Earlier this week, Rebekah and I read The Legend of Kate Shelley by Freeman H. Hubbard and were much inspired by it.
In 1881, this courageous fifteen year old Irish, Victorian girl, and the head of a household of a widowed, invalid mother and five children, alone braved a severe rainstorm with a lifesaving mission.
Kate and her mother had heard the sickening crash of flooded Honey Creek Bridge when it collapsed under the weight of a helper train that crossed it. Despite her mother’s heartfelt pleas to stay home, Kate took a lantern and walked to the C&NW depot to warn the employees there about the situation. For part of the way, Kate crawled across a railroad bridge. She thus saved the lives of the entire occupants of the C&NW train, just as they were about to cross the bridge. Shelley also found the helper train’s engineer and brakeman and led their rescue.
Although I could not find the Hubbard version online, here is a concise retelling of the Kate Shelley legend. http://iagenweb.org/boone/history/kateshelley.htm
The official blog of Denise M. Baran-Unland, author. Discover her books for all ages at bryonyseries.com.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 30, 2010
The Most Convenient Kitchen Utensils...
...according to Miss Beecher's domestic receiptbook: designed as a supplement to her Treatise on domestic economy.
Certainly, Simons Mansion boasted no microwaves or slow cookers. So, in addition to the ice box, what other items might Melissa have seen inside the kitchen? Note: The comments in parentheses are mine.
1) Tin Baker or Reflector: for baking breads, cakes apples, as well as an oven (I had to read this twice. Who would bake an oven?)
2) Footman: made with brass or sheet iron to heat irons.
3: Balances: for weighing cakes (What else?).
4) Dustpan: so one doesn't have to sweep the crumbs across the carpet (Obviously invented by someone whose kids did the sweeping. We have two dustpans, but I'm always finding the bulk of kitchen debris underneath the garbage can).
5) Saw Knife: a saw on one side and a knife on the other. Useful for cutting meats.
6) Lemon Squeezer
7) Case for Lamplighters: to receive the remnants of extinguished matches.
8) Meat Mallet
9) Egg Beater
10: Apple Corer: In 1860, this cost only a dime.
11) Gridiron Scraper
12) Rolling Pin
13: Fish Kettle
14) Preserving Kettle With a Cover: a cover best preserves the flavor of the fruit.
15) Preserving Kettle Without a Cover: shallow, so as not to crowd the fruit.The best are copper or bell metal. Porcelain ones are apt to crack.
16) Cast-iron Sauce-pan with Lid: (I only cook with cast iron. I'm still using a set that cost $28 in 1982 when my oldest son was born).
17) Tin Sauce-pan
18) Copper Sauce-pan. Every household needs at least four different sizes of saucpans. The copper ones are best and most durable. The iron lined with tin are next best. The tin are the poorest.
9) Trivet: for heating articles over coals without burning. Three or four of different sizes are needed with an open fire. Food cooked for the sick demands them.
20) Tin Bonnet: very useful to keep articles warm, to roast apples, and to warm plates.
21: A brush made of bristles twisted into wire to clean bottles.
22) Tin Safe: To preserve food in hot weather and to protect it also from mice.
23) Refrigerators: to keep meat, milk, butter, and cream during hot weather. Instructions are provided for making an inexpensive one. (Something to remember next time I need to replace a refrigerator).
A note from Miss Beecher's domestic receiptbook: designed as a supplment to her Treatise on domestic economy: "A housekeeper who choses to do without some of these conveniences, and spend the money saved in parlor adornments, has a right to do so, and others a the right to think she in this shows herself deficient in good sense."
Ouch!
Certainly, Simons Mansion boasted no microwaves or slow cookers. So, in addition to the ice box, what other items might Melissa have seen inside the kitchen? Note: The comments in parentheses are mine.
1) Tin Baker or Reflector: for baking breads, cakes apples, as well as an oven (I had to read this twice. Who would bake an oven?)
2) Footman: made with brass or sheet iron to heat irons.
3: Balances: for weighing cakes (What else?).
4) Dustpan: so one doesn't have to sweep the crumbs across the carpet (Obviously invented by someone whose kids did the sweeping. We have two dustpans, but I'm always finding the bulk of kitchen debris underneath the garbage can).
5) Saw Knife: a saw on one side and a knife on the other. Useful for cutting meats.
6) Lemon Squeezer
7) Case for Lamplighters: to receive the remnants of extinguished matches.
8) Meat Mallet
9) Egg Beater
10: Apple Corer: In 1860, this cost only a dime.
11) Gridiron Scraper
12) Rolling Pin
13: Fish Kettle
14) Preserving Kettle With a Cover: a cover best preserves the flavor of the fruit.
15) Preserving Kettle Without a Cover: shallow, so as not to crowd the fruit.The best are copper or bell metal. Porcelain ones are apt to crack.
16) Cast-iron Sauce-pan with Lid: (I only cook with cast iron. I'm still using a set that cost $28 in 1982 when my oldest son was born).
17) Tin Sauce-pan
18) Copper Sauce-pan. Every household needs at least four different sizes of saucpans. The copper ones are best and most durable. The iron lined with tin are next best. The tin are the poorest.
9) Trivet: for heating articles over coals without burning. Three or four of different sizes are needed with an open fire. Food cooked for the sick demands them.
20) Tin Bonnet: very useful to keep articles warm, to roast apples, and to warm plates.
21: A brush made of bristles twisted into wire to clean bottles.
22) Tin Safe: To preserve food in hot weather and to protect it also from mice.
23) Refrigerators: to keep meat, milk, butter, and cream during hot weather. Instructions are provided for making an inexpensive one. (Something to remember next time I need to replace a refrigerator).
A note from Miss Beecher's domestic receiptbook: designed as a supplment to her Treatise on domestic economy: "A housekeeper who choses to do without some of these conveniences, and spend the money saved in parlor adornments, has a right to do so, and others a the right to think she in this shows herself deficient in good sense."
Ouch!
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
The Other Stuff I Write
Although I rise at midnight and pen amusing vampire stories, I actually spend very little time writing fiction, compared to the rest of my work.
In addition to delivering newspapers at night, homeschooling two children, hosting a small mission church in my home, and overseeing an "in theory" daily family Bible study with three of my children, I fill my days with a bevy of writing assignments.
Most of my work is for the Herald News (http://heraldnews.suntimes.com/) where I have written on just about every topic imaginable, except for hard news and sports. For many years, I had three "regular features" I filled every week, two of which are still going strong.
One of them, long since phased out for space, was Local Flavor, a spotlight on what area people liked to cook, along with a couple of their recipes. Artworks, which I have been writing since 1998, profiles local artists and their work. An Extraordinary Life spotlights recently deceased individuals who have led unusually interesting and inspirational lives. I've been writing this column for almost ten years.
For the last two years, I have also written press releases and web content for Adventist Midwest Health (http://www.keepingyouwell.com/). The work has no byline, but the topics are versatile and very interesting. That, to me, is more important than a byline.
In addition, I have had two stories published in Chicago Parent (http://www.chicagoparent.com/), one in Frankfort Patch (http://frankfort.patch.com/), and one in The Handmaiden (http://www.conciliarpress.com/.
My other "funsie" writing was several years ago when I wrote three feature stories and one Local Flavor spoof for The Clarion & Globe, the newsletter of the Goodies Rule-OK! fan club (http://www.goodiesruleok.com/).
Come to think of it, I haven't wandered over to the GROK website in a while. I think I'll do that now.
In addition to delivering newspapers at night, homeschooling two children, hosting a small mission church in my home, and overseeing an "in theory" daily family Bible study with three of my children, I fill my days with a bevy of writing assignments.
Most of my work is for the Herald News (http://heraldnews.suntimes.com/) where I have written on just about every topic imaginable, except for hard news and sports. For many years, I had three "regular features" I filled every week, two of which are still going strong.
One of them, long since phased out for space, was Local Flavor, a spotlight on what area people liked to cook, along with a couple of their recipes. Artworks, which I have been writing since 1998, profiles local artists and their work. An Extraordinary Life spotlights recently deceased individuals who have led unusually interesting and inspirational lives. I've been writing this column for almost ten years.
For the last two years, I have also written press releases and web content for Adventist Midwest Health (http://www.keepingyouwell.com/). The work has no byline, but the topics are versatile and very interesting. That, to me, is more important than a byline.
In addition, I have had two stories published in Chicago Parent (http://www.chicagoparent.com/), one in Frankfort Patch (http://frankfort.patch.com/), and one in The Handmaiden (http://www.conciliarpress.com/.
My other "funsie" writing was several years ago when I wrote three feature stories and one Local Flavor spoof for The Clarion & Globe, the newsletter of the Goodies Rule-OK! fan club (http://www.goodiesruleok.com/).
Come to think of it, I haven't wandered over to the GROK website in a while. I think I'll do that now.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
So You've Travelled Back in Time
By Sir Frederick Chook (http://www.frillyshirt.org/).
First published in Po'Boy magazine. (http://www.poboy.com.au/).
Used with permission of both the author and the publisher.
There comes a time in your life when – much as you’d love to avoid it – you just have to admit to yourself “Yep, I’ve gone back in time.” Now, ideally, all our time travelling would be prefaced with cybernetic learning implants, extensive briefings, and all the preparation a shadowy technocratic conclave can provide. Sometimes, though, life deals us an anomaly of physics which rudely plucks us from our daily grind and deposits us in the late nineteenth century, and you just have to play those cards as they fall.
Now, having suddenly become wise beyond your peers’ years, you may be tempted to revolutionise medicine, make a killing in electronics, be credited with a dance sensation, or some other joyride on your era’s coattails. Consider, though, the classic conundrum of time travel: if your actions can effect change on the past as we know it, you risk preventing your own having time-travelled in the first place; in short, a most peculiar paradox. Any attempt to alter history must, logically, be doomed to fail, and to pursue it is to ensure your own waylayment, destruction, or kidnapping by a flock of unusually vicious moths.
Thus, the lesson with which I wish to furnish you today is the simple necessity of blending in; of concocting a cover identity which might, within the bounds of reasonable eccentricity, explain away the oddities which come of being a chronological refugee. Sadly, this means resisting the temptation of an Austenian fantasy of socialising with the rich and beautiful. If you can’t recite in Greek and Latin, manage a dozen farms and dance a Viennese waltz – in short, enjoy all the ridiculous benefits of a classical education – the aristocracy will sniff you out and scandalise you so thoroughly, you’ll struggle to find a rubber duck that would be seen with you in the bath.
(I must admit, I’m being rather unfair to Austen there. So often, her comparatively humble heroes – self-made lineages, moderately successful gentry, impoverished military families, and so on – prove that at an open mind and a kind heart trump the best advantages of wealth and status. This only furthers my point, though: if you don’t have an Eton-and-Oxbridge-style education, there’s no shame in seeking out modest but good-natured company. If you do have an Eton-and-Oxbridge-style education, you’re the proud inheritor of a mindset which has resisted change for centuries, and this guide will be of little use to you anyway.)
Speaking of wealth, a pertinent issue if you wish to acquire any diggings more fashionable than a disused barn and a contemporary wardrobe without someone else’s nametags, you’ll need to determine if any of your saleable skills are backwards compatible. Thankfully, many professions change much less than they stay the same. Actors, journalists, waiters – anyone whose raw materials are human nature – will find there’s been little development in their field. Those whose training is of a more technical bent may struggle, though – computer programmers, aerospace engineers, photocopier repairers and what have you. If you’re a handy typist – and, face it, we all are, these days – you might find a job there, though it’s typically young ladies’ work. If you get desperate, chaps, remember that there’s be work for a sturdy pair of hands before mechanisation takes over, and a reliable fellow can get by without questions being asked as a hauler or lumper (like a hauler, but with fish.)
Now, even if you can fill some comfortable niche in the humdrum-but-welcoming ranks of the upper-working/lower-middle classes, you will need a backstory which accounts for any gaps in your knowledge of notable public figures, landmarks, pre-decimal currency, and how to maintain your toilet with hot irons and unscented sea creature extract. Being from a foreign country is always handy, and incidentally allows you to weave subtle Socratic critiques of your hosts’ social mores into your conversation, a la Voltaire. The danger there is that some wally will pop up and say “Hulloa! I’m from Persia too! آیا شما در تهران زندگی می کنند؟” A safer bet is to pass as a reclusive type from your own area – someone who might know the old houses and the church, but not the residents or the vicar.
Safest of all is probably to be an amnesiac; a shipwrecked colonist, a survivor of a factory explosion, anyone who might be forgiven for remembering how to ride a bicycle but not how to hold a nib-pen, and who’s Queen but not who’s First Lord of the Treasury. Don’t worry about the medicine behind it – the Victorians certainly didn’t. Nineteenth-century fictional characters suffer bouts of brain fever at the drop of a hat-pin (something both spontaneous and difficult to hear.) Complain of nervous flutters, fainting fits, and hysterical palpitations and/or moustache tremors, and you’ll probably manage a prescription for laudanum and perhaps one of those clinical vibrators. If you enjoy the attention, you might even become a cause célèbre – and, so long as no-one actually tries too hard to reunite you with your lost family and friends, a decent little source of discreet donations.
Whether you fly under the radar or above it, so long as you keep your actual origins out of the public light, causality dictates you should be able to live in frugal independence until a wandering temporal waterspout, dusty old relic or wild-eyed inventor with a shock of white hair manages to return you to your original point of departure. Until that point – or until a lonely grave decades before your own birth, if it never comes – remember, the past isn’t so bad! It’s another country; practically a holiday! There’s really nothing new under the sun; texts are called telegrams, but no less vapid for being composed by hand by a bespectacled clerk in sleeve-garters. Students are still students, with surprisingly vicious pranks, and portraits of revolutionary generals on their walls. Slang has always been ridiculous, but the better examples accumulate rather than expire, so you can’t go too far wrong. Incidentally, ‘gay’ has had double meanings of one kind or another far longer than anyone who complains about it has been alive. Otherwise, have fun, avoid crinolines (notorious firetraps, deadlier than any corset,) and if you happen to wander into 1888 Whitechapel, tell me who did it, won’t you?
First published in Po'Boy magazine. (http://www.poboy.com.au/).
Used with permission of both the author and the publisher.
There comes a time in your life when – much as you’d love to avoid it – you just have to admit to yourself “Yep, I’ve gone back in time.” Now, ideally, all our time travelling would be prefaced with cybernetic learning implants, extensive briefings, and all the preparation a shadowy technocratic conclave can provide. Sometimes, though, life deals us an anomaly of physics which rudely plucks us from our daily grind and deposits us in the late nineteenth century, and you just have to play those cards as they fall.
Now, having suddenly become wise beyond your peers’ years, you may be tempted to revolutionise medicine, make a killing in electronics, be credited with a dance sensation, or some other joyride on your era’s coattails. Consider, though, the classic conundrum of time travel: if your actions can effect change on the past as we know it, you risk preventing your own having time-travelled in the first place; in short, a most peculiar paradox. Any attempt to alter history must, logically, be doomed to fail, and to pursue it is to ensure your own waylayment, destruction, or kidnapping by a flock of unusually vicious moths.
Thus, the lesson with which I wish to furnish you today is the simple necessity of blending in; of concocting a cover identity which might, within the bounds of reasonable eccentricity, explain away the oddities which come of being a chronological refugee. Sadly, this means resisting the temptation of an Austenian fantasy of socialising with the rich and beautiful. If you can’t recite in Greek and Latin, manage a dozen farms and dance a Viennese waltz – in short, enjoy all the ridiculous benefits of a classical education – the aristocracy will sniff you out and scandalise you so thoroughly, you’ll struggle to find a rubber duck that would be seen with you in the bath.
(I must admit, I’m being rather unfair to Austen there. So often, her comparatively humble heroes – self-made lineages, moderately successful gentry, impoverished military families, and so on – prove that at an open mind and a kind heart trump the best advantages of wealth and status. This only furthers my point, though: if you don’t have an Eton-and-Oxbridge-style education, there’s no shame in seeking out modest but good-natured company. If you do have an Eton-and-Oxbridge-style education, you’re the proud inheritor of a mindset which has resisted change for centuries, and this guide will be of little use to you anyway.)
Speaking of wealth, a pertinent issue if you wish to acquire any diggings more fashionable than a disused barn and a contemporary wardrobe without someone else’s nametags, you’ll need to determine if any of your saleable skills are backwards compatible. Thankfully, many professions change much less than they stay the same. Actors, journalists, waiters – anyone whose raw materials are human nature – will find there’s been little development in their field. Those whose training is of a more technical bent may struggle, though – computer programmers, aerospace engineers, photocopier repairers and what have you. If you’re a handy typist – and, face it, we all are, these days – you might find a job there, though it’s typically young ladies’ work. If you get desperate, chaps, remember that there’s be work for a sturdy pair of hands before mechanisation takes over, and a reliable fellow can get by without questions being asked as a hauler or lumper (like a hauler, but with fish.)
Now, even if you can fill some comfortable niche in the humdrum-but-welcoming ranks of the upper-working/lower-middle classes, you will need a backstory which accounts for any gaps in your knowledge of notable public figures, landmarks, pre-decimal currency, and how to maintain your toilet with hot irons and unscented sea creature extract. Being from a foreign country is always handy, and incidentally allows you to weave subtle Socratic critiques of your hosts’ social mores into your conversation, a la Voltaire. The danger there is that some wally will pop up and say “Hulloa! I’m from Persia too! آیا شما در تهران زندگی می کنند؟” A safer bet is to pass as a reclusive type from your own area – someone who might know the old houses and the church, but not the residents or the vicar.
Safest of all is probably to be an amnesiac; a shipwrecked colonist, a survivor of a factory explosion, anyone who might be forgiven for remembering how to ride a bicycle but not how to hold a nib-pen, and who’s Queen but not who’s First Lord of the Treasury. Don’t worry about the medicine behind it – the Victorians certainly didn’t. Nineteenth-century fictional characters suffer bouts of brain fever at the drop of a hat-pin (something both spontaneous and difficult to hear.) Complain of nervous flutters, fainting fits, and hysterical palpitations and/or moustache tremors, and you’ll probably manage a prescription for laudanum and perhaps one of those clinical vibrators. If you enjoy the attention, you might even become a cause célèbre – and, so long as no-one actually tries too hard to reunite you with your lost family and friends, a decent little source of discreet donations.
Whether you fly under the radar or above it, so long as you keep your actual origins out of the public light, causality dictates you should be able to live in frugal independence until a wandering temporal waterspout, dusty old relic or wild-eyed inventor with a shock of white hair manages to return you to your original point of departure. Until that point – or until a lonely grave decades before your own birth, if it never comes – remember, the past isn’t so bad! It’s another country; practically a holiday! There’s really nothing new under the sun; texts are called telegrams, but no less vapid for being composed by hand by a bespectacled clerk in sleeve-garters. Students are still students, with surprisingly vicious pranks, and portraits of revolutionary generals on their walls. Slang has always been ridiculous, but the better examples accumulate rather than expire, so you can’t go too far wrong. Incidentally, ‘gay’ has had double meanings of one kind or another far longer than anyone who complains about it has been alive. Otherwise, have fun, avoid crinolines (notorious firetraps, deadlier than any corset,) and if you happen to wander into 1888 Whitechapel, tell me who did it, won’t you?
Monday, December 27, 2010
Branding Logos and Taglines, Grrr....
Coming up with ideas for a logo was easy, thanks to the previous creative efforts of Bryony's illustrator Kathleen Rose Van Pelt (http://www.imaginarylinesstudio.com/) and Christine A. Lindenberg, president and founder of CAL Graphics, Inc. (http://www.calgraphicsinc.com/).
An effective, snappy tagline, however, is eluding us.
Just when the majority of us like a particular verse, someone else comes along and slams it, either for the phrasing, the cadence, a solitary word, of all of the above. Sarah Stegall, Bryony's web administrator, has had fun creating really awful taglines and randomly posting them on Bryony's Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Bryony/115857775121196?ref=sgm).
Yesterday afteroon, Sarah had a brainstorm of an idea. As I wavered between skepticism and cluelessness about certain concepts, Sarah very carefully explained how the process could work to me until I had sufficient understanding to be able run Sarah's idea past my publicist.
I don't want to say any further unless we go with it, at which point I'll fill in the blanks (once I grasp them enough to explain them). I never realized creating an image for a book was so complicated. I wonder how long it took McDonald's to do it.
An effective, snappy tagline, however, is eluding us.
Just when the majority of us like a particular verse, someone else comes along and slams it, either for the phrasing, the cadence, a solitary word, of all of the above. Sarah Stegall, Bryony's web administrator, has had fun creating really awful taglines and randomly posting them on Bryony's Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Bryony/115857775121196?ref=sgm).
Yesterday afteroon, Sarah had a brainstorm of an idea. As I wavered between skepticism and cluelessness about certain concepts, Sarah very carefully explained how the process could work to me until I had sufficient understanding to be able run Sarah's idea past my publicist.
I don't want to say any further unless we go with it, at which point I'll fill in the blanks (once I grasp them enough to explain them). I never realized creating an image for a book was so complicated. I wonder how long it took McDonald's to do it.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Christmas in Munsonville, 1893
Very early yesterday morning, way before dawn, when we were driving in the falling snow and throwing newsapers (I say newspaper carriers are modern shepherds), my mind stepped back in time to December 25, 1893, in make-believe Munsonville, Michigan.
The view spread before me certainly had much to do with it. We deliver a wooded area near the I & M Canal, where we do occasionally see mist rising off the water before the sun rises, so that, mixed with the snowfall, the colored lights adorning old-fashioned homes, and James Onohan's "John Simons sounding" piano music breaking the stillness stirred my imagination, and I savored it.
Because while Bryony absolutely contains scenes from Christmas Eve, Christmas DAY is still locked away in my mind, waiting its turn to become part of the story in Bryony's yet-to-be-written prequel.
Someday, others--one, five, ten-whoever has an interest--will read that prequel. Yesterday morning, however, the enchantment was all mine. Cool, cool, cool.
The view spread before me certainly had much to do with it. We deliver a wooded area near the I & M Canal, where we do occasionally see mist rising off the water before the sun rises, so that, mixed with the snowfall, the colored lights adorning old-fashioned homes, and James Onohan's "John Simons sounding" piano music breaking the stillness stirred my imagination, and I savored it.
Because while Bryony absolutely contains scenes from Christmas Eve, Christmas DAY is still locked away in my mind, waiting its turn to become part of the story in Bryony's yet-to-be-written prequel.
Someday, others--one, five, ten-whoever has an interest--will read that prequel. Yesterday morning, however, the enchantment was all mine. Cool, cool, cool.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Five Minutes on Christmas Eve
As I'm writing this, I get a phone call from my nearly seventeen year old daughter Rebekah. She and her fifteen year old brother Daniel and my husband Ron are done rolling newspapers and are heading home. Communion bread for this morning's Divine Liturgy is rising in the oven, and soon I'll be out in the van throwing newspapers.
This is not how we used to spend our Christmases.
Years ago, when my six children were very young, Christmas Eve meant getting together with my first husband's side of the family and enjoying a special Christmas Eve dinner of twelve traditional dishes, that represented the twelve apostles. We continued that tradition up until this year when the timing of Christmas as per the newspaper schedule and everyone's work commitments made such a gathering impossible.
Then the Holy Spirit tapped me on the shoulder as I was getting ready for bed last night, at the ungodly hour of seven o'clock (It's ungodly when you rise at midnight). I hollered down the stairs for Daniel, but he had left with my oldest son Christopher to pick up my daughter-in-law Cassie from work. So, I phoned my twenty-year-old son Timothy who was still stuffing Sunday inserts for their customers with Rebekah.
After making sure they were near each other, I asked Timothy to put me on speaker phone. He did, and I read from the Gospel of Luke, beginning with Gabriel's appearance to Mary and ending with the shepherds. When I finished, there was a chorus of excited voices. My kids were not alone in the warehouse.
A number of other carriers were spending their Christmas Eve there, too, preparing for Sunday so they could spend Christmas Day with their families and had been touched by the reading. Timothy said, "Now it feels like Christmas. Thank you for reminding us of the reason for the season."
Whatever the reason for YOUR celebration this day, have a blessed and merry Christmas!
This is not how we used to spend our Christmases.
Years ago, when my six children were very young, Christmas Eve meant getting together with my first husband's side of the family and enjoying a special Christmas Eve dinner of twelve traditional dishes, that represented the twelve apostles. We continued that tradition up until this year when the timing of Christmas as per the newspaper schedule and everyone's work commitments made such a gathering impossible.
Then the Holy Spirit tapped me on the shoulder as I was getting ready for bed last night, at the ungodly hour of seven o'clock (It's ungodly when you rise at midnight). I hollered down the stairs for Daniel, but he had left with my oldest son Christopher to pick up my daughter-in-law Cassie from work. So, I phoned my twenty-year-old son Timothy who was still stuffing Sunday inserts for their customers with Rebekah.
After making sure they were near each other, I asked Timothy to put me on speaker phone. He did, and I read from the Gospel of Luke, beginning with Gabriel's appearance to Mary and ending with the shepherds. When I finished, there was a chorus of excited voices. My kids were not alone in the warehouse.
A number of other carriers were spending their Christmas Eve there, too, preparing for Sunday so they could spend Christmas Day with their families and had been touched by the reading. Timothy said, "Now it feels like Christmas. Thank you for reminding us of the reason for the season."
Whatever the reason for YOUR celebration this day, have a blessed and merry Christmas!
Friday, December 24, 2010
The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus by L. Frank Baum
Since this was first published in 1902, it's not exactly Victorian, but close enough to Bryony's time to be worth checking out.
Baum offeres a back story for the Santa Claus legend that has nothing to do with St. Nicholas. As a baby, Santa appears in the Forest of Burzee where a wood nymph raises him. There, Santa becomes well-acquainted with a variety of magical creatures including fairies, gnomes, nooks, ryls, sleep fays. light elves, sound imps, wind demons, and water spirits.
Eventually Santa encounters other humans and is dismayed at the evil they do, but discovers he has a knack for toymaking. Because the invisible Awgwas steal from children, Santa must perform his gift-giving at night and through the chimney, since he cannot pass through locked doors.
The story contains explanations for other Christmas traditions and a battle by the forces of good and evil. It's a full-length book, but if you're looking for unusual, Christmas-themed reading, this is it.
http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/L_Frank_Baum/The_Life_and_Adventures_of_Santa_Claus/
Baum offeres a back story for the Santa Claus legend that has nothing to do with St. Nicholas. As a baby, Santa appears in the Forest of Burzee where a wood nymph raises him. There, Santa becomes well-acquainted with a variety of magical creatures including fairies, gnomes, nooks, ryls, sleep fays. light elves, sound imps, wind demons, and water spirits.
Eventually Santa encounters other humans and is dismayed at the evil they do, but discovers he has a knack for toymaking. Because the invisible Awgwas steal from children, Santa must perform his gift-giving at night and through the chimney, since he cannot pass through locked doors.
The story contains explanations for other Christmas traditions and a battle by the forces of good and evil. It's a full-length book, but if you're looking for unusual, Christmas-themed reading, this is it.
http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/L_Frank_Baum/The_Life_and_Adventures_of_Santa_Claus/
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Submissions Closed, Except for Fish
THANK YOU very much to everyone that submitted one or more recipes for the Bryony cookbook. I received a nice variety of dishes and had a lot of fun swapping out certain foods in the novel and substituting them with the ones I received.
I will still accept a few fish recipes, however, because of page limitations with the publishing package I am planning to use, all other submissions are now closed.
Quick recap about the project: The Bryony cookbook contains recipes to the foods mentioned in the story, the ones Melissa eats in 1975 at family meals etc. and the unfamiliar ones she encounters in the Victorian era.
The recipes are arranged topically, by events as they occur in the story, rather than by food type, as most cookbooks do. A few summary lines are included at the beginning of each section to orient readers, whether or not they have read Bryony, into the story. To further set the mood, each section will feature an original pen and ink drawing by Bryony's illustrator, Kathleen Rose Van Pelt.
No one involved in this project is getting paid or will make any money. All profits from the cookbook will be donated to Big Brothers Big Sisters of Will and Grundy Counties (http://www.bbbs.org/).
That's because, in Bryony, Melissa and her younger brother Brian are, for a short time, raised only by their mother, but also have the advantage of a friendly mentor. The cookbook, in short, honors the fictional Steve Barnes and all the other men and women who have stepped up to make a difference in a young person's life.
I will still accept a few fish recipes, however, because of page limitations with the publishing package I am planning to use, all other submissions are now closed.
Quick recap about the project: The Bryony cookbook contains recipes to the foods mentioned in the story, the ones Melissa eats in 1975 at family meals etc. and the unfamiliar ones she encounters in the Victorian era.
The recipes are arranged topically, by events as they occur in the story, rather than by food type, as most cookbooks do. A few summary lines are included at the beginning of each section to orient readers, whether or not they have read Bryony, into the story. To further set the mood, each section will feature an original pen and ink drawing by Bryony's illustrator, Kathleen Rose Van Pelt.
No one involved in this project is getting paid or will make any money. All profits from the cookbook will be donated to Big Brothers Big Sisters of Will and Grundy Counties (http://www.bbbs.org/).
That's because, in Bryony, Melissa and her younger brother Brian are, for a short time, raised only by their mother, but also have the advantage of a friendly mentor. The cookbook, in short, honors the fictional Steve Barnes and all the other men and women who have stepped up to make a difference in a young person's life.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Branding for Dummies
That would be me.
I ran downstairs to get the morning chores done (what better time than two a.m.?) and returned to find an email from my publicist to the Bryony team about an upcoming a trailer meeting. Confirming a date was the easy part. Then, I read the rest of the message.
Attached to that email were some concepts to ponder-in question format, of course--regarding branding, promotions, marketing, and communications. It was like walking into a pop quiz and quickly remembering you had forgotten to read that chapter.
I had figured once a publicist was on board, I just had to agree with her ideas and show up. She, however, is not letting me off that easy. I guess this means I'm supposed to be part of the process. She even suggested I write a blog post on branding. (Accomplished).
Actually, I see this as a series of blog posts that will give updates on my adventures into the world of marketing, sort of like ye olde school progress reports.
I have two weeks to formulate answers to her questions. Time to dig a new furrow in the aging brain cells, because this is definitely, for me, the untraveled road.
Wish me luck!
I ran downstairs to get the morning chores done (what better time than two a.m.?) and returned to find an email from my publicist to the Bryony team about an upcoming a trailer meeting. Confirming a date was the easy part. Then, I read the rest of the message.
Attached to that email were some concepts to ponder-in question format, of course--regarding branding, promotions, marketing, and communications. It was like walking into a pop quiz and quickly remembering you had forgotten to read that chapter.
I had figured once a publicist was on board, I just had to agree with her ideas and show up. She, however, is not letting me off that easy. I guess this means I'm supposed to be part of the process. She even suggested I write a blog post on branding. (Accomplished).
Actually, I see this as a series of blog posts that will give updates on my adventures into the world of marketing, sort of like ye olde school progress reports.
I have two weeks to formulate answers to her questions. Time to dig a new furrow in the aging brain cells, because this is definitely, for me, the untraveled road.
Wish me luck!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
All I Want for Christmas 2011 is a Ticket to California
Since it's too late to go this year, I figure this gives my family plenty of time to save.
Earlier this month, Nevada City, a historic gold rush town, featured its 31st Victorian Christmas, For three nights and two afternoons, Nevada City closes its streets to all motorized traffic and costumed characters straight from Bryony's time recreate a time long past. Offerings include carriage rides, minstrels, street entertainment, period food and speciality gifts straight from the city's nineteenth century shops. Photos at the site below.
http://www.ncgold.com/Events/Winter/Victorian.html.
This one has a video: http://www.prweb.com/releases/victorian/christmas/prweb4598314.htm
Earlier this month, Nevada City, a historic gold rush town, featured its 31st Victorian Christmas, For three nights and two afternoons, Nevada City closes its streets to all motorized traffic and costumed characters straight from Bryony's time recreate a time long past. Offerings include carriage rides, minstrels, street entertainment, period food and speciality gifts straight from the city's nineteenth century shops. Photos at the site below.
http://www.ncgold.com/Events/Winter/Victorian.html.
This one has a video: http://www.prweb.com/releases/victorian/christmas/prweb4598314.htm
Monday, December 20, 2010
WHAM
Yesterday afternoon, our family received a delightful nineteenth century Christmas treat from WHAM.
Five members of the Wheeling High Alumni Men's Chorus (They were Wham long before WHAM! with George Michael) in top hats, scarves and canes (they've outgrown the rest of their official lamplighter costumes) stopped by our deck and entertained us with their rendition of traditional carols, including Joy to the World, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, The First Noel, and We Wish You a Merry Christmas.
One of WHAM's members was participating in a fundraising event at the Billie Limacher Bicentennial Park in Joliet, and WHAM was singing in between performances. Our house just so happened to be on the way, and boy, were we glad!
Now it just so happened that our small mission church (so small we haven't told anyone about it yet--one of our goals for 2011) was celebrating old calendar St. Nicholas and the repose of St. John of Kronstadt (our mission's patron saint), so the chorus was the crowning point of an upbeat afternoon.
What began as a bit of Christmas fun back in 1975 (Bryony zig zags between 1975 and the late Victorian era; yes I had to get that in) with a dozen newbie high school graduates has morphed into a holiday celebration of spreading good cheer. With the remaining members scattered across the country, those who still live in the area also use WHAM as a reason to see each other once a year.
I'm hoping singing at the Unland house can become part of their annual tradition.
Five members of the Wheeling High Alumni Men's Chorus (They were Wham long before WHAM! with George Michael) in top hats, scarves and canes (they've outgrown the rest of their official lamplighter costumes) stopped by our deck and entertained us with their rendition of traditional carols, including Joy to the World, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, The First Noel, and We Wish You a Merry Christmas.
One of WHAM's members was participating in a fundraising event at the Billie Limacher Bicentennial Park in Joliet, and WHAM was singing in between performances. Our house just so happened to be on the way, and boy, were we glad!
Now it just so happened that our small mission church (so small we haven't told anyone about it yet--one of our goals for 2011) was celebrating old calendar St. Nicholas and the repose of St. John of Kronstadt (our mission's patron saint), so the chorus was the crowning point of an upbeat afternoon.
What began as a bit of Christmas fun back in 1975 (Bryony zig zags between 1975 and the late Victorian era; yes I had to get that in) with a dozen newbie high school graduates has morphed into a holiday celebration of spreading good cheer. With the remaining members scattered across the country, those who still live in the area also use WHAM as a reason to see each other once a year.
I'm hoping singing at the Unland house can become part of their annual tradition.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Pure Magic
We often joke about being part vampire because we rise in the middle of the night to deliver newspapers, about twelve hundred of them between two vans. People feel sorry for us because it's a seven-day a week a job, which bites when we're sick or tired or both, but overall, we feel pretty blessed to have it.
Conversation between parent and child is looser (and so are the quips) under the cover of darkness. We have inside jokes and secret codes no one else has. We can decipher a WS, WSF, WTFS, FSS, SS, and NOMT. We've witnessed awesome sunrises against the backdrop of praise music and thrown more papers to the sounds of Petra than any other band, YEAH!
Then there are mornings, like today, when the day is cold and the air is crisp, when the only sounds are that of the heater blasting and James Onohan (http://www.jamesonohan.com/) piano music. The combination is pure magic.
Conversation between parent and child is looser (and so are the quips) under the cover of darkness. We have inside jokes and secret codes no one else has. We can decipher a WS, WSF, WTFS, FSS, SS, and NOMT. We've witnessed awesome sunrises against the backdrop of praise music and thrown more papers to the sounds of Petra than any other band, YEAH!
Then there are mornings, like today, when the day is cold and the air is crisp, when the only sounds are that of the heater blasting and James Onohan (http://www.jamesonohan.com/) piano music. The combination is pure magic.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Denise Unland's Alternate Geneology Part 11
By Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara
The most mysterious person in all of Denise’s gene pool is her grandmother. Unfortunately, most of the information about her is still highly classified by several governments. I managed to escape with my life and some pretty juicy stories about this remarkable woman. Now, taking the chance that the nations of the world are too focused on another source of leaks across the internet, I’m prepared to tell the story of a woman whose true name is not even known.
Our story begins in a library some where in China during the communist revolution. Agent 0007 had just taken out a book "The Art of War" by Tung Sun just before the communists had taken it. A week later she noticed the same book with one phrase deleted. Curiously, she also noticed the library’s map of Ireland had a city blocked out.
Through her correspondences with the CIA, she noticed the deleted phase appearing in free world text, but mistranslated and falsely attributed to a Confuses. Agent 0007 became convinced that these three bits of misinformation were being used to cover weaknesses in the communist mind set.
The Irish city deleted for Chinese maps was Limerick. The phase deleted, the deliberately mistranslated from “The Art of War” was, ‘”sticks and stones can only break bones but poems write names in infamy.”
The most mysterious person in all of Denise’s gene pool is her grandmother. Unfortunately, most of the information about her is still highly classified by several governments. I managed to escape with my life and some pretty juicy stories about this remarkable woman. Now, taking the chance that the nations of the world are too focused on another source of leaks across the internet, I’m prepared to tell the story of a woman whose true name is not even known.
Our story begins in a library some where in China during the communist revolution. Agent 0007 had just taken out a book "The Art of War" by Tung Sun just before the communists had taken it. A week later she noticed the same book with one phrase deleted. Curiously, she also noticed the library’s map of Ireland had a city blocked out.
Through her correspondences with the CIA, she noticed the deleted phase appearing in free world text, but mistranslated and falsely attributed to a Confuses. Agent 0007 became convinced that these three bits of misinformation were being used to cover weaknesses in the communist mind set.
The Irish city deleted for Chinese maps was Limerick. The phase deleted, the deliberately mistranslated from “The Art of War” was, ‘”sticks and stones can only break bones but poems write names in infamy.”
Friday, December 17, 2010
Christmas Tree Ships
In the post-Civil War Victorian era, if you didn't tramp into the woods and cut down a Christmas tree, you could buy one, thanks to schooners that carried the cut trees into the Great Lakes region. Transporting them was no small task, since the sailers often encountered ice and blustery winter storms.
One of those ships, the Rousse Simmons, is now legendary among Christmas Tree Ships. It is considered to be the only such ship not damaged in an 1889 storm, but it wasn't impervious to the elements. It met an unfortunte fate on Nov. 27, 1912.
Read about it here: www.chicagohistoryjournal.com/2007/12/christmas-tree-ship.html
For some quick reading on Christmas Tree Ships, go here: http://christmastreeship.homestead.com/index.html
One of those ships, the Rousse Simmons, is now legendary among Christmas Tree Ships. It is considered to be the only such ship not damaged in an 1889 storm, but it wasn't impervious to the elements. It met an unfortunte fate on Nov. 27, 1912.
Read about it here: www.chicagohistoryjournal.com/2007/12/christmas-tree-ship.html
For some quick reading on Christmas Tree Ships, go here: http://christmastreeship.homestead.com/index.html
Thursday, December 16, 2010
A Recipe for Homemade Mincemeat
This is my favorite recipe for mincemeat. It may not be authentically Victorian (that one is included in the Bryony cookbook), but it is authentically good! Oh, oh, it makes the house smell like Christmas!
1 1/2 pounds lean beef
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 pound butter
2 cups dark raisins
2 cups peeled and chopped apples
2 cups canned, chunk pineapple with juice
2 cups cherries
1/4 cup minced orange peel
1/4 cup minced lemon peel
1 lemon, juice only
2 cups dark brown sugar
1/2 cup molasses
2 cups apple cider
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon coriander
1/2 teaspoon mace
1 cup chopped walnuts
1/2 cup brandy or apple juice
Place meat in pot, add water to cover, and boil about an hour or until meat is easily shredded. Discard water; shred meat. Place in a large pot with all ingredients except spices, walnuts, and brandy or juice. Simmer for 30 minutes, and stir often. Add spices and continue simmering until mixture thickens. Add nuts. Turn into a covered container and add brandy or juice. Refrigerate until use. Yield: Four quarts
1 1/2 pounds lean beef
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 pound butter
2 cups dark raisins
2 cups peeled and chopped apples
2 cups canned, chunk pineapple with juice
2 cups cherries
1/4 cup minced orange peel
1/4 cup minced lemon peel
1 lemon, juice only
2 cups dark brown sugar
1/2 cup molasses
2 cups apple cider
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon coriander
1/2 teaspoon mace
1 cup chopped walnuts
1/2 cup brandy or apple juice
Place meat in pot, add water to cover, and boil about an hour or until meat is easily shredded. Discard water; shred meat. Place in a large pot with all ingredients except spices, walnuts, and brandy or juice. Simmer for 30 minutes, and stir often. Add spices and continue simmering until mixture thickens. Add nuts. Turn into a covered container and add brandy or juice. Refrigerate until use. Yield: Four quarts
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
The Day I Wished I Was a Vampire
By Cassie Baran
Ever have one of those days in which you wished you could turn into a vampire? So do I...One happened just recently, in fact! I work at a gas station near 2 inter-modal centers and lots of warehouses. One day, when all of our pumps were occupied, someone came in to prepay on a (broken) pump. I'll call him Dreads.The conversation went something like this:
"Sir, pump 2 is broken. I can prepay you on pump 5 if you like, or you can wait for another pump to open up."
"No, just give me 5."
Now, upon prepaying Dreads, I noticed that there was a car parked at pump 5. Needless to say, Dreads couldn't get his car close enough to the pump for the hose to reach his tank! As I scanned the line, trying to figure out what to do next, someone else whom I'll call Beard, stepped up to my register. He says to me, "I want 20 on 5," at which point I attempt to shut down the pump. Well, since I had already prepaid Dreads on that pump, I had to cancel the prepay. Can you see my eyes turning red yet?
As Beard was running back out to his car, Dreads came in rather irate, as was I! He half -asked, half-yelled at me, "Oh, so you're gonna take care of this guy first, or what?" Trying to hide my fangs, I informed Dreads that I had canceled his prepay since he hadn't picked up the pump yet. I told him that he would have to wait until the first car was out of his way, or move to another pump and I could set him up there. In the midst of this, I noticed that we were out of coffee. When it rains.....ya know?
Trying to muddle my way through the last 8 customers, I noticed that Beard was due some change. So, I hollered to my maker; I mean manager; that I was running it out to him. Now, I'm no dummy when it comes to a hustle, so I poured on the power and got him his change as he was finishing pumping his gas. Guess who was still waiting? Yep...Dreads! Leaning his head out of his window, he barks at me, "Hey, yo! Should I just pull into 5 now?" Barely feeling the 30 degree chill, I tell him that's fine, I'll go inside and set him up again. Again, pouring on the speed, I race back in to get Dreads set up before he gets to the pump. So much hassle, I thought to myself, over one broken pump. It would have been so much easier if I could have just sucked him dry.... and so much less aggravating, too!
Ever have one of those days in which you wished you could turn into a vampire? So do I...One happened just recently, in fact! I work at a gas station near 2 inter-modal centers and lots of warehouses. One day, when all of our pumps were occupied, someone came in to prepay on a (broken) pump. I'll call him Dreads.The conversation went something like this:
"Sir, pump 2 is broken. I can prepay you on pump 5 if you like, or you can wait for another pump to open up."
"No, just give me 5."
Now, upon prepaying Dreads, I noticed that there was a car parked at pump 5. Needless to say, Dreads couldn't get his car close enough to the pump for the hose to reach his tank! As I scanned the line, trying to figure out what to do next, someone else whom I'll call Beard, stepped up to my register. He says to me, "I want 20 on 5," at which point I attempt to shut down the pump. Well, since I had already prepaid Dreads on that pump, I had to cancel the prepay. Can you see my eyes turning red yet?
As Beard was running back out to his car, Dreads came in rather irate, as was I! He half -asked, half-yelled at me, "Oh, so you're gonna take care of this guy first, or what?" Trying to hide my fangs, I informed Dreads that I had canceled his prepay since he hadn't picked up the pump yet. I told him that he would have to wait until the first car was out of his way, or move to another pump and I could set him up there. In the midst of this, I noticed that we were out of coffee. When it rains.....ya know?
Trying to muddle my way through the last 8 customers, I noticed that Beard was due some change. So, I hollered to my maker; I mean manager; that I was running it out to him. Now, I'm no dummy when it comes to a hustle, so I poured on the power and got him his change as he was finishing pumping his gas. Guess who was still waiting? Yep...Dreads! Leaning his head out of his window, he barks at me, "Hey, yo! Should I just pull into 5 now?" Barely feeling the 30 degree chill, I tell him that's fine, I'll go inside and set him up again. Again, pouring on the speed, I race back in to get Dreads set up before he gets to the pump. So much hassle, I thought to myself, over one broken pump. It would have been so much easier if I could have just sucked him dry.... and so much less aggravating, too!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Croquet's Outrageous History, Part Two
At Simons Mansion’s garden party, Melissa is relieved to learn that croquet is one of the planned amusements, since she had previously played it with her family at a picnic.
Of course, the annoying presence of Henry Matthews considerably diminishes her fun, especially after he sarcastically compares her playing style to Mrs. Joad, winner of the first women’s croquet championship, held in 1869 in England.
However, despite the Victorian fondness for croquet (which Boston banned in 1890 for moral reasons because young people might disappear into shrubbery together to look for balls), the game has a long, interesting, and somewhat amusing history. It has been utilized as medicinal exercise, deemed character-building and a substitute for warfare, banned for threatening civilization, and been the catalyst for full-dress balls.
Thank you Maui Croquet Club (http://www.mauicroquetclub.org/) for sharing the croquet facts on the game’s early years. Visit the site for additional croquet history and information. See also the November 2, 2010 BryonySeries blog post, Croquet's Outrageous History, Part One.
1894: Frederick Douglass builds a croquet court at his Anacosta, Virginia, USA, home named Cedar Hill, overlooking the capital of the United States. An article in The Washington Post on 18 September 2005 entitled Restoration Will Let Visitors See How Frederick Douglass Lived said, "As if completing the image of the proper Victorian-era gentleman that Douglass sought to project, a croquet court spread across his expansive lawn just outside his library window, near the grape arbor and the peach trees. The former slave loved croquet. If there's some dissonance in that fact, well, that's Douglass."
1899: A new set of rules was standardized (perhaps in Norwich, Connecticut, USA) for the American version, which was given a new name: roque, formed by clipping the first and last letters from croquet. It was played on a court of hard-packed dirt, with hard rubber balls, very narrow wickets, and short mallets. The court was enclosed by a wooden barricade to keep the lively balls on the field of play.
1901: Lily Gower wins the English gold metal, beating England's best male players, including G.H. Woolston. The game was only slightly marred by a dispute concerning a tactical manoeuvre called double tapping about which Woolston complained. Ladies, and even men, had been known to double tap before and, anyway, it was felt that Mr. Woolston was not a gentleman for mentioning it.
1902: Judge Barlaine Deane in the London Divorce Court adjudicated a case of cruelty brought by the wife of the Reverend Fearnley-Whittingstall. He heard the lady explain that during a game of croquet her husband became so infuriated because she claimed that his ball had not properly passed through the hoop that he refused to speak to her for a week. "I do not think," said Judge Deane, "that there is a game so liable to put one out of humour as croquet."
1907: Lily Gower wins the Men's Open! The rules had been very loosely drafted by the Hurlingham Club, and Lily had taken advantage of a tactical loophole which enabled her to enter. The rules were immediately tightened up.
1934: [The Draw and Process tournament format] was given a trial in [Australia] at the Camberley Heath tournament, but it was not popular with the players nor the managers whom it was intended to assist, the latter complaining "You never get rid of anyone." [History of Croquet by David Prichard]
1940's: Holywood stars Harpo Marx, Louis Jordan, Darryl Zanuck, Tyrone Power, George Sanders, Gig Young, Prince Romanoff, and Samuel Goldwyn popularized nine-wicket croquet on the West coast of America. Bets of $10,000 were made. The level of play was high: at the start of a game, Louis Jourdan would light a cigarette, take a deep puff, and place it on the stake; then he would do an all-round run in time to pickup his cigarette for one last puff.
Of course, the annoying presence of Henry Matthews considerably diminishes her fun, especially after he sarcastically compares her playing style to Mrs. Joad, winner of the first women’s croquet championship, held in 1869 in England.
However, despite the Victorian fondness for croquet (which Boston banned in 1890 for moral reasons because young people might disappear into shrubbery together to look for balls), the game has a long, interesting, and somewhat amusing history. It has been utilized as medicinal exercise, deemed character-building and a substitute for warfare, banned for threatening civilization, and been the catalyst for full-dress balls.
Thank you Maui Croquet Club (http://www.mauicroquetclub.org/) for sharing the croquet facts on the game’s early years. Visit the site for additional croquet history and information. See also the November 2, 2010 BryonySeries blog post, Croquet's Outrageous History, Part One.
1894: Frederick Douglass builds a croquet court at his Anacosta, Virginia, USA, home named Cedar Hill, overlooking the capital of the United States. An article in The Washington Post on 18 September 2005 entitled Restoration Will Let Visitors See How Frederick Douglass Lived said, "As if completing the image of the proper Victorian-era gentleman that Douglass sought to project, a croquet court spread across his expansive lawn just outside his library window, near the grape arbor and the peach trees. The former slave loved croquet. If there's some dissonance in that fact, well, that's Douglass."
1899: A new set of rules was standardized (perhaps in Norwich, Connecticut, USA) for the American version, which was given a new name: roque, formed by clipping the first and last letters from croquet. It was played on a court of hard-packed dirt, with hard rubber balls, very narrow wickets, and short mallets. The court was enclosed by a wooden barricade to keep the lively balls on the field of play.
1901: Lily Gower wins the English gold metal, beating England's best male players, including G.H. Woolston. The game was only slightly marred by a dispute concerning a tactical manoeuvre called double tapping about which Woolston complained. Ladies, and even men, had been known to double tap before and, anyway, it was felt that Mr. Woolston was not a gentleman for mentioning it.
1902: Judge Barlaine Deane in the London Divorce Court adjudicated a case of cruelty brought by the wife of the Reverend Fearnley-Whittingstall. He heard the lady explain that during a game of croquet her husband became so infuriated because she claimed that his ball had not properly passed through the hoop that he refused to speak to her for a week. "I do not think," said Judge Deane, "that there is a game so liable to put one out of humour as croquet."
1907: Lily Gower wins the Men's Open! The rules had been very loosely drafted by the Hurlingham Club, and Lily had taken advantage of a tactical loophole which enabled her to enter. The rules were immediately tightened up.
1934: [The Draw and Process tournament format] was given a trial in [Australia] at the Camberley Heath tournament, but it was not popular with the players nor the managers whom it was intended to assist, the latter complaining "You never get rid of anyone." [History of Croquet by David Prichard]
1940's: Holywood stars Harpo Marx, Louis Jordan, Darryl Zanuck, Tyrone Power, George Sanders, Gig Young, Prince Romanoff, and Samuel Goldwyn popularized nine-wicket croquet on the West coast of America. Bets of $10,000 were made. The level of play was high: at the start of a game, Louis Jourdan would light a cigarette, take a deep puff, and place it on the stake; then he would do an all-round run in time to pickup his cigarette for one last puff.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Waiting
An artist friend once showed me a piece he called, “Waiting.” It was a series of overlapping, elongated images that stretched from one end of the canvas to the other.
The painting fascinated me, and I couldn’t stop looking at it. “Oh, that’s just how it feels,” I had said.
With six kids, you’d think I’d be used to waiting. It takes nine months for a baby to be born, a couple years (give or take) to wean, potty train, etc. I’m still waiting for some of them to clean their rooms (I’m not naming names).
Publishing a book, if you’re going to do it right, is an awful lot of waiting.
Yes, I know some vanity presses guarantee a published book in eight weeks or less, but I think skipping a comprehensive editing cheapens any story. In Bryony’s case, significant molding and shaping of a six hundred page manuscript doesn’t happen overnight.
Each round of editing has taken approximately sixteen weeks: eight weeks on my editor’s end and eight weeks on mine. In between, we wait. We are busy with other projects, but nevertheless, we wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
One day the wait will end, and I’ll be holding the official, published book. Further changes will not be possible. Haste makes waste, they say. It also makes a ruined story.
So, Im okay with waiting. Sort of.
The painting fascinated me, and I couldn’t stop looking at it. “Oh, that’s just how it feels,” I had said.
With six kids, you’d think I’d be used to waiting. It takes nine months for a baby to be born, a couple years (give or take) to wean, potty train, etc. I’m still waiting for some of them to clean their rooms (I’m not naming names).
Publishing a book, if you’re going to do it right, is an awful lot of waiting.
Yes, I know some vanity presses guarantee a published book in eight weeks or less, but I think skipping a comprehensive editing cheapens any story. In Bryony’s case, significant molding and shaping of a six hundred page manuscript doesn’t happen overnight.
Each round of editing has taken approximately sixteen weeks: eight weeks on my editor’s end and eight weeks on mine. In between, we wait. We are busy with other projects, but nevertheless, we wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
One day the wait will end, and I’ll be holding the official, published book. Further changes will not be possible. Haste makes waste, they say. It also makes a ruined story.
So, Im okay with waiting. Sort of.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Bryony's First "Meet and Greet"
Yesterday, I had lunch with some amazing individuals.
Eight people (four could not attend) with little in common with each other met for the first time because of a mutual interest: Bryony.
It happened bcause Bryony web administrator Sarah Stegall, who lives nine hundred miles away, was in town for a few days visiting family and friends. We decided it was a perfect opportunity for those associated with Bryony, since we are somewhat geographically scattered, to lay eyes on each other, shake hands, and say, "Howdy."
As each person arrived, they were introduced by name, but also by position: publicist, event planner, composer and pianist, film student, web administrator, employee of a company that selects books for chain stores, and author. Four additional people: Bryony's illustrator, owners of a local theatre company, and a book store employee who's been promoting Bryony since July, were unavailable.
Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara, arrived last, wearing a red Santa hat and a green a T-shirt with a a jolly Santa face. He distributed candy canes to all and thoroughly discussed why his birthday should be pronounced a national holiday and celebrated with a parade. Everyone brainstormed tag lines, video trailers, and when to release the Bryony theme song; we conned a waitress into snapping a few group pictures.
At one point, someone at the table praised me for creating a story that was more than just a book, that it contained these additional and wonderfully creative elements. While her comments were flattering, in reality there had been no clever foresight and planning. I merely wrote the story living inside my head for twenty-six years, and others came onboard. Some were asked; some offered, but one thing is certain.
There were more people sitting at that table yesterday than I ever dreamed would read the book when I wrote its first drafts. It was incredibly humbling to witness people chatting away about something that once existed only in my imagination.
Eight people (four could not attend) with little in common with each other met for the first time because of a mutual interest: Bryony.
It happened bcause Bryony web administrator Sarah Stegall, who lives nine hundred miles away, was in town for a few days visiting family and friends. We decided it was a perfect opportunity for those associated with Bryony, since we are somewhat geographically scattered, to lay eyes on each other, shake hands, and say, "Howdy."
As each person arrived, they were introduced by name, but also by position: publicist, event planner, composer and pianist, film student, web administrator, employee of a company that selects books for chain stores, and author. Four additional people: Bryony's illustrator, owners of a local theatre company, and a book store employee who's been promoting Bryony since July, were unavailable.
Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara, arrived last, wearing a red Santa hat and a green a T-shirt with a a jolly Santa face. He distributed candy canes to all and thoroughly discussed why his birthday should be pronounced a national holiday and celebrated with a parade. Everyone brainstormed tag lines, video trailers, and when to release the Bryony theme song; we conned a waitress into snapping a few group pictures.
At one point, someone at the table praised me for creating a story that was more than just a book, that it contained these additional and wonderfully creative elements. While her comments were flattering, in reality there had been no clever foresight and planning. I merely wrote the story living inside my head for twenty-six years, and others came onboard. Some were asked; some offered, but one thing is certain.
There were more people sitting at that table yesterday than I ever dreamed would read the book when I wrote its first drafts. It was incredibly humbling to witness people chatting away about something that once existed only in my imagination.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Who's Minding Tara?
While chatting earlier this week with Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara, he informed me his ruthless dictator personality goes on vacation this time of year and is replaced with the spirit of Santa Claus.
Now distributing candy canes, reindeer hats, and listening with an empathic ear to children's Christmas wants are good and laudable activities, but I have two real concerns.
One: When will he finish my geneology? This is extremely important since Ed Calkins is the only source for this valuable information.
Two: Will additional development infiltrate the Hill of Tara now that the steward has neglected his post?
Now distributing candy canes, reindeer hats, and listening with an empathic ear to children's Christmas wants are good and laudable activities, but I have two real concerns.
One: When will he finish my geneology? This is extremely important since Ed Calkins is the only source for this valuable information.
Two: Will additional development infiltrate the Hill of Tara now that the steward has neglected his post?
Friday, December 10, 2010
A Christmas Victorian Story
Averyl's Attic, which offers a variety of Victorian clipart, posted a very short 1901 Ladies Home Journal story (http://www.averyl.com/attic/victorian-christmas.htm) about a little girl's Christmas wish for a real doll.
She was living in the Colorado mines with her father, where recources were scarce. Yet, the men at the mining camp made an interesting sacrifice to create an unforgettable bit of Christmas magic.
Check it out. Definitely worth the five minutes of reading.
She was living in the Colorado mines with her father, where recources were scarce. Yet, the men at the mining camp made an interesting sacrifice to create an unforgettable bit of Christmas magic.
Check it out. Definitely worth the five minutes of reading.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Daily Bread
I used to consider myself one of those people who lived in the moment, back when I could afford to live in the moment.
When the recession first hit, we pulled up our socks, tightened our belts, and dragged the cobwebby resources we used during other money-poor times in our lives, confident we could batten the hatches and weather the storm.
Ahem! Enough cliches. :)
Unfortunately, challenges hit us so fast, I felt like crouching in a corner and letting them drown us. In one twenty-four period in October, we had so many troubles, my twenty-year-old son audibly wondered what seventeenth century witch had cursed us.
Although I was still praying, "Give us this day our daily bread," I really meant, "Give me back security, financial, medical, and otherwise, a week or more at a time." I wanted to know a future on my terms was promised us.
In the meantime, some interesting things happened. With each new dilemna, someone or something stepped up to fill the gap. It's been two months since my husband lost his job and our health insurance. No one has gotten sick (yet, despite the fact I still need thyroid surgery), we're not behind in bills, and we're still eating. I have more writing assignments than I ever have. Even Bryony is moving along the virtual assembly editing line toward publication.
Earlier this week, a telephone call brought a financial blessing. The next day, another job threat occured, and we reeled under that blow. Yesterday, relief for that crisis came from a highly unlikely source. Saturday, nine people are planning to attend Bryony's first "meet and greet," an opportunity for those involved in the project to say, "Howdy" and shake hands.
I'm not feeling completely ready to "Let go and let God," but, like it or not, He's certainly inching me along in that direction.
When the recession first hit, we pulled up our socks, tightened our belts, and dragged the cobwebby resources we used during other money-poor times in our lives, confident we could batten the hatches and weather the storm.
Ahem! Enough cliches. :)
Unfortunately, challenges hit us so fast, I felt like crouching in a corner and letting them drown us. In one twenty-four period in October, we had so many troubles, my twenty-year-old son audibly wondered what seventeenth century witch had cursed us.
Although I was still praying, "Give us this day our daily bread," I really meant, "Give me back security, financial, medical, and otherwise, a week or more at a time." I wanted to know a future on my terms was promised us.
In the meantime, some interesting things happened. With each new dilemna, someone or something stepped up to fill the gap. It's been two months since my husband lost his job and our health insurance. No one has gotten sick (yet, despite the fact I still need thyroid surgery), we're not behind in bills, and we're still eating. I have more writing assignments than I ever have. Even Bryony is moving along the virtual assembly editing line toward publication.
Earlier this week, a telephone call brought a financial blessing. The next day, another job threat occured, and we reeled under that blow. Yesterday, relief for that crisis came from a highly unlikely source. Saturday, nine people are planning to attend Bryony's first "meet and greet," an opportunity for those involved in the project to say, "Howdy" and shake hands.
I'm not feeling completely ready to "Let go and let God," but, like it or not, He's certainly inching me along in that direction.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The Best Publishing Fit for Bryony
In the beginning, I did query several agents regarding Bryony, but after receiving my first batch of rejections, I read and thought some more about my options and goals for the novel and pulled back from the query process.
While many new authors do find agent representation quite early, I learned an average of eleven years and several novels pass before some writers attain it. Although freelance writing is a business for me, I wasn't trying to launch a commercial fiction writing career. In short, at nearly fifty, I had no desire to wait eleven years only to see another novel in print while Bryony languished inside my computer.
I had simply written a story I found entertaining and felt others might enjoy it, too. I also wanted to create an illustrated book format for Bryony and to present the story in its best shape. If possible, I wanted the editing process to have a friendly, collaborative feel, similiar to my other writing experiences.
So, I queried several new, small presses and received a request for Bryony's first four chapters. Then, I learned about WriteLife LLC. So when the press with the four chapters fell behind in production, I queried WriteLife LLC. I'm glad I did.
In the past year, Bryony has undergone three rounds of editing. I have been pleased with each result. A week ago, the publisher emailed me and said when my editor is finished reviewing my changes, she will have a better idea where Bryony fits into the company's publishing schedule.
For Bryony, so far, WriteLife has been a good option. The story has received a thorough editing, yet my story and characters are intact. My husband can't understand why I won't save the previous drafts. Yes, I will keep my editorial notes for future reference, but for me, there is only one authentic draft, and that is the published one.
While many new authors do find agent representation quite early, I learned an average of eleven years and several novels pass before some writers attain it. Although freelance writing is a business for me, I wasn't trying to launch a commercial fiction writing career. In short, at nearly fifty, I had no desire to wait eleven years only to see another novel in print while Bryony languished inside my computer.
I had simply written a story I found entertaining and felt others might enjoy it, too. I also wanted to create an illustrated book format for Bryony and to present the story in its best shape. If possible, I wanted the editing process to have a friendly, collaborative feel, similiar to my other writing experiences.
So, I queried several new, small presses and received a request for Bryony's first four chapters. Then, I learned about WriteLife LLC. So when the press with the four chapters fell behind in production, I queried WriteLife LLC. I'm glad I did.
In the past year, Bryony has undergone three rounds of editing. I have been pleased with each result. A week ago, the publisher emailed me and said when my editor is finished reviewing my changes, she will have a better idea where Bryony fits into the company's publishing schedule.
For Bryony, so far, WriteLife has been a good option. The story has received a thorough editing, yet my story and characters are intact. My husband can't understand why I won't save the previous drafts. Yes, I will keep my editorial notes for future reference, but for me, there is only one authentic draft, and that is the published one.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Navigating Publishing Options
I had scant knowledge of the book publishing industry when I wrote Bryony. Until then, I figured you either mailed a manuscript to a publisher and crossed your fingers or paid a vanity press thousands of dollars for a badly edited and bound book.
So, before I became part of the mix, I consulted an updated Writer's Digest and took a ride on the web to find out exactly what that mix was. Along the way, I found other useful resources: Writer Beware, Absolute Write Water Cooler and Preditors and Editors. I learned the difference among then unfamiliar terms: self-publishing, POD, independent press, and vanity press. I studied how "traditional" publishing worked, how to recognize those sites that billed themselves as traditional publishers when they really were fee-paying sites in disguise.
These were my choices:
* Find agent representation who would then try to sell the manuscript to a publishing house, hopefully a large one. Most major publishing houses refuse to look at a manuscript unless submitted by an agent.
* Submit to a small, independent press.
* Pay a company to edit and pubish the book and (possibly) buy the company's add-on marketing services (although I had seen few successful titles with these companies, leading me those marketing services were not valuable).
* Truly self-publish, which meant overseeing the entire project from start to finish (from formatting to design, to editing, to locating a printer, and playing marketer, etc.), a daunting prospect for me.
* Use a cooperative press (the publisher pays some; I pay some).
Tomorrow: The pros and cons of the above for Bryony.
So, before I became part of the mix, I consulted an updated Writer's Digest and took a ride on the web to find out exactly what that mix was. Along the way, I found other useful resources: Writer Beware, Absolute Write Water Cooler and Preditors and Editors. I learned the difference among then unfamiliar terms: self-publishing, POD, independent press, and vanity press. I studied how "traditional" publishing worked, how to recognize those sites that billed themselves as traditional publishers when they really were fee-paying sites in disguise.
These were my choices:
* Find agent representation who would then try to sell the manuscript to a publishing house, hopefully a large one. Most major publishing houses refuse to look at a manuscript unless submitted by an agent.
* Submit to a small, independent press.
* Pay a company to edit and pubish the book and (possibly) buy the company's add-on marketing services (although I had seen few successful titles with these companies, leading me those marketing services were not valuable).
* Truly self-publish, which meant overseeing the entire project from start to finish (from formatting to design, to editing, to locating a printer, and playing marketer, etc.), a daunting prospect for me.
* Use a cooperative press (the publisher pays some; I pay some).
Tomorrow: The pros and cons of the above for Bryony.
Monday, December 6, 2010
How a Fulltime Homeschooling Mom of Six Kids Became a Freelance Features Writer
When people ask me how I became a freelance writer, I tell them, "By staying home and raising my children." The long answer goes like this.
My mother worked at a chain bookstore that presented min-seminars. The community outreach person wanted to offer one on homeschooling. Because I had nearly a decade of experience, my mother volunteered me. It went well; and I was asked to do several more, at different locations. The opinion page editor of the local newspaper heard about the events and invited me to discuss homeschooling on his weekly radio show. After that, too, went well, he invited me back twice and soon asked me to write two columns a month for him.
At first I declined for lack of time (I had six kids, eighteen months though age fifteen) and was homeschooling the oldest four. Then I decided it wouldn't hurt to reharpen my rusty writing skills (I had been a journalism major when I decided I couldn't wait to get married and have lots of kids). Nine months later, I was a single parent and delivering newspapers, so I quit writing the columns.
However, the distribution center manager had liked and remembered those columns, so she sent me packing, with her recommendation, to the features editor. I had no resume, only a fistful of old clippings, but she and another editor took a chance on me anyway. I worked really hard, continued to learn, and additional jobs came my way.
Still, like many new authors, when I wrote a book, I had little knowledge of the publication process. Thank heavens for the internet. Before I submitted Bryony anywhere, I thoroughly researched my options. Tomorrow, I'll share what I learned.
My mother worked at a chain bookstore that presented min-seminars. The community outreach person wanted to offer one on homeschooling. Because I had nearly a decade of experience, my mother volunteered me. It went well; and I was asked to do several more, at different locations. The opinion page editor of the local newspaper heard about the events and invited me to discuss homeschooling on his weekly radio show. After that, too, went well, he invited me back twice and soon asked me to write two columns a month for him.
At first I declined for lack of time (I had six kids, eighteen months though age fifteen) and was homeschooling the oldest four. Then I decided it wouldn't hurt to reharpen my rusty writing skills (I had been a journalism major when I decided I couldn't wait to get married and have lots of kids). Nine months later, I was a single parent and delivering newspapers, so I quit writing the columns.
However, the distribution center manager had liked and remembered those columns, so she sent me packing, with her recommendation, to the features editor. I had no resume, only a fistful of old clippings, but she and another editor took a chance on me anyway. I worked really hard, continued to learn, and additional jobs came my way.
Still, like many new authors, when I wrote a book, I had little knowledge of the publication process. Thank heavens for the internet. Before I submitted Bryony anywhere, I thoroughly researched my options. Tomorrow, I'll share what I learned.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Faithfulness
I'm sitting in the office of the distribution center, waiting for a newspaper truck to arrive and writing a piece for tomorrow, when one of the supervisors walks in for flat bags and asks if I'm working on the book.
I laugh and say, "No," then add that the publisher e-mailed me this week and said she might have a better idea of a publication date after this round of edits. Actually, three o'clock in the morning is the perfect time to write vampire stories, but I have newspaper deadlines to meet, so fiction can wait.
As a working, homeschooling mother who's husband just lost his job (along with the medical insurance), it can be dificult to carve the time for the fun writing: i.e. those pieces no one assigned and that, sometimes, no one reads, but me. Also, if I waited until the decks were completely cleared of all duties, well, I wouldn't even be writing this blog.
Of course, I occasionally long for a month-long writing vacation where I can completely focus on a project, with no interuptions. Yet, the older I become, the more I see how being faithful in a certain area actually facilitates another, even one that is unrelated.
More on this tomorrow.
I laugh and say, "No," then add that the publisher e-mailed me this week and said she might have a better idea of a publication date after this round of edits. Actually, three o'clock in the morning is the perfect time to write vampire stories, but I have newspaper deadlines to meet, so fiction can wait.
As a working, homeschooling mother who's husband just lost his job (along with the medical insurance), it can be dificult to carve the time for the fun writing: i.e. those pieces no one assigned and that, sometimes, no one reads, but me. Also, if I waited until the decks were completely cleared of all duties, well, I wouldn't even be writing this blog.
Of course, I occasionally long for a month-long writing vacation where I can completely focus on a project, with no interuptions. Yet, the older I become, the more I see how being faithful in a certain area actually facilitates another, even one that is unrelated.
More on this tomorrow.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Moonlighting
The Christmas season is a busy time for Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara, since dons a read suit, lugs a pack of presents, and replaces limericks with a steady stream of "ho, ho, hos!" while making the circuit of children's Christmas parties. The beard, however, is real.
Spreading joy and good cheer is simply part of Ed's personality. For two years, Ed was a supervisor for one of two agents for which my family and me delivered newspapers. He bought and distributed Santa Claus and reindeer hats for all and initiated a Queen of Christmas contest amongst the carriers (the women were automatically contests; one year, I even got a vote). The winner delivered presents to families who had children under age twelve, all purchased and wrapped by Ed and his wife.
In the month of December, no carrier left on the route without a supply of candy canes. Ed now works at another distribution center, but throwing newspapers in December isn't the same without candy canes. Luckily, my children are keeping me well-supplied.
Check out http://www.bryonyseries.com/ and click on the link for The Steward of Tara. Do you think Ed Calkins resembles Santa Claus?
Spreading joy and good cheer is simply part of Ed's personality. For two years, Ed was a supervisor for one of two agents for which my family and me delivered newspapers. He bought and distributed Santa Claus and reindeer hats for all and initiated a Queen of Christmas contest amongst the carriers (the women were automatically contests; one year, I even got a vote). The winner delivered presents to families who had children under age twelve, all purchased and wrapped by Ed and his wife.
In the month of December, no carrier left on the route without a supply of candy canes. Ed now works at another distribution center, but throwing newspapers in December isn't the same without candy canes. Luckily, my children are keeping me well-supplied.
Check out http://www.bryonyseries.com/ and click on the link for The Steward of Tara. Do you think Ed Calkins resembles Santa Claus?
Friday, December 3, 2010
Four Wooden Stakes by Victor Roman
A man receives an urgent dispatch from an old college friend to immediately come to his remote estate. Here, the man learns how, within five years, his friend’s entire family—grandfather, father, and two brothers—died of a mysterious malady. Even worse, the friend is growing weaker, despite consuming voracious amounts of food, and fears the same fate. The family crypt holds the secret. First published in 1925 and available for free reading online.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
How Victorian Cooks Judged Oven Temperature
Yesterday, my son replaced the electric starter on my fifteeen-year-old gas stove. The oven had been broken several days, so going without it was a real trial, especially since I'm so accustomed to baking anything with the push of a button. If I had been a cook in Bryony's time, I would have followed these instructions:
From Miss Beecher's domestic receiptbook: designed as a supplement to her Treatise on domestic economy.
The book states the cook must first prepare the oven for properly conducting heat.
* After the arch is formed, four or five bushels of ashes are spread over it, and then a covering of charcoal over that, then another layer of bricks over all.
* Have oven wood prepared of sticks of equal size and length.
* The fire made be made the back side of the oven.
* The oven must be heated so hot as to allow it to be used cosed fifteen minutes after clearing, before the heat is reduced enough to close it. This is called soaking.
* If it is burnt down entirely to ashes, the oven may be used as soon as cleared.
An experienced cook, the book states, can determine the right heat without guidelines. The novice, however, needs a few tips:
* If the black spots in the oven are not burnt off, it is not hot, as the bricks must all look red.
* If you sprinkle flour on the bottom and it burns off quickly, it is too hot.
* If you cannot hold your hand in longer than to count to twenty moderately, it is hot enough.
* If you can count to thirty moderatly, it is not hot enough for bread.
Whew! Bring on the microwave!
From Miss Beecher's domestic receiptbook: designed as a supplement to her Treatise on domestic economy.
The book states the cook must first prepare the oven for properly conducting heat.
* After the arch is formed, four or five bushels of ashes are spread over it, and then a covering of charcoal over that, then another layer of bricks over all.
* Have oven wood prepared of sticks of equal size and length.
* The fire made be made the back side of the oven.
* The oven must be heated so hot as to allow it to be used cosed fifteen minutes after clearing, before the heat is reduced enough to close it. This is called soaking.
* If it is burnt down entirely to ashes, the oven may be used as soon as cleared.
An experienced cook, the book states, can determine the right heat without guidelines. The novice, however, needs a few tips:
* If the black spots in the oven are not burnt off, it is not hot, as the bricks must all look red.
* If you sprinkle flour on the bottom and it burns off quickly, it is too hot.
* If you cannot hold your hand in longer than to count to twenty moderately, it is hot enough.
* If you can count to thirty moderatly, it is not hot enough for bread.
Whew! Bring on the microwave!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Storytelling and Storehouses of Memories
Yesterday my oldest daughter recounted a past incident and then remarked how amazed her friends are because her childhood memories extend deeply into her past. I think that's because we are a family of storytellers, and my love of writing only partially explains it.
For instance, both my father-in-law and my grandmother-in-law loved to tell stories about family history. When my oldest children were very young, I didn't have a car, so my father-in-law drove us everywhere we needed to go. As he drove, he talked about his childhood, his military service, his first jobs, and I shared those stories with my children.
My grandmother-in-law didn't drive, so after she retired, she'd sometimes call several times a day just to talk. I'd sit on the floor and nurse the baby, play puzzles with the toddler and listen. I'd share those stories with my children too, and I'm glad I did, for many of these conversations are fading from my memory. I wish I'd written them down, but I had heard them so many times, I never realized I might forget them.
The twelve years our family has delivered newspapers by night has been a rich opportunity for conversation. We talk about the past; we talk about concerns; we talk about future hopes and dreams. Of course, some days are challenging and others just plain silly, but we talk about those things, too.
Naturally, time and perceptions do alter those memories, and these are concepts I wove into Bryony's plotline.
For instance, both my father-in-law and my grandmother-in-law loved to tell stories about family history. When my oldest children were very young, I didn't have a car, so my father-in-law drove us everywhere we needed to go. As he drove, he talked about his childhood, his military service, his first jobs, and I shared those stories with my children.
My grandmother-in-law didn't drive, so after she retired, she'd sometimes call several times a day just to talk. I'd sit on the floor and nurse the baby, play puzzles with the toddler and listen. I'd share those stories with my children too, and I'm glad I did, for many of these conversations are fading from my memory. I wish I'd written them down, but I had heard them so many times, I never realized I might forget them.
The twelve years our family has delivered newspapers by night has been a rich opportunity for conversation. We talk about the past; we talk about concerns; we talk about future hopes and dreams. Of course, some days are challenging and others just plain silly, but we talk about those things, too.
Naturally, time and perceptions do alter those memories, and these are concepts I wove into Bryony's plotline.
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