Time and Mr. Tinkle

My other dear uncle, brother of Bachelor, was visiting some time
back and I asked him if he remembered Mr. Tinkle. We shared our
memories of this kind little elderly man, who lived a few houses down

and repaired clocks and various other things in his old garage. Tinkle

was a scrubby, "Darby O'Gill" looking guy, missing a few teeth and

sported a wool cap. Uncle, who is six years older, and I would go down
and spend our lazy summer afternoons hanging around in Mr. Tinkle's
work shed, watching him tinker on clocks. The funny thing is,
Mr. Tinkle was his real name! I am drawn to vintage wind up alarm
clocks and we decided that Mr. Tinkle must be the reason. Funny, I
didn't realize why, until now. Yesterday, I posted a Pasternak quote
about time, on my sidebar. I would love you to share any favorite

thoughts or quotes, you might have, on the subject of time.

***photo: Willow's vintage alarm clocks

I've Been Tagged!

Okay, time for another meme. I've been tagged by StevieWren
(A Little Birdie Told Me So) to list seven random/weird things
about myself. So, here goes:

1. I love taxidermy, especially fowl and fish, and own several pieces,
including a large brown rooster. At holiday family gatherings,
everyone likes to have their picture taken with him. Above
is a photo of Bachelor at Wellington and Rooster taken last
Thanksgiving.

2. I have always wanted to play the accordion, but never owned
one, much less learned to play. I would love to play on holidays
while everyone is happy and having their portraits made
with Rooster. (Okay, Bill, I know you are rolling your eyes at
this point.)

3. I hate mimes. I know it is an art form and Marcel Marceau was
extremely talented, but I just can't stand them. I find them very
annoying.

4. I love to be cold in the summer or winter. I keep the house at
68 degrees year round. I hate to sweat and would love to move
anywhere north. The farther north, the better. (Susan, I am so
envious of Nova Scotia.) I guess I am just a turtleneck kind of girl.

5. I am very particular about what I sleep in. I love 100% cotton,
men's style pajamas. I love the crisp, clean feeling and I think
they are so Gwenyth Paltrow. I also like to find the cool spot
on my pillow before I can get to sleep.

6. I am fastidious about my feet. They are always nicely manicured
with classic red nail polish. But, on the other hand, I bite my
fingernails.

7. I constantly make up little ditties and sing them to well known
tunes and drive everyone around me nuts.

So, there you have it. Seven of my oddities, for what it's worth. And
now I am tagging Betsy (My Five Men), Bachelor (Bachelor at

Wellington) and Bill (Just A Moment).

Ernst Haekel

Sea anemones from Ernst Haeckel's Kunstformen der Natur
(Artforms of Nature) 1904.

Ernst Haeckel (1834-1919), was an eminent German biologist,
zoologist, naturalist, philosopher, physician, professor and
accomplished artist and illustrator who discovered, described and
named thousands of new species, mapped a genealogical tree relating
all life forms, and coined many terms in biology. The published
artwork of Haeckel includes over 100 detailed, multi-colour
illustrations of animals and sea creatures, which, in my opinion, are
absolutely magical. I want to frame a few of his prints for the manor.

Haeckel (left) with Nicholai Miklukho-Maklai, his assistant, in the Canaries, 1866.

Willow Wraith

There has been some chat with David (Authorblog) and Lady Em
(The Lavender Beekeeper) recently about ghosts. David said that he
would be very interested to read a post about this subject. I was
hesitant at first, but decided that others might find it intriguing to read
about the happenings at Willow Manor. Until we moved into this house
twenty years ago, I had no real personal experiences that might lead
me to ponder the existence of ghosts. However, that quickly changed
the first year we lived in this house.

.

Now, creaks and thumps are normal occurrences in all houses over

80 years old, especially those with the old hot water, radiator heating

systems. After living in a home, you familiarize yourself with all the

usual noises. But many nights, between 4:00 and 5:00 a.m., the

systematic creaking of the front steps sounds exactly like the gentle

steps of a female descending the stairs. WT has, on occasion, been

up early working with European clients on the phone, heard the steps

and mistakenly thought I had descended the stairs, only to find me

upstairs asleep in bed. Overnight guests have asked who was up

around 4:30, walking down the front stairway.

.

All five of us have been awakened at night with the soft whispering

voice of a woman in our ear, often accompanied by a unique scent of
perfume in the air. Two of our adult children have seen the white

flowing nightdress of a small woman late at night, that swirls and

disappears quickly. We have also had unexplained radios blaring,

drawers opened at night with the contents pulled out and doors

slamming.

.

Several years ago, I watched a 12 month old child, during the day,

while her parents worked. She would often look up the kitchen

stairway, smile and wave, when the house was empty except for the

two of us. Well, at least the ghost must be a friendly one, right?

And one with fabulous taste in perfume!

.

We have become very accustomed to these occurrences over the

years and they are fairly commonplace, so I don't feel afraid. I would,

however, be very interested to know if any of you might have similar

experiences.

Bleeding Hearts at the Manor

"To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough."

---Edna St. Vincent Millay

photo by Willow, 2008

Berton Braley

The best verse hasn't been rhymed yet,
The best house hasn't been planned,
The highest peak hasn't been climbed yet,
The mightiest rivers aren't spanned;
Don't worry and fret, faint-hearted,
The chances have just begun
For the best jobs haven't been started,
The best work hasn't been done. ---Berton Braley

DeeDee (Love White Linen) posted a lovely poem by Berton Braley

this week. He was totally new to me, so I did some investigating and
learned that he was a wonderful American poet and journalist.
Click [here] to browse the Berton Braley Cyber Museum.

***portrait by Gordon Stevenson, 1932

Afternoon Lunch

Today my good friend from college days and her husband stopped
in for lunch. It is that same Carpenters singing friend, from my
trip to Japan, years ago! They live in Kagoshima and I rarely have
the opportunity to see them. I took some nice photos of the
food I had prepared, before they arrived, with the intention of taking
more through the afternoon. The conversations flew and before I
knew it, they were on the road again, and I had failed to take more
pictures. Oh well. Anyway, it was a lovely visit with lunch on the patio.
I served ham and mushroom quiche, salad and Mary's
(Across the Pond) Le Gateau Piege for dessert. In case you missed
it, here is the recipe again. Thanks, Mary, it was moist and delectable.
Modgirl, this would be an easy starter cake from scratch...one layer
and no icing...easy, peasy!

Le Gateau Piege

For the pan:
1 fat pat of butter
1 heaping tablespoon sugar
For the batter:
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, really softened
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
2 eggs
1 medium orange (about 7 oz.)
1 cup flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
A good pinch of salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter bottom and sides of a 9 or 10
inch round cake pan (I use a 9" silicone pan) with the pat of butter.
Sprinkle with the heaping tablespoon of sugar, then shake and tilt and
swoosh the pan around to coat.

Cream together the softened butter and sugar. Add eggs one at a
time and mix until thoroughly combined. Grate all the zest from the
orange over the bowl. Juice the orange and add 1/2 cup of the juice
to the batter, mix until smooth. (At this point it looks a bit odd,
like it's curdled but it's fine).

In a small bowl, sift together flour, baking powder and salt. Whisk the
flour mixture into the batter and mix until just combined. Pour into
prepared pan and bake 20 mins. until cake is golden and starts to
pull away from sides of pan. Let cool on rack for 10 mins.
(no more or the caramel on the crust will harden and stick to pan),
then flip onto a serving plate. Let cool completely before serving.

I Know Where I'm Going

Stevie was talking about Scotland, the land of my roots, over at A Little Birdie Told Me So. It reminded me of another terrific film from The Criterion Collection, I Know Where I'm Going*, 1945, a collaboration of the renowned directing duo Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. I discovered this jewel last year and was bowled over by it! Where had it been hiding all these years?

Set in the Scottish Hebrides, a headstrong young woman, played by the extraordinary Wendy Hiller, (I just can't get enough of her) knows exactly "whereshe's going" with her plans to marry a wealthy lord. A raging stormprevents her from crossing to the island for the lavish wedding, and in the meantime meets a penniless Scottish laird, played by Roger Livesey.

Pamela Brown does an excellent job as one of the earthy villagers, who lives and hunts with a pack of bloodhounds. Finlay Currie and George Carney are also part of the marvelous, quirky cast, along with a very young Petula Clark. A charming village ceilidh scene is complete with authentic pipe music, ethnic Gaelic singing and dancing.

Whether you are an enthusiast for Scotland, or just a true romantic at heart, you will absolutely love this
delightful film full of castle ruins, legends and ancient curses. In my opinion, this is one of the best classic romantic films ever made.


Here's the words to the bewitching theme song:

I know where I'm going,
I know who's going with me,
The Lord knows who I love,
But the de'il knows who I'll marry.

I'll have stockings of silk,
Shoes of fine green leather,
Combs to buckle my hair
And a ring for every finger.

Feather beds are soft,
Painted rooms are bonny;
But I'd leave them all
To go with my love Johnny.

Some say he's dark,
I say he's bonny,
He's the flower of them all
My handsome, coaxing Johnny.

*Click on I know Where I'm Going

in the body of the text for a YouTube video clip

Oh Captain, My Captain!

It was a poignant day, a few years ago, when Bob Keeshan passed away. I truly felt the loss of a special friend. In the late '50s, I would sit, eagerly watching the clock for 8:00 a.m. and Captain Kangaroo. The program would always begin with the same reassuring, upbeat theme song and a big ring of jingly keys, as Captain opened the door to his Treasure House, a plethora of interesting, entertaining events for children.

I was chatting earlier this year, to my youngest sister, about how I can honestly attribute my love of books to the Captain, who read aloud such favorites as Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel, Caps for Sale, Make Way for Ducklings and Curious George. His soothing, easy going voice is with me to this day.

I also absolutely adored his “playtime shoebox”, kept below the counter, full of crayons, paste and those round end scissors. I can still hear the slow cut, cutting through the construction paper. Captain’s sidekick, Mr. Green Jeans, played by Hugh “Lumpy” Brannum, was the “outside” farm hand, who bottle fed cuddly baby animals.

One of my favorite memories was his ingenious "pie machine", a box, that would miraculously produce a freshly baked pie. Oh, yummy! My own children naturally enjoyed the more modern and upbeat programs of the 1980’s like Sesame Street and Fraggle Rock. But I will always have a special fondness for Keeshan’s calm, gentle spirit and those pleasant, simpler days.

Click [here] for a little trip down memory lane.

The Result of Over Blogging (Pre-PC)

Death of Marat, by Louis David 1793

The Little Locksmith

I stumbled onto The Little Locksmith, originally published in
1943, several years ago in that lovely old bookshop with the
creaky hardwood floors. After reading it, I could not believe this
little book was not a well known classic. It is not at all a juvenile
book, as the title might suggest. Katharine Butler Hathaway
writes of her hardships in overcoming physical deformity as
a result of spinal tuberculosis, eventually gaining her
independence and attaining a career as an accomplished writer.
I immediately connected with her on so many emotional levels.
Her memoir is simple, honest and fresh; touching without being
too sweet or sentimental. It is rare to find such a straightforward
testament to the human spirit. If The Criterion Collection
included books, this one would certainly be included. This little
gem was finally discovered and reprinted in 2000, by The
Feminist Press. I highly suggest to go ahead and buy this book,

because you will want to own a copy for your personal collection.

Saturday Morning Breakfast

It was a glorious spring morning and WT and I had breakfast on the

patio. The grass has turned from brown stubble to emerald green

almost overnight! It's still early in the season, but I couldn't wait and

potted a few flowers for the patio this week. I found this little clover

at the garden center. This variety has four leaves...must be extra lucky!

Pygmalion

Here's another great film I just watched from The Criterion Collection.
Pygmalion is the original story on which My Fair Lady is based.
George Bernard Shaw wrote this screenplay, from his own very
successful stage play of 1913 and won an Academy Award for his
efforts in 1938. A young David Lean, one of my personal favorites,
did the editing. This wonderful film has been completely
overshadowed by the candy coated Lerner and Loewe musical
production. The debonair Leslie Howard is perfect in the role of the
delightfully cynical Henry Higgins, even if not as cuddly as Rex
Harrison. And as much as Audry Hepburn is a joy to watch on
screen, she is completely left in the dust by the fabulous young
Wendy Hiller, personally chosen by Shaw, who exudes an
incomparable combination of earthiness and sophistication. This
film is over 60 years old and it is completely entertaining, far
outmatching its 1964 remake. As always, The Criterion Collection
holds up to its reputation with a luminous restored digital transfer.
I loved this one so much I had to have it for my personal collection!

Oh, BTW, as an interesting aside, Pygmalion was the first British

film to use the word "bloody" in its dialogue.

Poem for Today

Spring
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring —
When weeds in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. — Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.


This poem by was set to music by Ned Rorem in 1990.
It brings back fond memories of my daughter singing
this piece in a vocal competition ten years ago, when
she was in high school.

Click [here] to listen to the song on Rhapsody. I'm not
sure who is singing on this particular sound track.

***The Spring, painting by Carl Larsson, 1907

Tai Chicken

Blog Princess blogged this fabulous recipe a few weeks ago and it has
become a favorite at Willow Manor. I am posting it again, in case
some of you missed it. The only thing I do a little differently, is I use
chicken thighs instead of chicken breast. Thanks BP!! :)


Tai Chicken Satay

1-2 lb. skinless, boneless chicken thighs, cut in chunks
1 tsp black pepper
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
½ tsp turmeric
1 clove garlic, chopped finely or crushed
1 tbsp veg oil
1 tbsp soy sauce
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1 tsp fish sauce

Marinate the chicken in the mixture for for several hours
or overnight in the fridge. Saute chicken in oil in large skillet
until golden and cooked through. I served it with steamed
rice and stir fried veggies.

(When the chicken was cooked 3/4 through, I drained
the broth from the pan and added it to the cooking veggies,
along with a bit more soy sauce and garlic. The chicken

continues to crisp and the veggies are flavored.)

Salon Talk

Margaret Thatcher has always been a woman I truly admire. I love
her nickname "Iron Lady" and that she, in her diplomatic days,
was an iron fist in a velvet glove. Charming, beautiful, intelligent and
strong. But I just don't want to have her hair. My sister and I were
chatting the other day about death and I made her promise me, when
the time came, sometime in the very distant future, that I wouldn't have
"Thatcher hair" as I lie in my casket. A few years back, I went to
a young girl to have my hair cut and highlighted. She had her own little
shop in a small town near ours. Some of my friends, with chic modern
styles, were her patrons, so I had no worries. She spent an inordinate
amount of time on me, tweaking and snipping for hours. When she
finally twirled me around in the chair and handed me a mirror, to
properly view the finished product, I was horrified!! There on my head
perched a stiff, teased and perfectly flipped nest of molded hair that
made me look exactly like the Iron Lady. Maybe because I was old

enough to be this girl's mother, she assumed I needed a nice

matronly hairstyle. But this was definitely not the fresh new look we
had previously discussed. Everything else was a blurr, hunkering
down in the seat, driving home at breakneck pace, before I could
be spotted by anyone I knew. I was lucky not to have been stopped

for speeding. But then, what cop in his right mind, could possibly

give Margaret Thatcher a ticket?

Candle Hat

Candle Hat

by Billy Collins, Questions About Angels, 1991

In most self-portraits it is the face that dominates:
Cezanne is a pair of eyes swimming in brushstrokes,
Van Gogh stares out of a halo of swirling darkness,
Rembrandt looks relieved as if he were taking a breather
from painting The Blinding of Samson.

But in this one Goya stands well back from the mirror
and is seen posed in the clutter of his studio
addressing a canvas tilted back on a tall easel.

He appears to be smiling out at us as if he knew
we would be amused by the extraordinary hat on his head
which is fitted around the brim with candle holders,
a device that allowed him to work into the night.

You can only wonder what it would be like
to be wearing such a chandelier on your head
as if you were a walking dining room or concert hall.

But once you see this hat there is no need to read
any biography of Goya or to memorize his dates.

To understand Goya you only have to imagine him
lighting the candles one by one, then placing
the hat on his head, ready for a night of work.

Imagine him surprising his wife with his new invention,
then laughing like a birthday cake when she saw the glow.

Imagine him flickering through the rooms of his house
with all the shadows flying across the walls.

Imagine a lost traveler knocking on his door
one dark night in the hill country of Spain.
"Come in," he would say, "I was just painting myself, "
as he stood in the doorway holding up the wand of a brush
illuminated in the blaze of his famous candle hat.

***Francisco Goya, Self-Portrait, 1790-95

A Man for All Seasons

This handsome young sailor is my World Traveler's father, Bill. He
was born on this day, April 11, 1925 in Chillicothe, Missouri. As you
can see from his uniform, he joined the US Navy and served in WWII
aboard the USS Tingey. He came home from the Pacific and married
his beautiful sweetheart, Evelyn on June 29, 1947 in Kansas City,
where they settled, had five daughters, one son, 25 grandchildren and
15 great grandchildren! Bill retired from the Kansas City School Board
where he worked for 30 years. Then he embraced his retirement with
vibrancy, working at the many things he enjoys. I have never known
such an industrious man. Aside from keeping up his 37 acres, he has
a complete woodworking shop where he not only refinishes beautiful
vintage furniture, but makes quite a bit of his own pieces from scratch.
Whenever we phone for a chat, he is usually in a tree, on a roof or
riding a tractor! Over the years, Bill as been a mentor to scores of
people, who benefit from his generous love and care. Three years
ago, he celebrated his 80th birthday and (I am not exaggerating)
literally hundreds showed up to congratulate this wonderful man,
who touches the lives of so many fortunate people.

Happy Birthday, Dad! We love you!

Magpies, Glass Eyes

Robyn referred to herself the other day as a magpie, which I
thought was so absolutely charming! She, like myself, is a scavenger.
It is the artist in us, that is drawn to the beautiful and unusual on
this earth. Her wonderful woodcarvings are full of her treasures.
I often pick up odd things at flea markets. This winter I came across
this great glass eye. A vendor had a huge collection, all sizes and
colors of eyes, housed in an interesting old wooden case with 15 or
20 shallow drawers. It had once belonged to a local optometrist.
After examining each one several times, a large grey blue was my
choice. The workmanship is amazing; the iris is incredibly detailed.
So, that's one of the unique things this particular magpie snatched
up and carried home. Just because.

Uncle Guy

This dashing young man is my Great-Great Uncle Guy. You have seen
his great photo over on my blog’s sidebar. He was born on this day,
April 9, 1885, in Howard Co., Indiana, to Palestine and Mary. Guy's
middle initial was "L" and it is assumed that it stood for Lorenzo, after
his paternal grandfather Joseph Lorenzo Dow. All the family members
who knew him have passed away, but I do know several things about
him from oral family history and from some personal research. He
attended The Indiana State Normal School for only one year in 1910,
because he contracted tuberculosis. There is a family story that tells
of Guy jumping into a frozen pond to save a young boy from drowning,
and contracting TB soon afterward. The doctors advised the family to
move him west for the benefits of a dry climate. So, in 1911, Palestine,
Mary, and three of their children, moved from Indiana to
Albuquerque, New Mexico. Guy was a talented photographer, as you
can see by this wonderful self portrait, taken in front of a mirror. The
dry western climate did not improve his health, and when his condition
was determined to be fatal, the family returned with him to Howard Co.,
Indiana, where he died at the age of 27 on March 16, 1913. His
obituary in the Kokomo Tribune says that he had a very large circle of
friends. It is quite sad that so many died as a result of various illnesses
that can easily be prevented today. I often think of Mary, his mother,
and have compassion for her, losing her handsome young son so early
in life.


Dirge Without Music
--- Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the
hard ground.
So, it is and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind.
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
with lilies and with laurel they go, but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, ---but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter,
the love,---
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses elegant and
curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not
approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in
the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

A Passion for Collecting

I picked up this great book last week in a wonderful overstock and
second hand bookstore, actually housed in an old church building.
Sadly, the church is no longer used for its intended purpose, but
the next best thing, in my opinion, is a bookstore! This book,
A Passion for Collecting, by Caroline Clifton-Mogg, 2002, softcover,
is a fabulous compilation of a myriad of collections, with informative
comments and display suggestions. I highly suggest this book for
those of you, like myself, who love collecting vintage.

Routine Maintenance

Routine

by Arthur Guiterman

No matter what we are and who,
Some duties everyone must do:

A Poet puts aside his wreath
To wash his face and brush his teeth,

And even Earls
Must comb their curls,

And even Kings
Have underthings.


Age is wreaking havoc on my skin! It is a constant battle to fight
the dryness, especially through the winter months. (The odd thing
is, my face still has oily patches and blemishes along with wrinkles,
which is ever so lovely.) And my heals and elbows have taken on
the strange consistency of pumice. What is this? The curse of
everyone over 50? Spring has arrived and my feet need extra
attention, in order to become sandal worthy. Help!! One product
that really has made a difference is Kroger Gentle Skin Cream,
for dry sensitive skin. (Walmart has a similar Equate product, the
generic form of Cetaphil Skin Cream.) It is fragrance free and
just the right luxurious, creamy consistency. The best thing is that
it's so inexpensive, I can slather it on and not feel guilty. I have
used various high end skin products and this little cheap one wins,
hands down! It has become one of those little things in life that
I can’t live without.

Olga Khokhlova

This is Olga Khokhlova, portrait by Pablo Picasso. She was a Russian
ballerina, his first wife, who he married in 1918. This piece was printed
in the December 2007 issue of Vanity Fair. This portrait was
completely new to me and I was fascinated! It is obviously Picasso's
style, with the round shapes and large eyes. I think it is evident that
he incorporated some of his own features into her face; clearly a sign
that he was very much in love with her, early in the marriage before
all the emotional conflict began. The soft, suede like colors and
shading are so beautiful. This work reminds me of Reiner, a lovely girl
who was my daughter's friend in high school.

Jonathan Adler

Jonathan Adler is a wonderfully talented young artist. His pottery
creations are a modern variety of lines, shapes, textures and colors.
My daughter gave me this charming little giraffe for Christmas last
year. It is part of his fabulous menagerie collection of animal figures,
which are my particular favorites. His stores are mostly on the east
and west coast, with the exception of Chicago, I think. However,
many independent shops carry a sampling of his great creations.
His line has now expanded into bedding, furniture, home decor and
all kinds of other goodies.

Mexican Chicken

I am not particularly fond of casseroles, in fact I never make them...

except for this one recipe, which I made all the time when I had a

house full of teenagers. It was very popular about 10 years ago.

Everyone loved it and it fed a crowd. (I haven't made it in ages.)

WT is back in town and I had some leftover tortillas. We will be

eating it for days...it makes wonderful leftovers. The recipe can be

adjusted easily to accommodate taste preferences. It is very mildly

spicy, but you can kick it up if you like more. Low fat versions of the

ingredients work well, too.

Mexican Chicken Casserole

6 cooked, shredded boneless skinless chicken breasts
8 large soft tortillas
1 28 oz. can diced tomatoes
2 cans cream chicken soup
1 small can navy beans
1 4 oz can mild green chiles
2 C shredded cheddar
1 T onion powder
1 clove minced garlic
1 t pepper
chives or green onions (optional)

Mix tomatoes, soup, beans, chiles, onion powder,
garlic and pepper in large bowl (all undrained) plus broth
from the cooked chicken. (If there's no broth, then add
1 C water.)

Layer in 13"x 9" pan, starting with just enough mixture
to cover the bottom, then four of the tortillas, all of the
shredded chicken, 1 C cheese, more mixture, rest
of the tortillas, mixture and end with last cup of cheese
on top. Sprinkle with chives or green onions.

Bake 350 for 45 minutes or until bubbly in center. Let
rest for 20 minutes to congeal.

Garnish with sour cream and fresh cilantro.

Unmade Bed

There has been some blog chat lately about having a serene bedroom,
to evoke comfort and sleep. A few years ago, we painted the whole
room, even the ceiling, a rich dark bittersweet brown and I absolutely
adore it. It’s peaceful, simple and elegant. After I went up to make and
tweak the bed for my "serene bedroom" blog photos, I decided to leave
it unmade. It looked lovely, romantic and comfortable with the sun
streaming through the skylight onto the rumpled sheets. Maybe I
should think about leaving it this way more often.

Anton Karas

If you are an enthusiast of The Third Man, the subject of my
morning post, you will enjoy this clip on YouTube of Anton Karas,
the Viennese zither player who is best known for composing and
performing the background theme for this film. Click [here].

Thank you Lavinia for sharing this!

The Third Man

My World Traveler has been out for the last few weeks, so I have
had plenty of time for a long movie fest. Last night, I watched
The Third Man. Made in 1949, it is a fascinating British thriller,
based on the book by Graham Greene, set in, and actually filmed on,
the wet cobblestone streets and war rubble of occupied Vienna. Its
outstanding cast includes Joseph Cotten (Holly Martins), Alida Valli
(Anna Schmidt), Orson Welles (Harry Lime) and one of my personal
favorites, the dashing Trevor Howard (Major Calloway). This film is
masterfully directed by Carol Reed, who is definitely in top form, with
artistic angled camera shots, harsh street lights and dark shadows.
There is plenty of mystery and paranoia offset by quirky, gypsy like
zither music repeating the theme throughout. I won't give away the
plot, but there is a fabulous scene, between Cotten and Welles that
takes place in the carriage car on top of a huge ferris wheel and a
superb chase scene through the vast sewer system of old Vienna.
The ending scene is one of my very favorites. I won't spoil it by
telling you, but it is powerful, understated and absolutely perfect!
This is a film I can watch over and over and never tire of. This is a
luminous, restored black and white DVD, part of The Criterion
Collection.

Interior Design Newsflash

The flea market framed moths, after floating around the house for three
days, have finally landed on the bookshelves in the family room. They
seem happy there and I approve. ;)

National Poetry Month

The Dead

The dead are always looking down on us, they say,
while we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich,
they are looking down through the glass-bottom boats of heaven
as they row themselves slowly through eternity

They watch the tops of our heads moving below on earth,
and when we lie down in a field or on a couch,
drugged perhaps by the hum of a warm afternoon,
they think we are looking back at them,

which makes them lift their oars and fall
silent and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.

~~Billy Collins, Sailing Alone Around the Room, 2001

NPR and Sharon reminded me that April is National Poetry
Month. So, naturally, this would be a great reason to post
another of my favorite Billy Collins poems. I often wonder if

my grandfather, who recently passed away, is aware of my

life’s activities. A very high tech guy for the age of 93, he was

computer savvy far beyond my capabilities. He would have

very much enjoyed my blog and would have passed on little

tidbits of family info for me to post. I like to think that he

does read, and is smiling.