Sunday, October 31, 2010

delicious dichotomy


Delicious autumn!  
My very soul is wedded to it, 
and if I were a bird 
I would fly about the earth 
seeking the successive autumns.  

George Eliot, in a letter to Miss Lewis, October 1, 1841

Yesterday, when we were preparing the patio for winter, bringing the plants inside and packing away the patio umbrellas, I found this bird's nest, with two eggs, tucked in a corner of the screened porch. Last spring, for some reason or another, a mother bird was prevented from returning to her nest. The juxtaposition of new life against a backdrop of fall leaves was a striking dichotomy, and personally symbolic, since I consider autumn to be my season of new beginnings.  Maybe this little bird flew off, like me, in search of autumn.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

taps
























We crawled
like quail in the graveyard,
hid quiet behind markers
while Larry trumpeted Taps,
slow and poignant,
for herringbone mourners.

Then skipped
along the blanket-tops, at ease
among the tombs and trees,
tipped small, pigeon-toed
between headstones;

not disturbing the slumber,
not stepping directly
on their beds, crouching low,
still, against a marble pillow,
to prevent the crunching
of leaves.



Tess Kincaid
October 27, 2010


I have fond memories of tagging along with my young uncles, who were actually more like brothers to me, in the Burlington Cemetery, Carroll County, Indiana when I was a girl. We would watch quietly, from a safe distance, while my Uncle Larry, played Taps for local funerals on his trumpet. 

to join Magpie Tales creative writing group click here

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

haunted manor


We moved to the manor 22 years ago. The French Country style limestone and cedar house was built in 1927 and named "Willow Manor" by the original owners. The little culvert, that runs through our four acres, and deposits into the Scioto River behind our property, was once lined with large, lovely weeping willow trees. If you would have asked me then, if I believed in ghosts, I would have laughed.

Not only do I now believe in ghosts, I've learned to live comfortably alongside them, accepting their presence, since Willow Manor is haunted. There's nothing evil or life threatening about my ghostly cohabitants, but they let it be known, on a regular basis, that they exist. Dogs stand at attention, ears up, gazing at a particular corner of the room. Babies have peered up the back stairwell, smiling and waving, when we were alone on the first floor. They are friendly energies.

One of the spirits is that of a small, elderly lady, hunched over, all in white, who roams the house mostly between 3:30 and 5:00 a.m., creaking slowly up and down the front staircase. Her distinctive perfume is so powerful, it often wakes me.  She is known to sit on the edge of the bed of overnight visitors, new to the manor, leaning to whisper indiscernible messages in their ears.  All three of my children have seen her numerous times, but I hear her, most days, loudly rustling dishes in the kitchen, opening and closing doors, walking the staircase, and on one occasion, WT and I actually heard her let out a shrill scream.  She likes to leave the kitchen junk drawer open, the contents carefully sorted on the counter top. Last December, when I was baking holiday cookies, I was inadvertently about to add the eggs, before I had creamed the butter and sugar. (You cookie bakers will recognize this as a no-no.) Just as I held the first egg over the bowl,  ready to crack, a force hit my hand from underneath, sending the egg sailing over my shoulder, to land with a splat on the floor behind me. Obviously, this ghost is not only orderly, but is an experienced cook, as well.

Our first week at the manor, a neighbor boy announced that one of the previous owners of Willow Manor had hung himself on a branch of a tall fir tree on the front lawn. It was a troubling bit of information, but we didn't think much of it.  The next June, I was busy in the kitchen, when I felt a presence at my side. Thinking it was my daughter, who was about seven years old at the time, I closed the cabinet door and looked down, expecting to see her. Instead, a tall, transparent man, with a square jaw and curly hair stood beside me, gazing out the window.  As I let out a shriek, he turned his pale, serious face, and looked down, over his shoulder at me, before swirling into thin air.  Every hair on my body stood at attention. Years later, I did some online research and learned this previous owner had committed suicide in the month of June.

Recently, when we had a new sofa delivered, one of the delivery men announced, quite out of the blue, with tears in his eyes, he had actually lived in this house as a small boy and his father had done away with himself outside, in front of the manor.  This guy was extremely tall, with a head full of curls, and looked uncannily similar to the vanishing ghost, who stood at my kitchen window that June day.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Whale Sound


my little river, the Scioto, October 22, 2010 (a few bass, but no whales)


I find that reading other people’s work aloud 
is the most tender and respectful, 
and also the most careful, 
way to engage with it. 
I hope you will join me in this continuing celebration.



I was quite honored to be contacted by Nic Sebastian who asked if she might read my poem "Infinity" on her classy website, Whale Sound.  Nic chooses contemporary poems, freely available online, which touch her on a certain level. She then reads them in her marvelous British accent, and posts them on her site, as her way of celebrating web-active poets.

Click here to visit Whale Sound  for a dark and delicious reading of my piece, as well as a plethora of recordings of excellent poetry.  Nic's beautiful, haunting interpretation of my poem "Infinity" was posted today, October 25, so if you visit after today, click on the October archives for a listen.

Thank you, Nic, for contributing to the promotion of poets and poetry, by embracing technology in this unique and beautiful way. Poetry is meant to be read aloud, the sounds and textures to be savored and enjoyed.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

there's intelligent life in my neck of the woods

the main square in my town

Hey, for the fourth year in a row, my little town has been named a Smart21 Community by the Intelligent Community Forum, a New York-based think tank that studies the economic and social development of the 21st Century community. "Intelligent Communities are those which understand the challenges of the Broadband Economy, and have taken conscious steps to create an economy capable of prospering in it. They are not necessarily big cities or famous technology hubs."   Pretty cool, huh?


The Smart21 of 2011 are:

Birmingham, UK
Chattanooga, Tennessee, USA
Chongqing, China
Curitiba, Paran, Brazil
Dakota County, Minnesota, USA
Danville, Virginia, USA
Dublin, Ohio, USA  (oh yeah)
Eindhoven, Netherlands
Ipswich, Queensland, Australia
Issy-les-Moulineaux, France
Jaipur, Rajasthan, India
Northeast Ohio, USA
Quebec City, Quebec, Canada
Riverside, California, USA
Shanghai, China
Sopron, Hungary
Stratford, Ontario, Canada
Taoyuan County, Taiwan
Trikala, Greece
Windsor-Essex, Ontario, Canada
Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada





I know that I am intelligent, 
because I know that I know nothing. 
Socrates 

Friday, October 22, 2010

tradition



This is one of my traditional seasonal favorites. I only make this one between October and December. It doesn't feel right eating it in any other time of year. I'm sure the reason I love this rich nuttiness so much, is because it makes my DNA tingle. Yadda-yadda, you say. What doesn't make my DNA tingle? The pecan has been used in our cooking since the Colonists met the Native Americans.  Not only was my maternal great-great grandmother was full blood Cherokee, but my paternal ancestors had, and their descendants still own, a pecan orchard on the Gulf Coast.

Bourbon Pecan Pie

3/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups dark corn syrup
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp four
3 large eggs
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
2 Tbsp bourbon
1 1/2 Tbsp melted butter
1 3/4 cups pecans

Roll out your favorite pie crust and fill a 9 inch pie pan, crimping the edges.

Combine sugar, syrup, salt, flour, and eggs and mix on medium speed until well blended.  Stir in remaining ingredients and pour into shell.   Bake 350 for one hour and 15 minutes, or until toothpick tester comes clean.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

reflections
























Fresh as a scrubbed kitchen floor,
the face glances only occasionally
at its reflection, to remove bits
of bubblegum from the eyebrows.

It wears a small scar in the peach
fuzz above the lip, boomerang
of a pulley weight. Before
dancing cheek to hip with Kansas

and the breed, with eyes sore
from lack of sleep, this first edition
is a Hoosier tomboy, wiry, pixie-cut,
preferring cars and dinosaurs to pink,

except for Bazooka, week-old,
saved on the back of the headboard. 
Now sun-aged, child-changed,
the bowlegged face stands proud

before the honesty of the cracked
mirror on the bathroom door
and dreams of chewing gum kisses,
white sheets, and an acanthus leaf tattoo.



Tess Kincaid
October 20, 2010



Monday, October 18, 2010

wear the old hat, too


I know you are all waiting with bated breath to find out which hat I got yesterday at the antique center. I toyed briefly with the idea of getting the fabulous velvet Shakespearian looking "Wolsey" hat, but chose instead, a rawhide Minnetonka buffalo nickel band outback hat. It looks as if it's never been worn, just waiting there for me to come collect it.  Wolsey just wasn't going to bond with the Barbour-coat-boots look I'm trying to achieve. It's all about reinventing yourself, don't you think? 

And finding the hat, I always like to find the hat. And then props just dress the set. It's all fabulous. 

Morgan Freeman 


People who cannot invent and reinvent themselves 
must be content with borrowed postures, 
secondhand ideas, fitting in instead of standing out.

Warren G. Bennis

Sunday, October 17, 2010

sunday drive



Since today was a perfectly perfect fall day, we hopped aboard the old green Land Rover and took off for a Sunday drive. We took in a little antiquing, a bit of ice cream, and meandered through a rural cemetery. It's been so incredibly dry here, there wasn't as big a display of autumnal colors as I had hoped. Most of the leaves on the trees were a dry, drab, gray-brown.


The countryside in my neck of the woods is flat as a pancake.  The corn has all been harvested and there's nothing left but the dry flax colored bits of remaining stalks.




There's not much to see, except for the occasional farm house, water tower or abandoned barn which I snapped through the passenger side window. I'm sure if this old place could speak, it would certainly spin some fine old Americana.




At the antique center, I simply must try on every interesting hat I see. This particular one rivals Orson Welles' coffee table-ish hat in Macbeth, don't you think?  It definitely has a Shakespearian thing going on. This vendor offered both hats and books. My kinda guy.








We took the back roads home and stumbled upon the Somerford Cemetery, in Madison County, Ohio. Every year, I like to take at least one lovely autumnal walk through a cemetery. I enjoy the history, as well as all the various forms of funerary art. There is something very compelling, full of human truths, that draws me to these places of solace and beauty.





Somerford has a section of very old graves, most of which are covered with fuzzy moss, which is wonderfully atmospheric, but makes reading the inscriptions almost impossible. As you can see from the photo, many are sadly in need of repair. This one is accompanied by an unusual metal stand holding a stone orb. Last year, I posted a list of symbols in tombstone art, but I'm not sure the meaning of this separate orb. Is it somehow connected to Mormonism?

This smiling spider felt obliged to pose for me on one of the mossy grave stones.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

the ambiguous realm

Guardian Spirit of the Waters, Odilon Redon, 1878, charcoal
Art Institute of Chicago
The Smiling Spider, Odilon Redon, 1881, charcoal
Musee du Louvre, Paris






Laura Zindel's wonderful ceramics bring to mind another I associate with the dark beauty of autumn, the mysterious and evocative art of Odilon Redon, pronounced "o dee lawn r'dawn", by the way, 1840-1916.

The following quote is how Redon described his own work, which is how I think we should look at most art forms, including poetry, since the meanings of works are not limited to what their artists intended. A good piece will have an impact on more than one level, and is best enjoyed by simply absorbing the layers, allowing it to inspire, not by solving it, like some kind of mathematical equation. I could go on at length on this subject, but will save it for another day, another post.



Self-Portrait, 1880, Musée d'Orsay




My drawings inspire, 
and are not to be defined. 
They place us, as does music, 
in the ambiguous realm of the undetermined.




Spirit of the Forest, Odilon Redon, 1880, charcoal and chalk
The Woodner Family collection, New York


Friday, October 15, 2010

Laura Zindel






Another aspect I love about fall, is that it's the season of dark and quirky beauty. I recently discovered the wonderful art of Laura Zindel, a Vermont ceramist, whose fabulous naturalist drawings are silkscreened and printed as enamel transwares onto her homewares. She does all manner of flora and fauna, but her favorites are beetles, snakes and spiders. Her spider dinnerware might not be everyone's cup of tea, but maybe a lovely fiddlehead  fern platter?  I think her work is amazing.





Wednesday, October 13, 2010

one 's' or two?




Life is a circle,  
old as my tongue,
and older than my teeth,
a game out of joint, twitching
like an ancient Ferris wheel.
Is this checkers or chess?
Curses pass between us
like kisses. Is Picasso
spelled with one 's' or two?
I hide to avoid
the ignorant, count to three
slowly, like in a movie,
then step away from the crazy.
My naked hope
takes the queen and elopes
from a Tupperware world,
flying wild from this window,
to join a flock of passing geese.



Tess Kincaid
October 13, 2010







Tuesday, October 12, 2010

live the question


Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day. 


Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Monday, October 11, 2010

la crème de la crème


By now, you know autumn is my favorite season of the year, so it's no surprise that many of my favorite films happen to be leaf strewn or just exude that delicious autumnal mood. So, I've comprised a little list of fifteen of my personal fall faves, so get out those woolly socks, my friends.

A few school flicks, all heavy on the foliage:

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, 1969 
Maggie Smith is fabulous as a headstrong school teacher in 1930's Edinburgh, who ignores the curriculum, preferring her over romantic view. She won an Oscar for this role.

Dead Poet's Society, 1989
Robin Williams is an English teacher who inspires his students to love poetry and seize the day. He's the kind of teacher everyone should have, at least once.

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner, 1962 
Tom Courtenay plays a rebellious youth sentenced to a reform school for robbing a bakery and rises through the ranks through his love of running.





That magical Autumn-in-New-York thing:

Hannah and Her Sisters, 1986 
Between two Thanksgivings, Hannah's husband falls in love with her sister Lee, while her hypochondriac ex-husband (you guessed it, Woody Allen) rekindles his relationship with her sister Holly. Did you know much of this movie was filmed in Mia Farrow's New York apartment?

You've Got Mail, 1998 
Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, business rivals, fall in love over the internet. Actually, this is a modern version of The Shop Around the Corner, 1940, starring Jimmy Steward and Margaret Sullavan. Nora Ephron's screenplay pops.

The World of Henry Orient, 1964
Two adventurous 14 year old girls chase a mediocre concert pianist, hilariously played by Peter Sellers, around Manhattan. This is an under-rated gem.



Breathtaking autumn epics:  

Days of Heaven, 1978 
Richard Gere is a farm laborer who convinces his girlfriend to marry the rich, but dying farm owner, to claim his fortune. Lush, dreamy photography. I need to buy myself a copy this fall.

Legends of the Fall, 1994 
An Epic story of how nature, war, history and love effect a father and his three sons in the remote west of the early 1900s. Anthony Hopkins, Brad Pitt, Aidan Quinn, and Julia Ormond. Gorgeous movie.


Dark, rich and romantic:  
(woolly socks are mandatory here)

Brief Encounter, 1945
David Lean's dark love story. Quite possibly the most romantic movie of all time, starring Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson. By the way, these two delightfully pair up again 35 years later in Staying On, 1980.

Un homme et une femme, 1966 
A Man and a Woman. Sexy and hip. I adore this movie, lots of fun 60s cars and clothes. You know the song. Dabadabada-dabadabada...

I Know Where I'm Going, 1945
Wendy Hiller plays an ambitious English woman, who while traveling to marry a wealthy industrialist on the Island of Kiloan, Scotland, is trapped on the Island of Mull in bad weather, and falls in love with a young naval officer.  I watch this one in EVERY season, woolly socks, or not.

Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights, 1992 
Although I love the 1939 Laurence Olivier/Merle Oberon version, this one starring Ralph Fiennes and Juliette Binoche is my favorite. Binoche's soliloquy, at the open window, looking out across the moors, is brilliant.

The End of the Affair, 1999 
Ralph Fiennes and Julianne Moore play doomed lovers in a war torn London. This is the second steamy film adaptation of Graham Greene's great novel. It was made into a movie earlier, starring Deborah Kerr and Van Johnson in 1955.



Lots of leafy fun:
(put on the popcorn)

The Trouble With Harry, 1955
Hitchock's kooky macabre comedy, set in an autumnal village in Vermont. This is Shirley MacLaine's film debut. I also adore Edmund Gwenn and the wonderful Mildred Natwick.

Sleepy Hollow, 1999 
Johnny Depp as Icabod Crane, ala Tim Burton. Lots of great prosthetic heads rolling here and a whole Burtonesque forest with truck loads of crunchy leaves.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

fall-licious


Yesterday, I savored one of my favorite fall treats, a crisp, luscious caramel apple. It's a variation of the candy apple, or toffee apple. While the toppings vary from place to place, there is always a stick inserted in the core, for easy eating. My personal preference, is a firm, tart apple, like Granny Smith or Fuji, dipped in caramel and coated in chopped peanuts. The orchard where we like to buy apples sold the world's best homemade caramel apples, made by a local farm woman. She passed away several years ago, and I've never found one quite so delicious as hers, until yesterday. Where did I find it? My little Aldi store, of all places. Three in a pack for $1.29.

Toffee apples are a common treat at autumn festivals in Western culture in the Northern Hemisphere, such as Halloween and Guy Fawkes Night because they happen to fall in the center of the annual apple harvest. In Germany and Latin American countries, they are most often associated with the Christmas season, and in China, a similar treat called Tanghulu is made by coating small fruits, traditionally hawthorns, with hard sugar syrup.

The most common coating is a hard layer of cooled sugar syrup, usually tinted red and sometimes flavored with cinnamon. The sugar syrup is heated to the "hard crack" stage before coating the apple to make a hard coating when the syrup cools. Other variations include caramel or taffy apples, and chocolate apples, rolled in assorted goodies, like sprinkles or coconut.

I'm not sure we Americans can claim the first candy apple, but this is what the Newark Evening News had to say in 1964:

William W. Kolb invented the red candy apple. Kolb, a veteran Newark candy-maker, produced his first batch of candied apples in 1908. While experimenting in his candy shop with red cinnamon candy for the Christmas trade, he dipped some apples into the mixture and put them in the windows for display. He sold the whole first batch for 5 cents each and later sold thousands yearly. Soon candied apples were being sold along the Jersey Shore, at the circus and in candy shops across the country, according to the Newark News in 1948.



Thursday, October 7, 2010

i am october







My head notes lead
like a picture postcard,
in flashes of red
sugar maple, gold
shagbark hickory.

Initial impressions,
oversized, in mackerel
skies, give way to a heart
of first fires, threshing,
and winnowing.

I toss my gathering
from harvest cradle
to the breeze of gods,
like an old galosh
pulled from a pond.

Sad ellipsis, whose
black bile heightens
with time, like gypsy tears
in the steely steles
of Scioto fog.




Tess Kincaid
, 2010



So what, you're wondering, is a "Scioto"? I like to think of it as my little river. It runs alongside Willow Manor, is about 250 miles in length, and meets the Ohio River at Portsmouth. Scioto is a Native American word for "deer", pronounced sigh-OH-toe or sigh-OH-tuh. The most delicious fog rolls in off the river in October and blankets the manor in autumnal softness.



Would you like me to read it to you?





Click HERE to join Magpie Tales creative writing group.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Italian Sausage #3


So far, this one is the favorite in the series, since we are cabbage lovers here at the manor. It's another quick and easy recipe. Start to finish in just 20 minutes. Simple, yet glorious favors and textures here.

Brown 1 pound Italian sausage, casings removed, (I used turkey sausage) in a large skillet, remove. Add olive oil, 6 cups thinly sliced cabbage, and 3 sliced shallots to skillet; cook over medium heat for 6 minutes. Add 3/4 cup chicken broth and simmer until tender, about 3 to 4 minutes. Toss with 1/2 pound cooked fettuccine, the sausage, chives, salt and fresh ground pepper. Easy peasy and dee-lish.

Note: To remove the casings from the sausage, just cut down the length of the raw links with a pairing knife, remove the meat, and discard the casings.

Monday, October 4, 2010

wear the old coat 2010


Wear the old coat, buy the new book.


It's a refreshing, breezy 50 degrees in Central Ohio. I am welcoming the season of not only woolly socks, but of tweed, tartan and all things snuggly, with much flourish. Plus, fall and winter clothes are much more interesting than warm weather fare, don't you think? If you remember, last year, I found a wonderful cobalt blue Peruvian wool coat from the 70s tucked away in a storage closet at the manor.

In the spirit of last year's mantra "wear the old coat, buy the new book", I dug out WT's old Barbour wax coat from the 80s. I paired it with a pair of boots, also from the 80s and pronounced them "tres cool". (Surprising, since I could have sworn nothing from the 80s was cool.) There are a few places on the coat where the wax has worn, so I ordered a can of wax dressing for $12. It seems simple enough to do, just heat the wax, apply it in small amounts with a rag, then hang the coat and blow with a hair dryer. Easy peasy. Cheaper than sending it off to Barbour to re-wax. They wanted $50. Forget it.

Now, since I've saved a bit of money in the fashion department, I can justify a little trip to my favorite second hand bookshop. You know, the one with the creaky hardwood floors.

PS~If you haven't seen me much around the bloggyhood, it's because I overdid it, just a tad, at the Manor Ball. I'm suffering from a bit of carpal tunnel syndrome in my right hand, so I've laid off the computer this weekend. I'll be slowly making my way back to your street in the 'hood soon! xx

Saturday, October 2, 2010

limelight













for Sarah Dunnam Lewis, 1855-1924



This lamp is a woman.
The chimney's seductive curve,
the floral lip, its symmetry is yours.
You sponged black soot,
replaced the wick, like walking
tightrope in your sleep.

Brood brought down the house,
but never you, never the lamp.
She faired a sideshow century
without a chip, crated-up
in steam engines and horse carts,
Burnt Corn to New Mexico,

till a deep-snow Hoosier night,
the undertaker raised her
over your face,
for one last applause.
He did not grope
the hand-painted porcelain,
but balanced her in his palm,
like a juggler.



Tess Kincaid
October 2, 2010



To join Magpie Tales creative writing group, click HERE.
This is also a Sepia Saturday post.

Friday, October 1, 2010

the morning after


Please come in and help yourself to some delicious brunch. I need some extra strong java this morning, since I had far too many Last Word cyber cocktails last night. Maybe a bit of champagne would help, a bit of "hair of the dog", if you will.

Thank you all for making yesterday's Willow Manor Ball a smashing success. In addition to a fascinating list of attendees, there was quite a bit going on throughout the evening, including duels, tangos and kilt wearing competitions. Tom's pesky Dino Hand was getting a little too handy, if you know what I mean. Poor Tom ended up wearing a slab of raw steak on his face most of the evening, Phantom of the Opera style. Glenn, ever the showman, entertained us with a constant intelligent dialogue on everything from Hollywood to Hemmingway. I do believe he will be nominated for a Pulitzer for his incredible description of the evening's events. And did you happen to see Yoli's fabulous antler headdress? FireLight certainly was the show-stopper in her striking Madame X gown. Annie Leibovitz got some amazing shots, which I'm sure will make the cover of the December issue of Vanity Fair. By the way, did Steve Martin get his pants back? Rumor had it Mr. Ed ate them. I thought only goats ate stuff like that.

So, was all this deliciously silly hoopla pure nonsense? No, my friends, I beg to differ. Jo shared with us a quote from Agnes de Mille,

To dance is to be out of yourself.
Larger, more beautiful, more powerful.
This is power, it is glory on earth
and it is yours for the taking.

As Alan so aptly put it, the line between fantasy and reality is where artists live. We should never apologize (Julia Child would love this) for our virtual world, but celebrate it, gorge on its creativity. This is exactly what we did. Thank you for dancing that powerful dance on the splendid border between fantasy and reality with me, my friends. It was good. ~xx


Oh, and by the way, the winners of the door prizes are.....drum roll....
Robin of The Violet Hour
and

Congratulations!

(please email me your postal addresses)