Monthly Archives: November 2014
A Place in the World by Cinda Crabbe MacKinnon
I sat down to write this review, ready to say that nothing huge and dramatic happens in this book.
I was about to tell you that this is a lovely little book, set in dramatic Colombia, amongst the beauty of rain forests on a coffee farm, where a woman leads her life the best she can, as she finds her own place in the world.
But then I remembered the volcano.
It’s hard to claim a volcano isn’t huge and dramatic – it’s a volcano.
So I did some more thinking. How had my faulty memory managed to marginalize the volcano, and quite a few other notably dramatic events?
Eventually, I came to the conclusion that it was the main character’s unique attitude. As an American who has lived for many years in Colombia, she handles things with an amazing blend of the two cultures. Stepping back and forth between them so well that the big drama fades into the background, leaving the focus of the book right where it should be, on the young woman in search of her place in the world.
It just so happens that her world is run by men, contains active volcanoes, guerrilla fighters, monkeys, a bit of political turmoil, coffee crops and an occasional iguana in the water tank – making it infinitely more interesting to read about than our own.
Would I recommend it? I would. Drama aside, the information on the culture, rain forests and coffee growing would have been enough to keep me interested.
This honest review was given in return for a free copy of the book from its author.
Pokey Fences
What happened when the cow jumped over the barbed wire fence?

This has nothing to do with the terrible joke or fences of any kind. This is a picture of the only landmark I saw today and was taken for photo 101: The Monticello home of Thomas Jefferson, as seen from my dining room.
Udder destruction.
Which brings me to my question…
Buttons
It is a different tin, different buttons but the sound of buttons pouring out onto a wooden table is just the same.
Immediately I’m back at my Granny’s side, eagerly dumping out her tins of buttons. Running my fingers through the pile as I sort. Finding my favorites, dividing by color, talking with Granny, endlessly fascinated by the collection. Always, I am reluctant to undo my “work” and sweep them back into their circular home when the time comes, only slightly mollified by promises that they’ll be there next time.
But sometimes next time doesn’t come soon enough and I am mystified by the reluctance I see in Granny’s eyes when I mention the buttons.
Today I dumped the buttons on the table, and though the tin has spent the last year inside a moving box, the girls were drawn to the sound as if by magic. Buttons! Can we play with them? Can we pile them? These are mine! Oops- I dropped some. No- THESE are mine! Can we put them on string? Oops!
The girls and I crawled about on the floor finding buttons and the look I remember in Grannys eyes is no longer a mystery. But I’ll leave the buttons out, just for tomorrow.
It’s a small magic, that of button tins and memories, but there it is, running through the generations, connecting us in my mind like buttons on a string.
Solitude?
Ahhhhhhh!!!
A snuggly dog, warm toes and, most importantly, a hot fire in the wood stove …
… life is good!
Wordless Wednesday – Bath Time!
All That Blue
Is there anything better than the blue sky of a fall day?
Just look at all that blue!
Oh, and our road – you can look at that too.
We can even pretend it’s a “street” as per the photo challenge of the day.
But it’s not, it’s a road.
Well, technically a highway but certainly not a street, it’s got far too many cornfields to ever be a street.
The Visible Soul
“I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.”
That seemed like such a nice quote – until I thought about it.
Now, having thought about it, I’m concerned that the soul of our house, while cuddly on the outside, has a dark, blood thirsty, thieving, conniving side. And, to be perfectly honest, I’m totally fine that the cats have those attributes but if that is part of my home’s, soul I’d really rather it not be visible.
So forget Cocteau, let’s go with Wesley Bates, “There’s no need for a piece of sculpture in a home that has a cat.”
Thank goodness for that, the cats would just knock it to the floor anyway…
The End of Innocence
Jane was enjoying a lovely fall day when I intruded on her solitude to break the news.
“Jane”, I said, “you’ll be three soon, it’s time you know how the world works.”
“I just need to warn you, the Daylight Savings time change is tomorrow.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, brows drawn up in confusion.
“Well, it’s one of two days a year when when we arbitrarily change the time by an hour. This means that everyone will wake up earlier than they should, become hungry at inconvenient times, overtired by bedtime and miss most pre-planned appointments. In addition many people seem to suffer a certain extent of emotion damage from the change so expect everyone around you to ask “Old time or new time” while we all spend at least three days in a fog of “Wait, what time is it?” induced crabby confusion. Oh – and chances of your Dad and his friend showing up at the same time to go goose hunting tomorrow morning are at best fifty fifty. All so we can act as though there is more light in the day which , I’m sure that at the wise age of two and half, you can already see the absurdity in that plan.”
“What? No! That’s completely ridiculous!” she cried!

Yes it is Jane, Yes it is.




