spring grass at Willow Manor I picked up a lovely hardback copy of Janet Frame's autobiography, An Angel At My Table , at G-Dub ...

It's seven degrees here in Central Ohio as we speak.  The manor's old heat pipes are knocking and the radiators hot.  Jack Frost wa...

When I put the tree up last weekend, I brought out my little library of holiday films. I had forgotten Bell, Book and Candle had been tucke...

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 ...

Back in the '70s I was intrigued with graphology, the study of and analysis of handwriting, and still have several books on the subject...

You've probably noticed from my sidebar, that I'm reading a book by New Zealand novelist and poet, Janet Frame, Towards Another  S...

In a Garnet World In a garnet world something troubles the rock --a rash, an itching dazzle that will not sleep or be soothed,...

Autumn The gate to the wood is closed, said Summer. Take the path over the pond, kill all the daffodils. The old men sat wrapped in greasepr...

Until I saw the talented director, Jane Campion ( The Piano ) and screenwriter Laura Jones' beautiful film adaptation of Frame's th...

Wheat Field with Rising Sun , Vincent Van Gogh, 1889 Summer At midday when the sweltering mother bedded in wheat and wharves rose to give f...