns known and gaining support.
But, don't you think the ribbon medium is a bit overused today?
Ribbons now represent anything imaginable. They have lost their
uniqueness. In fact, people are making up their own ribbons, with
any coo coo for cocoa puffs statement they like. The old oak tree is
smothered with so many ribbons, it makes me feel claustrophobic.

Now the whole damn bus is cheerin'

and I can't believe I see

A hundred billion yellow ribbons

'round the old oak tree.

spider woman

This lovely lady has been living outside in my Boston fern all
summer. She doesn't seem to mind at all when I water it, she just
scampers down into the leaves. Every night she diligently weaves
a web between the fern and the patio light. And every morning I
break it by opening the patio door.


"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly,
"'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show you when you are there."
"Oh no, no," said the Fly, "to ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

from The Spider and the Fly, by Mary Howitt

Blog Bubbles

I recently won a cool book (The Huffington Post Complete Guide to

Blogging) over at All I Ever Wanted. (Thanks, Linda Sue!) If you

don't know her, pop on over and say hello. She is a talented artist

who creates all kinds of wonderful stuff in the medium of felt.

This is a great little book. In fact, I wish I had read it when I first
started my blog last year. It contains tons of valuable tips and info

that I had to learn by trial and error, my first year in the blog world.

One of the points, made by the amazing Nora Ephron, is that daily
blogs are very much like soap bubbles. They only last a moment or
two. This is a hard concept to grasp for those bloggers who are

writers, used to publishing essays. Blogs aren't meant to be polished.
They're informal and temporal. It's a high speed medium that

vanishes just as quickly as it appears.

So, bloggy friends, relax and enjoy the ride through the blogosphere.
Write like you talk, make your points clear, and fly by the seat of

your pants on some high flyin' blog bubbles!

bubble photo from Google Images

R-o-s-e-b-u-d

I am a sucker for garage sales. Even though it was raining cats and
dogs yesterday, I still managed to pass several sales, as I was out

and about running a few errands. I've always maintained that one

man's trash is another man's treasure, and you never know just

what treasure you might happen upon at a friendly neighborhood
sale.

This beautiful baby was my treasured find yesterday. It was

standing, dusty and cobweb ridden in the corner of a chatty lady's

garage, whispering, "R-o-s-e-b-u-d". (I know it's a Flexible Flyer,

but I'll get to that in a minute.) She had it marked with a $10 sticker.

I asked if she would take $5. "How about $6?", she countered. "Deal."

Dickering is such a thrilling part of the whole garage sale experience.

This sweet sled brings back wonderful memories for me, not unlike

Charles Foster Kane's "Rosebud", the most famous single word in

movie history. (I know. I'm a hopeless romantic.) I can remember

sledding in glorious thick snow in tiny Burlington, Indiana on a

Flexible Flyer exactly like this one in the 1950's, with my dear

uncles. We would double up and take turns sliding down the

snow covered hill, over and over, until our fingers and toes were

numb with cold. Funny to think two of us could actually fit on this

little thing. Anyway, it symbolizes happy times for me. And it will

look so charming at the manor for the holidays, don't you think?

Bring on the snow!

.

PS...I just did some research online, and found that the earliest

Flexible Flyer sleds had the flower logo painted in the center. So,

hey, whad'ya know! "Rosebud" was a Flexible Flyer brand sled.

raindrops were fallin' on my head

We had thunder and a lot of this today. I was out and about and
snapped this pic of raindrops on my windshield. It cleared off just in
time to use the patio grill for dinner. I made some fabulous cumin
marinated steak kabobs and will share the recipe later on this week,
so stay tuned, dear bloggy friends...

visitor

Guess who was waiting in the driveway of Willow Manor when I came home this afternoon? This handsome guy, who I immediately invited in for some lively conversation and afternoon tea. Well, maybe tea and some dead flies.


And I ended up doing most of the talking. But, isn't he the sweetest thing? So shy and unassuming, too. When he realized I wanted a picture, he reluctantly gave me a modest smile.

I am always amazed at the beauty of a turtle's shell. What lovely designs going on here. And even more handsome is his wonderful belly side, complete with a hinged door for quick getaways.

I enjoyed his charming visit. I felt like a little girl again with the turtle I named "Bochides". (I think I was actually trying to say "both sides" because of the two sides of the shell, but still, it made for a good name.) His visit also brought to mind this cute poem, by Vachel Lindsay, I learned as a girl.

There was a little turtle.

He lived in a box.

He swam in a puddle.

He climbed on the rocks.

He snapped at a mosquito.

He snapped at a flea.

He snapped at a minnow.

And he snapped at me.

He caught the mosquito.

He caught the flea.

He caught the minnow.

But he didn't catch me.

a bloody piteous corse

I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,

-- God save the mark!--here on his manly breast:

A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;

Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,

All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight.

Romeo and Juliet, Act 3, Scene 2

Bwahahaha!! Just kidding. I'm only pitting cherries for this

scrumptious plum-cherry crumble. Sometimes it's just plum crumble,

which is less messy. But if you've got fresh cherries laying around,

throw some of those luscious babies in there, too, but be sure to dig

the pits out first!

Plum-Cherry Crumble

fruit filling:

2 pounds plums, halved, pitted, each cut into 6 wedges

(2 cups pitted fresh cherries, optional)

1/2 cup sugar (you may want to increase a bit if adding cherries)

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 35 minutes at 350 or until bubbly in center

and lightly browned. Serve warm with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Devineness.

Theme Thursday - Shoe

Imperfect World
　

.

I watched my father
polish his shoes at night.
A good spit shine, he called it.
Brush, spit, brush, spit.
The right one drying on the newsprint.

He could never get them clean enough.

.

.

Willow, 2009

Tatt, or not?

I saw a great series of celebrity photos and quotes in Vanity Fair by

Bulgari in support of "Save the Children". This one of the lovely Lena

Headey and her tattoo caught my eye. (I loved her in The Remains

of the Day, Onegin and Possession, by the way.) Now, don't get me

wrong, normally, I don't particularly care much for tattoos, but

Headey's was subtle, even elegant. Most tattoos, in my opinion, are

not in the elegant category, no matter on whose young, elegant skin

they happen to be etched. Take for instance Angelina Jolie's. I think

they are just plain ugly, especially when paired with exquisite

evening wear.

My kids went through a phase back in high school when they were

dying for tattoos. I wasn't so keen on the idea and made them wait,

thinking they would outgrow the obsession. But, both my daughter

and youngest son got tattoos their freshman year in college. My

daughter actually designed her own personal symbol, a very creative

thing to do, I must admit, and my son had a beautiful rendering of

our family crest tattooed on his upper arm. Well, what can I say?

As far as tattoos go, they both chose very tasteful ones. Thank God,

they didn't come home covered from head to toe with them. But,

fifteen years from now, I'm sure there will be a huge market for

tattoo removal, don't you think?

Knock on Wood

WT recently informed me that in Bulgaria, when someone says "knock on wood", they actually knock underneath the table, in order to hide it from the fates, or powers that be. I was fascinated by this little twist on the theme and had to find out more about this familiar expression.

Knocking on wood, and the spoken phrase "knock on wood" or "touch wood" are used to express a desire to avoid tempting fate after making some boast or speaking of one's own death. The expression is usually used in the hope that a good thing will continue to occur after it has been acknowledged. So, for example, one might say: "The rain looks like it's holding off, touch wood", or "Knock on wood, I'm feeling much better now."

It is commonly thought that knocking on wood has been a superstitious action to ward off evil throughout history involving Pagan belief systems. The same reference claims that knocking on wood is also used in some form of Christianity, but in a different context, where the wood represents the cross. In an alternate explanation, the wood represents the rosary. "Lord willing" is also a common expression in Christian circles, with a similar intent.

Another explanation for this practice is the pagan belief that spirits or dryads lived in trees. By knocking on the wood of a tree while making some sort of a bold statement, the speaker could prevent the spirit from hearing them and stop the spirit from interfering. Or out of respect for the wood spirit, touching a tree indicated seeking protection from the particular spirit. Hmm. I wonder if Keebler got their marketing idea from this?

Some historians believe the saying cannot be traced beyond children's games of tag of the early nineteenth century. They maintain the earliest documented references to "touching wood" are

from 1805 and 1828 and concern chasing games where you are safe from being "tagged" if you "touch wood". "'Tiggy-touch-wood" was an extremely well-known game, and it is more than likely that the phrase was passed into everyday language. Funny, we as kids, over one hundred years later, still always chose a tree as "base".

Here are some interesting international variations:

Denmark: "bank under bordet" (knock under the table).

Germany: the version "auf Holz klopfen" (knock on wood) can be accompanied by the phrase "Toi, toi, toi" (probably derived from the Old German word for 'Devil') which is still used as a charm to ward off evil or as a good luck charm for thespians out of superstition that wishing an actor good luck brings the opposite. I'm familiar with this one from the opera world.

Italy: a similar superstition exists, it's said "Toccare ferro" and the meaning is similar: one must touch metal, preferably iron.

Norway: the term "bank i bordet" ("knock the table" or rather: "knock the wooden board" ('bordet' is an ambiguity)), is used. In Norway, it is also sometimes used to stress that you're telling the truth (akin to saying "I swear to god that...").

Sweden: the phrase "ta i trä" (touch wood) is commonly used as a part of the phrase "peppar peppar, ta i trä" (pepper pepper, touch wood), the double "pepper" also being used to ward off a temptation of fate. It's often shortened to just saying "peppar peppar" while knocking on wood.

Turkey: "tahtaya vur" (knock on wood) is used. Usually, someone else will answer: "Şeytan kulağına kurşun" (May somebody melt some lead into Satan's ear).

India: it's said as "Nazar Na Lage" (let there be no evil eye), in Hindi and the meaning is similar; it is used, when something seems too good. It's like saying "touch wood", "Kannu pada

Pooguthu" (let there be no evil eye), in Tamil.

And of course, this post would not be complete without my favorite "knock on wood" song! Now, who's lucky?

not yet, but soon

It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts

while eating a homegrown tomato.

~

Lewis Grizzard

Wyeth Sky

Wyeth Sky

N.C. Wyeth sky, cobalt and cumulus.
Cotton candy, billowed snow,
thrilling show in a big top circus.

Giants stride through ocean waves.

Children watch, amazed, as Crusoe
swings upstage to colonial caves

in search of Magua and Monro.
Robin Hood wakes old Van Winkle,
up the Brandywine they row

.

flanked by native Navajo. In vain,
these fabled men did not restrain
the saddest Pagliacci pain,

over Chadds Ford landscape, dynasty reigned.
Too soon cut down by a racing steel train.

.

Willow, 2009

.

.

I love to call a deep blue sky with huge puffy clouds an "N.C. Wyeth

sky". We had a glorious one here in Ohio earlier this week and it

inspired me to write this poem. It is speculated that Wyeth's tragic

death in 1945, at a local Chadd's Ford railroad crossing, was a

suicide.

.

And, hey, did you notice I slipped in Pagliacci? (click for recent post)

Opera's on the brain this week!)

Cancer, June 22-July 22, is the fourth sign of the zodiac and is
represented by a crab. The origin of Cancer the Crab is most likely in
Babylon, but twin turtles were associated with this sign in Egypt,
where Thoth, the god of astronomy ruled the constellation. The crab
suggests that people born under this sign will retreat into their shell
if they feel hurt. Cancer is a water sign, linked with feelings. Cancer
also love the sea and its treasures. Like the oyster, they have a hard,
protective shell.

This is a sign with great sensitivity. Cancerians are often kind,
thoughtful and aware of the need of others. They can, however, be
moody and enjoy spending time at home, where they can retreat if
they feel hurt. The home plays a very significant role, symbolic of
security and refuge. The need to protect self and family is a chief
characteristic.

Food and cooking are often important to Cancerians, as well as
matriarchal values. Cancer is ruled by the moon, which is linked to
motherhood. Body parts associated with Cancer are the breasts,
womb and the stomach. Children are very important to those born
under this sign.

The gemstone for this sign is the pearl (hmm, not surprising, since it
is from the oyster). Flowers are lily, acanthus, geranium, white rose
and white flowers in general. The metal is silver and color silver grey.
The countries associated are Scotland, Holland, North and West
Africa, New Zealand, Paraguay and Algeria.

I'm a little late in posting, but a very Happy Birthday to all my
bloggy friends who fall under this month's sign of Cancer!

Theme Thursday - Stage

It is impossible for me to write about the subject of "stage" without bringing up the opera stage and my favorite opera singer, who also happens to be my daughter, by the way, the talented and lovely mezzo-soprano, Elspeth Kincaid.

Elspeth's most recent role was that of Siebel in Opera Tampa's production of Gounod's Faust this past April. If you're not familiar with this opera, the role of Siebel is a "pants role", a male character sung and acted by a female, usually a mezzo-soprano. I was completely amazed at the transformation. Not only does Elspeth have a rich, beautiful mezzo voice, but she has the uncanny ability to completely step into a role and become that character, whether it be a flighty girl, an old hag, or even a handsome young man.

Can you believe this? She really has a "Leonardo Dicaprio" thing going on here, don't you think? Amazing. I'll have to admit, the makeup artist did a marvelous job, too, with the wig and makeup

She had the good fortune to work with the renowned American opera conductor and composer, Maestro Anton Coppola, in this production of Faust. Most of you will recognize the talented family name. He is the uncle of film director Francis Ford Coppola, with family ties to Nicholas Cage and director Sophia Coppola.

The opera took place in the beautiful Tampa Bay performing Arts Center. Here's a view from the back of the stage during one of her rehearsals.

A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer,

it sings because it has a song.

Maya Angelou

overheard at the manor

WT: (poking his head in the back door) Hey, Honey, I brought you

a present.

.

Willow: You did? What?

.

WT: Look at this great fossil I found down at the river!

.

Willow: Wow...I think this is the biggest one you've found, yet.

.

WT: What do you think it is?

.

Willow: Giant slug. No, not you, silly...the fossil!

Maybe my bloggies will know what it is...

This just in:

Kate Blackwell just sent me a website that includes Rugose

corals, an extinct order of coral, as well as fossilized horns, as a

possibility. I'm adding this marvelous drawing by Ernst Haeckel

of Rugosa, 1904. Thanks, Kate!

foodie post

These pork cheeseburgers, with a little Latin flair, are a delightful

variation of the regular beef variety. All at the manor gave them a

huge two thumbs up. They're extra juicy and so flavorful. This

recipe is another great find from the June issue of Gourmet. Give

them a whirl and let me know what you think. I'm definitely making

them again soon.

Chipotle Pork Cheeseburgers

1 lb fresh ground pork (not lean)

2 tsp minced canned chipotle in adobo, plus 1 tsp adobo sauce

2 garlic cloves forced through press

4 slices Muenster cheese

4 hamburger buns, toasted

1/4 cup mayo

1 large tomatillo, husked, rinsed and sliced (I couldn't find one, so

subbed a tomato, but the tomatillo would have made a difference.)

1/2 avocado, sliced

1/2 cup cilantro sprigs

Mix the pork with the chipotle and garlic, with salt to taste, until just

combined. Form into four patties and grill. Melt cheese on patties.

Top with mayo, tomatillo, avocado, cilantro. Yum. Yum. Yum.

Knots and Earworms

I was doing some ancestral research a few years ago. For several

days, I concentrated on my great-great-grandmother, Mary. Not

only was I searching through census lists, trying to locate her mother,

sister and brother, who were all separated after her father died in the

Civil War, but I was empathizing with her feelings on losing a father,

as well as, later in life, a young son.

Over the course of the days while I was doing this research, a song,

out of nowhere, kept playing over and over again in my head. Finally,

it was driving me nutty and I had to look it up. It was a slow version

of Listen to the Mockingbird, a song very popular during the Civil

War, with sad lyrics about a singer, dreaming of his sweetheart, dead

and buried, and a mockingbird singing over her grave. I certainly

hadn't heard this song anywhere and thought it a strange earworm.

It suddenly came to mind, that it must have a connection to Mary,

who I had been thinking about so intently.

After telling this to my sister this weekend, I was inspired to write

this poem.

Maternal Knots


My foremothers, apron to apron,
bind generations
with deer hide knots and Irish muslin.

Their spirits beam ancestral pride,
within my household walls
did hide, as newborns cried;

lulled to sleep with fiddle tunes
of mockingbird,
native chant and Celtic runes.

Weave 'round their offspring
gentle ties, connecting each
with tribal string;

maternal knots join with the earth,
will reason for each new one's birth.


Willow, 2009

facial drama

My sister and I had a great visit this weekend. We spent hours happily chatting about any and everything. Plenty of time, of course, was devoted to the discussion of political, religious and social issues. Then, we moved on to more pressing and intriguing topics, like eyebrows.


Can you believe there are those who still like to tweeze and pencil their brows into that 1950's style raised arch? It's so severe and brings to mind the Vampira look. Scary. My youngest sister tried to dye hers at home once. The result was the woolly-caterpillar brow. Equally as scary.

In the case of brow makeup, as we get older, perhaps less is more, unless, of course, you are trying to achieve that John-Crawford-Mommy-Dearest look. Eyebrows do set the stage as far as the face is concerned, don't you think? The wrong look can be very misleading.


Take the case of poor Uncle Leo on Seinfeld. Remember that hilarious episode where his eyebrows were singed off and Elaine draws them on with a magic marker? He then visits his doctor, who is convinced he has an anger problem. It really is all about the brows.


Just as bad, are the over-tweezed-Gloria-Swanson brows. They can do just the polar opposite, as far as facial drama, by putting you in a constant state of dazed, non-emotion. The "I don't have much going on upstairs" look is not always so attractive, either.


Have you ever been forced to participate in brow intervention? Someone near and dear to you has a severe case of tadpole brow? Or maybe even a case of the dreaded unibrow? It's not always easy, but our loved ones must be helped. WT, left to his own devices, develops a sorry case of Hugh-Griffith-Arab-sheik-Ben-Hur brows. He tells me he wants to wax, twist them and start a trend. Well, we'll see about that.

Sunshine

I left a comment over on Yoli's fencing video post about the fabulous

fencing scene done by Ralph Fiennes in the movie Sunshine, 1999.

Then Marc came over and requested a film review of this

masterpiece. I love-love this movie, so how could I possibly refuse?

.

The film is basically about three generations of the Sonnenscheins,

(translates sunshine) a Jewish family in Budapest during the

political upheaval in Hungary. The brilliant Ralph Fiennes, who I

adore, by the way, amazingly portrays three men from different

generations of the family. Ignatz, an attorney, at the turn of the

century, who attempts to blend in with society; his son, Adam, an

Olympic gold medalist in fencing, who is blind to fascism; and

Adam's son, Ivan, a political activist who joins the Communist party.

.

Also, rounding out the great cast is James Frain, the lovely Jennifer

Ehle, Rachel Weisz (need I say more?), the delightful Rosemary

Harris and William Hurt, who I fell totally in love with, after seeing

Children of a Lesser God.

.

Masterfully directed by Istvan Szabo, this film has the sweeping

majestic feel of a David Lean epic. Like Lean, he weaves the story of

intimate family details into a backdrop of historic fact. The lighting

and attention to detail are stunning. Maurice Jarre's haunting music

brings to mind his score for Doctor Zhivago. This wonderful combo

equals magic.

.

It is a powerful and breathtakingly gorgeous movie. If you like

history, as well as serious cinematography, you are going to love this

film. Reserve a whole evening for this one. Just like a Lean epic, it's

three hours in length, so put on the popcorn and kick off the flip flops!

.

Ghosts

I have always loved the romantic notion of ghosts, but never had any
reason to believe in their existence, until we moved to Willow Manor
twenty one years ago. Now, I realize there are many readers who will

completely poo-poo this subject. There are even those who have gone

so far as to ridiculously suggest that demons are trying to possess

me. This, in my opinion, is stretching it just a tad. All I can advise, is

for you to spend a night or two at the manor and you might be willing

to change your mind.

Since the house was built in 1927, there have been at least two

deaths, that we know of, which occurred at the manor; an elderly
woman in the late 1970's and a man in his early 40's, who committed
suicide by hanging himself on a tree, in the early 1980's. We do,

however, consider the manor's ghostly visitors to be friendly ones;

we have never felt threatened or put in harm's way.

All three of my grown children have seen a small woman, hunched
over, dressed in white, who wanders the manor at night. She has
been known to whisper unintelligibly in your ear, late at night or can
be heard descending the front staircase around 4:30 a.m. Many
overnight guests have asked, the next morning, who was up in the

night, leaving the house around 4:00.

The most recent occurrence was when we had a couple spend the
night here in May. We were eating breakfast the following morning,
and I asked if they slept well. The woman's hands started to tremble
slightly and she said, "Well, since you asked, I might as well tell you.
In the middle of the night, I felt someone sit down on the edge of the
bed. I thought it was ___, but when I sat up and looked, no one was
there. And ___ was sound asleep beside me."

I am the only one who has seen the male ghost, and it happened just
once. About 17 years ago, one summer day in June, as I stood in the
kitchen, cupboard doors open, looking into the shelves, I got the
distinct feeling someone was looking at me. Thinking it was my
daughter, who was about eight at the time, I shut the doors, and
turned to look down at her, but she was not there. Instead, a very
tall, transparent, stern looking man, was standing to my left, looking
out the kitchen window. He turned his head and looked down, over
his shoulder at me. The hair on the back of my neck and head stood
on end and I screamed like bloody murder! He vaporized within
seconds.

Since then, I have done quite a bit of research and found a picture
online of the man who killed himself at Willow Manor. I immediately

recognized him as the tall man I saw in my kitchen that summer day,

gazing out at the huge old pines. I also found that he died in June.



*For additional manor ghost stories click on the "ghosts" label at

the bottom of this post.
*If you are interesting in participating in Theme Thursday, click

on the link and join in the fun.

photo: Front Staircase at Willow Manor

thoughts on summer

When our friends came on the 4th, the first thing one of them said
was, "It's COLD!" Now, I was happy as a lark, in what I considered,
the glorious 79 degree afternoon. The cooler temps and gentle breeze
was a delightful holiday gift from Mother Earth. HTM, (that's
"heavens to murgatroyd", in case you are new to the manor) I hate
to sweat.

Summer is good, but it's my least favorite of all the seasons. Don't get
me wrong; I adore the variety of seasonal changes. I would be totally
bored in a temperate climate. But, the heat and humidity of
midwestern summers make me sluggish and unmotivated. I'm not
one who relishes a long hot run on the sweltering pavement in the
90 degree temps. I was born in October, and I don't know whether
this has any bearing on the fact, but I am totally in my element in
the fall. The crisp cold air rolling down from the north, the vibrant

reds and golds awake my creative juices, and smack this hot,

dormant body into reality. I am already craving wool sweaters,
fireplaces and raking leaves.

Come to think of it, this person who was so cold last weekend, has a
summer birth date. She loves sun, heat and can't wait to retire in
Florida. I would be happy to retire right here at Willow Manor. But,
if I had to choose another spot in the wide, wide world, it would have
to be somewhere farther north.

It's good, but not my favorite.

Johnny Depp, Chocolat

photo: Icewater, by willow

What's Hot

I am SO into orange this summer. It's such a warm, pleasant, spicy

color, don't you think? The first photo is the lid of an African hand

carved soapstone box I picked up at HomeGoods, of all places. I also

found a luscious burnt orange silk throw there, last weekend, as well.

.

Clockwise in the collage photo, throw pillow from the sofa in the

family room at Willow Manor, my fave orange handbag, orange

ginger jar (also a HomeGoods find), and a sweet little piece of vintage

McCoy pottery.

.

Orange brings to mind this poem I love, by Janet Frame.

.

.

Summer

.

At midday then the sweltering mother

bedded in wheat and wharves rose

to give food

gold sea and salt bread to the city.

.

Deep from her blue apron pocket

she drew a ripe orange to slice

and squirt light

--your mouth was stained with sun.

The Sad Ending of Capt. Jones, on his Birthday

I am fascinated with archaeological finds, bones, mummies, as well as history, so this bit of information caught my eye. Did you know when John Paul Jones, the hero of the Revolution and "Father of the U.S. Navy", died alone and penniless in Paris on July 18, 1792, a French commissary paid to have his body immersed in alcohol and buried in a lead lined coffin, preserving it for eventual repatriation to America?

Following the war, Congress disbanded the Continental Navy. The unemployed captain served briefly as a rear admiral in the Russian imperial navy, then traveled to France in search of a similar post. But in 1790, he was already in poor health due to malaria and dengue fever he had contracted on his travels.

Jones was born July 6, 1747 in the gardener's cottage of the Arbigland Estate, Kirkbean, Scotland. When he died at the age of 45, the circumstances of his death were unknown. His body was exhumed and examined by three doctors in Paris, in April 1905. The attending doctor diagnosed Jones as having jaundice and "dropsy of the chest." Today's analysis points to end stage kidney failure due to viral or bacterial infection.

In 1905, with much pomp and ceremony, his body was returned to the United States and is now entombed at the U.S. Naval AcademyChapel. Sadly, too much, too late, in honoring this American hero.

If fear is cultivated it will become stronger,

if faith is cultivated it will achieve mastery.

John Paul Jones

Speaking of Johnny Depp...

I loved this movie! Public Enemies opened today and we sneaked
off to see a matinee this afternoon. Normally, I don't usually enjoy
watching a lot of violence, but this movie is one of my few exceptions.
Johnny Depp is a brilliant John Dillinger (did we expect anything
less?). J. Edgar Hoover (Billy Crudup) heads the FBI, led by
Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale). The luscious and talented Marion
Cotillard is excellent as Billie Frechette, Dillinger's love interest.

This is actually a very artistically shot film, with a plethora of
wonderful noir natural light scenes, interspersed with faded rosy
sepia, and the crisp HD fireworks of blazing Tommy guns woven
throughout. The attention to the details of sets and costumes were
spot on, lending a feel of splendid time travel. There were great
vintage cars, a dreamy steam engine scene and even shots of the
fabulous "Tin Goose", a 1929 Ford Tri-Motor airliner, used to
transport Dillinger to prison in Michigan City, Indiana. The music
through the film was exceptional, with bits of fancy guitar picking
and a nightclub scene with a cameo appearance of Diana Krall
singing a luminous rendition of "Bye Bye Blackbird".

So, there you have it, my bloggy friends. I thoroughly enjoyed this
movie and give it two "Willow Thumbs" up!

overheard at the manor

Should I be jealous?