The house has insides now!

We're actually making progress!

Here, you're looking at the main floor living area.



This is the kitchen.

Upstairs, looking from the living area looking toward the outside entrance.

Shadows from the setting sun.

Timeless

I heard the crack while I was at my mother's house. Sounded like the transformer blew. Nothing happened at her house, but when I got home, there was no electricity. I sat in my chair by the window and critiqued some work. Before I was finished, the lights came back on. A good thing since it was approaching dusk and my window light was diminishing.

I kept working, paying attention my watch, since I was to meet Cliff at 7:30 for dinner. I thought I was paying attention. It was close to dark outside when I finished, but my watch still said 6:30. Dead as a door nail. (Wonder where that expression comes from.) Oh dear. Went to the computer only to discover that it was actually 7:36. Late again.

The next morning Cliff went to work at the house next door for a while before leaving for work. He kept working and working and finally realized that his watch had stopped, too. He came home and showered in a rush and got to the office.

When I finally got around to changing all the clocks in the house, I realized that the clock on the stove had stopped working altogether. Electricity is running, but not my kitchen clock.

I've resorted to my phone to tell me the time. Maybe that will help me remember to carry the phone with me more often, at least until I can buy a clock for the stove.

Trip to England

There is so much history. Thousands of years of history. Gee whillakers! Do you have any idea how many millions, billions, of tons of stone the Brits crated up and carted home from all over the empire? It's mind boggling.





The Egyptian wing of the British Museum in London.






























We started in Bath, toured through the countryside of the Cotswolds, visited Blenheim Palace where Churchill was born, went to Stratford-upon-Avon where Shapespeare was born, wandered through Oxford, and spent two jam-packed days in London.




















Arlyngton Row. I haven't figured out how they're related to Arlington Cemetery yet, but apparently this row of houses, or the owner, are another connection to our history books.

St. Paul's Cathedral is absolutely stunning. It was one of my favorite memories. I nearly missed Holman Hunt's painting "The Light of the World." The painting has been a key image in my own journey into knowing God I would have been devastated to have discovered later that I missed it. Standing in front of it was incredible. No reproduction even comes close to the original.

I nearly missed it because my husband called me across the room to see a memorial to some ship captain who fought bravely in some battle until he was "shot through the heart." End of memorial.

My other most amazing moment was in the Bodelian Library in Oxford. It's a bit like the Library of Congress here, has copies of all the books printed in the UK. Tunnels full of books underneath the streets. There was an exhibit of Italian writers. First edition, hand lettered and illustrated, copies of Dantes’ Divine Comedy, Plutarch’s Lives, and Boccaccio’s Decameron. It's odd the things that move the emotions sometimes. I was standing in front of a 1400s copy of the Decameron and tears came to my eyes. I've never even read the Decameron and I'm standing in front of it crying. I knew what it was and that he was Dante's teacher. Such emotion rose up in me. It was something to see for sure.

There was flooding in the countryside for weeks before we arrived. One little village we stayed in had many businesses closed because of so much damage. A school at the end of the street also had lots of damage. The dumpster on the curb was full of waterlogged debris. On top of the pile were a bunch of books. It was near dusk, so Cliff and I lifted the lid and plundered through the school books. I came home with an 1896 copy of Twelfth Night that I pulled out of the rubbish bin. In good shape.

My American friend who lives in London laughed and said, "You know they say 100 miles is a long way in England and 100 years is a long time in the States." I guess she's right, but it's still pretty amazing to me.

I've wanted to go to England since I missed out on the college choir tour back in the 70s. It was worth the wait.

Leaving town

We're off to England. Back in two weeks.

The Way Children Think

I've been meeting magazine deadlines. Went with Jeanetta to Mobile to get settled in her new dorm. She volunteered to babysit for friends on the day she was moving in. We managed without too much trouble. So we packed up stuff from about three locations, crammed both cars full, unloaded, unpacked, and shopped for needed supplies with a seven-year old and ten-year old in tow. It felt a bit like deja vu. I haven't forgotten dragging my own four around while I ran errands. And oh boy, did they have the sibling thing going on full blast!

I had Catherine, the 10-year old, in my car. She's very outgoing and chatty. So she was telling me all the things she liked. High School Musical was at the top of the list. She also likes washing dishes, cooking, and swiffering. Too funny. So I asked what she didn't like. Dusting, but she couldn't think of much else. The conversation went on to other things. About ten minutes later she suddenly pipes up with, "Hospitals. I don't like hospitals." The smart brains in these short people ruminate beautifully.

The Essence of Chautauqua

This is a link posted by Betty Haas, one of my fellow Chautauqua attendees. We rode home together on the plane from Buffalo to Atlanta. If you want to know what it was like, this pretty well captures it.

Chautauqua

Chautauqua is a beautiful place. This is the Hotel Athenaeum where I stayed. I was in the annex, out of the picture on the left.

One of the lovely private homes at Chautauqua.

Me with Kathi Appelt, children's writer and my faculty mentor for the week. Kathi has written picture books, poetry, and middle grades fiction and memoir. She's also on the faculty of the MFA program in children's literature at Vermont College.


I came home feeling like one of these carvings.