Tidbits from Miss Golightly Make a Come Back…

May 1, 2015 at 3:36 am (Guest Blogger) (, , , , , , , )

“In a small square on the left bank of the Seine, the door to a green-fronted bookshop beckoned…”

Another swell recommendation from Andi Kay and Emily. Sally likes it too, y’all.

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One Woman Everything

March 22, 2015 at 10:07 pm (Reviews) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Title: One-Woman Farm51vfhv7U56L._SX258_BO1,204,203,200_

Author: Jenna Woginrich

Genre: Memoir / Farming

Length: 207 pages

I’m in research mode.  I’m elbow deep in tree and herb encyclopedias.  I’ve been reading every homesteading and nature memoir I can get my hands on.  I’m scouring the fields, ditches, and woods for new specimens of plant life to identify, and I just helped my mother-in-law build a compost bin.

One-Woman Farm was one of the recent memoir selections, and it was a breeze to get through.  Daily journal entries, basically, of farm life through out the year, the author’s quest for a Fell pony, and to learn to play the fiddle.

I enjoyed reading Woginrich’s book mostly because I want to homestead… but I don’t want what she has.  She’s too far north.  I want more plants and fewer animals.  I want the freedom to get up and travel when the inevitable wonderlust kicks in.  I don’t want to be a one-woman farm, I simply want to do EVERYTHING, and also not quite that much. But it was nice to live a year in her shoes for a bit, and I would like to select baby chicks and hold a baby goat.  I would love to have fresh milk in the mornings…

The book is full of sweet illustrations as well, which made it spunky.  Her talk of pigs felt more in depth with a pencil sketch of a pig sharing the page.  Faux paperclips in the margins, like a well-worn guide book to life.  Typed recipes and quotes added a richer flow to her sparse text.

Now on to the next… I’m reading The Last Great Walk by Wayne Curtis and The Quarter-Acre Farm by Spring Warren.

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To My Beagle

January 13, 2013 at 2:05 am (In So Many Words) (, , , , , , , )

Geoffrey Guard DogOh dear boy how you’ve aged…

As a pup I loved your floppy ears and soft belly

Now ears are lumpy, feel like hardened jelly

That belly is fat and your hair is half gone

You are going gray and don’t have long

Oh my dear, dear boy

How you’ve aged

Flopping in the WindYou were so tiny, you brought me my keys

You gazed at me ’til I gave you a squeeze

We snuggled and played every day

On long walks you’d lead the way

You still snuggle, despite your bad skin

When we walk, you have trouble breathing in

Oh dear boy how you’ve aged!

DSC02349My sweet little beagle, once so soft and fun

Has gotten old and greasy, too tired to run

I called you ‘boyfriend dog,’ side by side we slept

You’d rest your head on my shoulder whenever I wept

And now you curl up, away from us all

Old, tired, your peppy step now a crawl

We love you old boy, our sweet beagle dog

Our little old man, a bump on a log

My dear, dear, sweet boy

How much you have aged…

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A Tidbit from Miss Golightly

December 5, 2012 at 5:33 am (Guest Blogger, The Whim) (, , , , , , )

A beautiful Texas Autumn at Tietze Park with Sally the Dog.

Tietze Park

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A Tidbit from Miss Golightly

November 25, 2012 at 5:15 am (Guest Blogger) (, , , , , , , , , , )

“My dog and a book are ideal company when I feel sickly.” – Jennifer Joy Golightly

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Agatha, Eggs, and Book Hounds

June 14, 2012 at 9:38 pm (Reviews) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

In my pursuit to read all things Agatha Christie, I have been reading through her entire Crime Collection.  It’s a 23 month program that I set up for myself.  I love reading things in lists this way, but the only draw back is in getting an awful lot of Christie at once.  In doing that, I found one I didn’t care for a lot faster than I would otherwise.  Three Act Tragedy just didn’t do it for me.  It wasn’t as exciting, it wasn’t a page-turner.  I’m not sure if its my mood, if this one just isn’t my style, or if its Egg.  Yes, I have a problem with Egg, and in a bit of stream of consciousness, I will tell you why.

I’m not sure if I don’t like her character or if I’m just hung up on her name.  I just know for certain that I can’t go along with the idea of naming a character Egg.  It really bothers me.  The only remotely forgivable occasion is in True Blood, where there is a rather tall gentleman by the name of Eggs.  1. He’s a dude.  2. There’s an ‘S’ which gives me the impression that maybe its supposed to be his last name. 3. You can call anyone almost anything in the South, but Europeans should be a little more respectable in my opinion.  I can say that, I’m from Texas.

I read “Egg” and am immediately filled with images and smells:

* green lights, The Great Gatsby, and eggs for neighborhoods

* lots of colors, Easter egg hunts, odors from the yard due to un-found treasures (yuck)

* yummy smells, too…. breakfast. omelette.  Hobo omelette are the best.

* the feel of a cold egg cracking under my fingertips, I like the sound of the crack too

Good or bad, none of these sounds, smells, and recollections should be brought to mind from a charismatic female character in a murder mystery.  How funny, too, that she even says “That is a bit catastrophic. To go through life as a Mugg -” in reference to another’s name.  Whereas I think, more catastrophic than to be called “Egg”?  While pondering this, Sir Charles interrupts my thoughts with some chatter about the murder and then says, “Oh, damn, why do I beat around the bush?” At that, my middle school humor kicks in and I begin to giggle as Egg is being spoken to by a man who used the word ‘beat.’  I immediately feel the need to make a Quiche, or a cheesecake, rather than solve a murder.  Although Poirot is the best sleuth around and it is said that he has an egg-shaped head.

Oh Hercule Poirot! “That man! Is he back in England?” “Yes.” “Why has he come back?” “Why does a dog go hunting?” – 3rd Act, Part 10

Although, naming a character Sir Bartholemew Strange nearly makes up for this little irritation about the Egg.  In fact, it would be a great name for a dog.  I would call him Bartie for short, and I think perhaps he should be a hound of some kind.  I have a beagle named Geoffrey Chaucer, perhaps Bartie could be the Walker Hound of my future.  I’d love to have a Jack Russell named Agatha.  Mmmm, no, not a Jack Russell.  I’d like Agatha to be a Fox Hound…

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